Chapter 6

Erica awoke slowly. She felt a dull throbbing in her left foot, a light weight atop her. The air was insidiously damp and cold. She heard faintly the rustling waters of the Detroit River. Slowly, and almost hesitantly she opened her eyes. She was inside an old house, walls ripped, moldy and torn. Lying atop her was an old tarp, and dusty cushions. Her leg felt numb, she felt for the brace and it was still there, the battery had run out. She pushed the tarp and cushions away. She was wearing her overcoat and pants. Her undergarments were on the floor before her, ripped, torn.

Oh fuck! She thought, fearing the worst. She checked herself. No it wasn't that. She threw the last of the coverings. She sighed in horror looking at her left foot. Two biggest toes were gone, a stained bandage covering the stump where her toes had been. Memory came to her; she remembered jumping in the water, and the insidious cold, but nothing else.

Frostbite, she cursed. All because of that fucking private. Why did she rescue him? She would've been better off cutting her losses; she'd been close, so very close to letting him die. But her conscience pulled her in the opposite direction. She looked at him from afar, helpless, about to be devoured by ghouls. He didn't deserve that fate. Not too many people did. Confessing, as stupid as it had been, had shown he wasn't a cold hearted bastard. All her life she'd closed herself off, made herself cold to numb her emotions to survive. But she was human, and humanity can reassert itself when it's the least convenient.

She heard footsteps. She knew it was the Private. He came back, holding several squirrel hides in his hands.

"You're up. How are you?"

She fixed him with a hard glare. He'd saved her life, but if it wasn't for him she wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. He wasn't a cold hearted bastard, but he was still a stuck up prick with a lot to answer for.

"Just dandy. My leg is broken, my toes are gone, we're lost, my clothes are torn to shit, all because..."

"Shut up colisse! Look I'm sorry for the shit that's happened and I know it was dumb to confess, but you'd be dead right now if it wasn't for me."

"I'd have all my toes if it wasn't for you!"

"Look I don't want your gratitude or fake thank you's. I just want a little fucking recognition and respect right now. You've been out 3 days, I've kept you warm, if I hadn't operated you'd have lost your whole foot. I've found food, extra clothes, shelter, I know where we are."

"Well I'm glad you took a cold shower at least."

"Ferme ta geuele crisse de putain de merde!" He slapped her, hard.

The pain felt oddly warm on her cold face. She wanted to rise to strike him back, but she found to her dismay she could scarcely crawl.

"I'm leaving tomorrow at dawn. You can either come with me or stay here. The only way I'm gonna bring you along is if you cram that attitude of yours. Here's some squirrel meat. I'm gonna go and check the rest of my snares. See you later."

They set off just before dawn. They'd used up a fair amount of fission batteries, Erica had only a handful left. To numb the pain Erica had shot herself up with Med-X. Resting for a few days had improved the healing of her leg, but it wasn't strong enough to walk on yet. Walking without toes was awkward, she lacked the balance she'd taken for granted all her life. Going up or down hills was tricky, and required her to awkwardly counter balance herself.

They were in deep Red Wings territory. The Olympia, the Red Wings' headquarters was plainly visible, one of the few large buildings to survive the nuclear assault more or less intact. They were within a day's walk of their destination, approaching from this side meant they would be wary of Deathclaw territory, wolves and bears. This side was also close to Fort Patton, where the Minutemen were based.

Their escapade had meant they'd lost their weapons and much of their equipment and food. Erica still had her rucksack with some food and batteries and caps. But replenishing themselves would cost them most if not all their caps.

"What's your first name?" Erica asked, to both of their surprise

"Charles."

"Your last name, does it mean something?"

"Yeah, it sorta means tenderness."

"You don't strike me as being very tender." She chuckled.

Charles smiled. "You haven't met my girlfriend!"

Erica laughed for the first time in days

Erica walked alone once they reached the Olympia. Charles' presence would be problematic at best. The Olympia still stood, more or less, one of the corners of the building had caved in but otherwise the red bricked building still stood, the marquees and lettering long gone. It was surrounded with makeshift walls and guard towers. There was only one gate.

She was stopped at the guard post, manned by two guards, a male and a female redhead, her hair redder than perdition's flames. Both looked tired, eager for their shifts to end. They were both armed with Kalashnikovs. They looked her over, sizing her up, and then they looked at another with tired eyes.

"Is it your turn Shanny, or is it mine?" The redhead asked her compatriot.

"It's yours, Red."

"Right." Red sighed, inhaling deeply a cigarette. Looking at Erica with tired eyes.

"What's your name?"

"Rosie Palms."

"What's your business?"

"Looking to trade and get shitfaced."

"Sounds like a good time. You been near Belle Isle lately?"

"Nope, I've been prospecting out west for the past week or so. Why?"

"One of those PPCLI cunts and a female friend dropped in and escaped. They're probably dead but were keeping an extra eye out in case. You see a Frog and a woman together you let us know."

"If you make it worth my while."

"Of course we will. We got lots of caps for someone who could catch them. Not just caps, a nice, warm place to stay the winter. Sound good?"

"I'll keep an eye out."

"Alright, open the gate Shanny!"

She walked through. The courtyard was beginning to buzz slightly with activity. Lots of reparation work was underway, to make the building safe for the upcoming winter. It had sustained some damage, there'd been fighting this past summer between the Red Wings and the Minutemen. The PPCLI didn't consider the Olympia to be of any value, thus the two forces largely ignored another, the Belle Isle Massacre notwithstanding.

The Minutemen were a mysterious group. They inhabited Fort Patton, a military base largely built under ground and thus had survived the scorching of the Great War. It had been connected to Vault 56 and had been severely affected when a portion of it had caved in, taking hundreds of lives and much of the military leadership. They claimed to be taking orders from Washington, the center of the pre-war government, and wanted to eradicate all foreigners and communist subversion in the Detroit area and spread beyond. Despite their claims and holds of prewar military technology, they were little more than another band of opportunistic raiders. They wished to assimilate the Red Wings, and seize the Olympia's fertile hydroponics facilities for themselves. The Red Wings were not in favour of this.

Inside the Olympia was a struggling but stable settlement. The Red Wings provided for a few hundred souls. The old ice surface had been converted to a massive hydroponics facility which provided enough food; there'd been some summers where they actually traded food. Numbers provided protection; the ghosts of the Olympia provided an identity, something to rally around and identify with. Beyond that, they lived from one day to the next, caring nothing for the wars of the past and the present that others found so important.

She'd been here before, several months past and it hadn't changed much. The air hung with moisture and body odour. She walked through the concourse. Looking up to the rafters she saw red and white banners hanging from the ceiling. The banners bore championship years and names from a glorious past; Aurie, Howe, Delvecchio, Lindsay, Sawchuk, Abel, Yzerman, Konstantinov, Lidstrom, Fedorov, Shanahan, Datsyuk, Zetterberg, Dunlop, Oglethorpe. It reminded Erica of the battle honours in Fort Malden that served a purpose just as futile.

She made her way past the overflowing medical bay, to Terrible Ted's, the arms merchant, and one of the leaders of the Red Wings gang, or team as they liked to call themselves. Ted was a local legend, often spoken of in hushed tones. Erica had never met him, and if the stories about him were even infinitesimally true, she hoped to never make his acquaintance.

She walked in, at this hour she was the sole customer. Around the store were a handful of armed guards, watching her suspiciously. Behind the counter was Mr. Elbows. In prewar times at 6'2 he would've been considered average height, but now he was a giant behemoth, towering over everyone. He was wide shouldered but his face was oddly gaunt. His nickname came from when he killed a man solely by using his elbows. He looked at her indifferently. She scanned the rows of weapons behind him.

"I'll have that Lee Enfield, and that AK over there." He handed her the weapons. She handled them, tested the trigger, the weight and balance. Pretty good condition, not perfect, but good enough.

I'll take some ammo too." Mags and cartridges were brought out.

"How much for all this?"

"550 caps. "

Erica fought the urge to swear. They only had 700 left, and still had to buy batteries and meds. But what option did they have? They were unlikely to find any merchants on the roads. She looked around and had an idea, though it disgusted her.

"Let's make a deal." She began. "I'll give you 100 caps, and I'll blow everyone here."

Mr. Elbows smiled broadly, revealing cracked and decaying teeth.

"Sounds good, sugar. Ozzy, get Ted and lock the door. I'll go first."

Erica emerged later, fighting nausea, but at least she had the weapons and ammo they needed. She hadn't swallowed for any of them, so her dignity was partially intact. Terrible Ted was surprisingly short and thin, though his hard eyes and scarred face left no doubt as to the accuracy of his reputation. It hadn't been that bad she thought to herself. The things she was doing for Charles and this crazy mission. When it was over she was going to ask for triple what she'd been promised. She went to Chelly's General Goods. Chelly was a mild manned man, a man of unremarkable features, manner and reputation.

"I need some fission batteries. Got Any Med-X or Stimpacks?"

He shot her a furtive glance that she ignored.

"I have no meds; I sell 'em to the clinic. Don't want no junkies using 'em. As for batteries, I got a dozen. Why? Interested?"

"How much?"

"70 caps."

"Here." She wasn't going to offer another deal.

She handed over a bag full of caps. She stuffed the batteries in her rucksack and walked away. They had their weapons and supplies, except for meds. They'd have to hope things didn't get too hairy. She still had a couple of Med-X syringes; she'd have to tough out the pain when it came calling.

She walked out of the store, and as such didn't notice Chelly running from his store to Terrible Ted's weapon store. She rejoined Charles a mile outside the Olympia, they set off for their destination, a full day's travel ahead of them.