Chapter 4
"What was that movie called?" McBain asked. It had been a day since they'd acquired their brahmin. He'd given Ramirez a Varmint Rifle. It was better than nothing and it had improved Ramirez' mood. But it would do little good if they stumbled across a pack of Cazadores. This led to them walking more carefully, watchfully, slowing their progress.
"Huh?"
"That movie you were talking about?"
"Oh…I forgot the name of it."
"Thought you said you had a photographic memory."
"Hey, amigo. Some things are easier to remember than others. Like important things. I'm 256 years old, my memory' s better than a smoothskin a third of my age."
It was very late in the afternoon and they would soon have to rest for the night. Ahead of them they spied an old shack. What it was doing here in the mountains was uncertain. It had a nice view of the valley below but it's more prosaic purpose was a mystery. There was a small well nearby, but no farmland or grazing animals.
"What do you think it's doing here?" Ramirez asked.
McBain said nothing as they neared the shack. He drew his rifle and encircled it, his eyes scanning for mines or any traps. He didn't find any. There was a firepit and a stack of firewood, but the firepit looked unused, He looked in the windows but couldn't see anything. He met Ramirez at the front door.
Ramirez went ahead a knocked.
The door opened moments later. It was opened by an elderly man, his face sandblasted and withered.
"Can I help you?" He asked.
"We're a couple of travellers." McBain began, trying to keep his voice pleasant. "We'd like a place to rest for the night, if you'd be so kind."
"Mayhap we may. It's been so long since my wife and I had guests. We have my grandson drop off food for us, but he comes by only so often. And less often it seems. Oh, where's my manners? Babbling again! Why don't you two come on in."
"I'm Donald Griffin. Who might you fine gentlemen be?"
"I'm Yuan Ramirez. Nice to meet you, sir."
"McBain's the name."
"Don't have a first name? Mother didn't like ya? Ah, don't worry about it!"
The interior was a single room, rustic and dirty. Sunlight poured in from the windows, the shack was obscenely bright. The cracked wooden floors were littered with dust and debris, the wooden walls were pockmarked with small holes. There was a single double bed, an oven, an unconnected fridge, a single table and a handful of chairs. In the far corner a woman sat motionless on a rocking chair. An old radio crackled with pre war music. The tables and chairs were littered with old books and rotting food. There was a bed side table that held framed pictures. One picture had Mr. and Mrs. Griffin in younger, happier times surrounded by two adult children, a woman and a man. McBain recognized him as Sheldon. Another picture was of the same young woman in an NCR uniform, next to that picture was an urn. McBain paled. The house stank of mold, body odour and another smell, McBain couldn't identify. It had a texture of something rotting or decomposing, and it wasn't Ramirez.
"Ellen, we have some guests." Mr. Griffin announced.
There was no answer. Ellen Griffin sat motionless in a rocking chair, her eyes blankly open, her mouth agape. A spider crawled over her face and Mrs. Griffin paid no heed.
"She's just napping." He explained.
"Yeah." McBain said uneasily.
"She's... muerto." Ramirez whispered.
"She's just napping!" Mr. Griffin insisted.
"Sorry about my friend here, he sometimes says funny things." McBain said.
"That's true about most people, especially ghouls. Oh... I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. I'm Donald Griffin. This is my wife of 55 years Ellen. What are your names?"
"Yuan Ramirez."
"McBain." His steely voice was uneasy, his posture suddenly slacked.
"Mighty nice to meet ya." Mr. Griffin shook both their hands, his handshake with Ramirez was noticeably brief.
"Are you here to drop off food? My grandson sometimes drops off food. But I haven't seen him in... a long time. When you get my age you don't keep track of the days because they're all the same."
"Sure, we got some food for ya." McBain said, reaching into his rucksack and pulling out some canned food. He nodded to Ramirez who was frowning.
"Thank you. That's very kind of you."
"Your grandson sent us, Mr. Griffin. He's busy but he'll be with you soon. We'll... eh, we'll be going now." McBain said uneasily and grabbed Ramirez out of the shack.
"Thank you for visiting and the food. Ellen and I will have a hearty feast tonight."
McBain breathed a sigh of relief and shook his head. "Let's go!" He hurriedly set off.
"What the hell was that?" Ramirez exclaimed, catching up to his companion. McBain said nothing.
"Hey, amigo? What the hell? We could've had a nice place to spend the night. All we had to do was kill the old guy and drag the bodies outside!"
"Shut up." McBain said tersely.
Ramirez sighed. They walked for another hour before setting camp. McBain kept watch for the entire night, his conscience wouldn't allow him any rest tonight.
Morden came upon the shack. Judging by their footprints, they circled the shack, came in and left. The prints were fairly fresh. There was light coming from inside the shack and he heard music. He grabbed for his sidearm and went in the shack.
"Oh, hi there. Ellen, we have another guest." Mr. Griffin greeted Morden at the door. Morden shook Mr. Griffin's hand and took off his helmet.
"I'm Donald Griffin. This here is my wife of 55 years, Ellen."
"Hi, Mrs. Griffin." Morden said. Her silence confused him. He looked uneasily at Ellen and realized why she was mute.
"My wife's just napping. My grandson sent us a couple of friends with some food. That's a nice dog you got there. Though I prefer the old fashion kind. "
"When did these friends drop by?" Morden asked.
"Oh, I think it was yesterday... No, maybe it was a few hours ago... Or... I'm not sure. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm having a senior's moment."
Morden looked around the shack and his eyes landed upon the pictures on the bedside table. He strode towards it and his eyes landed upon the urn, and the picture of the NCR soldier.
"Your granddaughter?" Morden asked.
"Yes, she died at Hoover Dam fighting against those Legion scums. I miss her. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her." His eyes moistened.
Morden grabbed the picture frame. "I knew her. I was her... friend." Morden said, his voice straining to sound as stoic as always.
"You served together?"
"Yeah, sorta... I saw her die."
Mr. Griffin fixed him with his eyes.
"All I got was a letter from the NCR saying she died there. I hear there's a monument in Vegas with all the people who died at the second Dam battle but my Valerie's name isn't there. They never told me why!" His voice seethed with anger and sadness.
"Did she die well?"
"Yeah. She took a couple of Legionaries down. A... legion sniper got her." Morden broke away from Mr. Griffin's gaze.
"What happened to the man who killed her?"
"I killed him." Morden said, looking back at Mr. Griffin. That much was true.
"I still have all Valerie's letters...I read them every once in a while, I can still hear her voice. Her last letter, I got it after I got the letter from the NCR... said she was scared about fighting at Hoover Dam but she was happy because she found a boyfriend. A real fine lad by the sounds of it. He wasn't military though... some kind of... caravan guard or something...oh, I can't remember."
"You take care of yourself, Mr. Griffin." Morden said, putting his helmet back on. He patted Mr. Griffin on the back and left the shack. Rex rubbed his head against Morden's leg. Morden patted the cyberdog on its head.
"Thanks Rex. I couldn't tell him it was friendly fire." He kicked the dirt at his feet.
"It still pisses me off they treated her like that!"
He looked at the setting sun and sighed.
"Come on. Let's go Rex." And he and his cyberdog set off in pursuit of their quarry.
After saying goodbye to his guest Mr. Griffin went to his bedside table and pulled the drawer open. He pulled out a pile of letters, the papers worn and filled with small tears. He read through each letter, hearing his late granddaughter's warm voice in every word. He came to the last letter.
"Ah! That's it! That's what her boyfriend was! A courier!"
