Author Note: There is hard violence in this chapter. Some may be disturbed by it...you have been warned.

Chapter Ten

A stale wind blew across the plains of the Wasteland, carrying off the dust kicked up by the pack brahmin and the caravaneers walking beside them, scattering it to the four directions. Ahead of her, her parents walked closed together, eyes moving from the the map in Papa's hands to the desolate land in front of them. Arefu was their next stop, the little settlement overlooking the Potomac. Liralla liked going there because there was another girl close to her in age and they would play together while her parents were busy trading.

Right now though, Liralla was bored. The long walks across the scorched, quiet land got monotonous...especially for a twelve year old girl. She played with the brahmin's lead, twirling the frayed end of the rope round and round her fingers. She wondered what she and Lucy would play when they got to town. If they would play anything at all. At twelve years old, games were starting to lose their amusement...it was more fun to talk to Lucy about boys, or guns, or what they would do when they were grown up.

Liralla wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but she knew she didn't want to be a caravaneer like her parents. She hated the endless walking...and not having anyone to talk to. Mama and Papa didn't pay her much attention usually, being busy with business and with find their way across the Wastes. Paulo, the caravan guard, was interesting and Liralla thought he was kind of handsome, but he had no time to spend with a kid.

"Lost in your thoughts again, I see." Abuelita said and Liralla looked up to see her grandmother smiling down at her. From out of the scarred and pitted face, the blue-white eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Lita, it's so boring out here." Liralla whined, slowing down so that she could keep better pace with the old woman. "When are we going to get to Arefu? I want to see Lucy."

"We will be there soon. Another two miles or so and we will see the river. You know that, carino."

Liralla sighed and kicked a small rock from under her feet. It skipped across the ground and landed in a nearby hole. Feeling pleased that she got it inside of the hole, even without trying, she smiled. "Did you see that?"

Her grandmother chuckled. "Yes, I saw. Now if only your aim with the pistol could be so good...then your dear Abuelita would never worry for you."

Liralla had gone back to flipping the end of the brahmin lead and thought some more about Lucy and what the two of them could amuse themselves with—maybe finding a hole to see how many times they could kick rocks inside? Would her friend like that or just think it was the game of a child?

"Lita?" Liralla asked. "Did you know that Lucy is going to have a little brother or sister?"

"No, I didn't. Is her Mama far along then?"

"Yeah, she is. She looks like our brahmin...her belly is swollen this big." Liralla formed a circle with her arms and held it out in front of her. "It's kind of weird, knowing there is a baby in there. Lucy is excited though...she's tired of being the only kid in Arefu."

"That makes sense, carino." Her Lita murmured, putting a wrinkled, scarred hand on Liralla's shoulder and pulling her close. "You probably wish you had a brother or sister too, don't you? It's difficult for you children..."

It was awkward to walk so close, but Liralla didn't try to pull away. She knew that her grandmother liked hugs and handshakes and friendly touches like that, but because of how she looked, most people wouldn't touch her. They called her mean names and whenever Liralla heard them, it made her angry. Her abuelita was the nicest, most wonderful woman ever...who told her stories when she couldn't sleep and made the best mole-rat stew she'd ever tasted.

"I don't know." Liralla muttered, leaning into her grandmother's side. "Mama and Papa are so busy all the time...and I already have my hands full with the brahmin."

The side she was pressed against shuddered with laughter.

"That is true. Children can be hard to take care of, mi pequena, but they are very precious too. That is why your Mama, Papa, Uncle Paulo and I try to watch after you."

The sound of angry voices intruded on the childhood memory. Lyra's eyes fluttered, squinted, closed again. She didn't want to leave the warmth of abuelita's embrace, didn't want to lose the sound of her voice, but the voices grew louder, something slammed down on a hard surface, making her jump. Lyra moved her head, turning towards the ruckus, and saw Jericho facing off with one of the ghouls they had saved from the raiders.

The ghoul's name, if she remembered the name right, was Murphy and he was staring into Jericho's face with such blind hatred that she wondered just what her companion had said this time.

"I don't care if you shoot me, smoothskin," Murphy was shouting. "I'm not using all the meds I have on that woman...not without some sort of goddamn compensation! I'm not a doctor and I'm certainly not in the charity business. You want chems? Stimpaks? Med-X? You'll fuckin' pay for them like anyone else who walks through here!"

"And I'm tellin' you, it's because of us that you two maggot-farms are even alive to do business at all!" Jericho countered, slamming the butt of his gun down on the table. So that was what had startled her.

Looking around her, Lyra saw she'd been sprawled out on a tattered armchair and that her feet were exposed. Her boots were thrown haphazard in the corner beside her and one leg of her leather breeches had been cut away revealing her leg from the knee down. Her calf was encircled by a thick cotton bandage and she flexed her leg experimentally.

"Shit!" she hissed as searing pain lit up her leg from the knee down to her ankle.

Along with the pain came the memory of the raider's blade slicing through her pants and her leg, hot blood streaming into her boot, and her crazed ramblings the night before.

"Oh, look. Sleeping Beauty's awake." The other ghoul, Barrett, deadpanned from his place across the room. "That whole 'beauty sleep' thing must be a myth because she's as ugly as she was before."

"Nice to see you too, asshole." Lyra said. "How long I been out?"

Jericho didn't say anything, but cast a disparaging look at Murphy. The ghoul looked at her and part of his anger seem to leave him. His face relaxed around the eyes and his jawline relaxed as if, until now, he'd been speaking through clenched teeth.

"You've been out about twelve hours." Murphy said, glaring at Jericho as he walked over to where she sat. Kneeling down in front of her, he grabbed her ankle and turned her leg this way and that.

"The cut on your leg was bad. I had to put in stitches. I didn't have surgeon's thread and used fishing line instead, so the stitches will have to come out in about ten days. That's if the stitches don't break and your leg doesn't get infected in the meantime."

"Thanks for the help, Murphy," she told him, the face of her abuelita surfacing again in her mind. "I'll pay you back."

"You can pay me back by getting the hell outta here." He snapped, dropping her leg. Her heel hit the floor causing a sharp, jarring pain to go all the way to her knee. She flinched and shook her head.

"Sorry, can't do that."

"Why the fuck not?"

She reached down and lifted her leg and set it crossways on her lap. She ran her hand along the bandage gingerly and felt the painful ridge of the cut. It was longer than she expected—over half the length of her hand. Her eyebrow rose. Damn, she hadn't thought the raider got her that good.

"I came here to talk Ultra-Jet," she told him, setting her leg back down on the floor and leaning back in the armchair. She gave him a friendly smile. "And my ass is going nowhere until we do just that."

"What the hell's Ultra-Jet?" Murphy asked, narrowing his red-rimmed eyes at her. "I've never even heard of it."

"That's bullshit. I have it from a reliable source that you've been playing around with the idea for years and I want in. You tell me what you need and I'll bring it to you. I'm just asking that you give me first dibs on buying it when you're done."

"And if I said no?"

"Hypothetically?"

Murphy nodded, looking up at her.

"Then I suppose I could always let my friend have his way and kill you both." Lyra answered. Her smile never wavered. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Just who the hell told you we could make Ultra-Jet anyway?" He asked at last, getting to his feet and towering over her. "We're a couple of zombies, maggot-farms, as your charming associate likes to point out. What makes you think we could make something like that?".

"Doctor Barrows, actually." Lyra told him. "Last time I was in Underworld, he said he knew a ghoul by the name of Murphy—sharp as a tack, he said, but about as pleasant to be around as a fuckin' leper—who lived in a metro station to the northwest."

"He told me that if I ever wanted to make a few caps and help the cause, so to speak," she continued, "then I should get my ass up there and drop his name."

Lyra pushed herself out of the comfortable armchair, keeping most of her weight on her uninjured leg. She reached out to pat Murphy on the chest with one hand. He was as unnaturally warm as her abuelita had been. She smiled, unable to help herself.

"It's okay, Murphy. I'm sure that once you and I start workin' together on this whole Ultra-jet thing, your natural charm will show itself and you won't be the complete dick you appear to be at first."

She glanced over at Barrett. "You, on the other hand, are another case entirely. Frankly, I was tired of your shit after the first ten minutes."

"Are you fuckin' done?" Jericho spoke up. Lyra turned her head to her companion and was surprised to see him angry. What the hell was his problem? "You think I could get two seconds of your precious time, Lyra. Or would you like to make good on that promise you made to kiss their fuckin' asses since they fixed your damn leg?"

"What the hell's eatin' you?"

"I'll tell you out in the hallway, not get your ass over here."

"Jesus Christ, do you want her to break her stitches?" Murphy rolled his eyes and moving away from her. He ran a hand through the littl tufts of hair still clinging to his scalp and walked into the other room. When he returned, he was carrying a wooden crutch.

"Here!" He snapped, throwing the crutch at her. She barely caught it before it could strike her in the head. "Now both of you can get the fuck out. Maybe I'll get lucky and you two'll get mowed down by another group of raiders as soon as your asses walk out the door."

#####

Jericho was pissed. He was pissed because he was stuck in a rundown metro station with a couple of rotting ghouls. He was pissed because he hadn't had a single drop drink of whiskey or vodka since they'd left Megaton, and he was pissed off because the bitch he'd shacked up with since he'd retired was far too friendly with anyone and everyone besides him. Especially stupid, fucking, rotten corpses that could walk.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the zombies, Jericho whipped around and grabbed Lyra by her hair, slamming her against the wall. The wooden crutch the zombie gave her fell to the ground with a hollow thunk. She grunted as she made contact with the wall and looked at him out of squinted, pain-filled eyes.

"Jericho, what's gotten into you?" She snapped. "You planning on pullin' out my fuckin' hair or what?"

Her hand reached up and grabbed his wrist, trying to ease the tension on her scalp. The sharp tone of her voice and the anger in her eyes only made his own worse. He pulled her forward and slammed her against the wall a second time.

"I'm just about tired of your ass, you know that? Always goin' off on your own, talkin' to every fuckin' swinging dick that walks around. Chasin' after ghouls like a goddamn bitch in heat." He slammed her against the wall a third time.

Tears filled her eyes and Jericho felt a brush of satisfaction. He'd let her get away with too much. He'd been soft on her for too long, thinking they had a good thing going. It was about time he remedied that. Letting her hair go, Jericho drew back his arm and knocked her across the face. Her head snapped to the side and she staggered from the force of the blow, nearly losing her footing.

Blood dusted the floor as she spit out blood.

"Maybe I should just fuckin' kill you." He hissed, moving in close to her, trapping her in place with his bigger form. "Take Lucy West instead. The stuck-up little bitch looks like she could use a cock to loosen her up."

She took the bait, just as he'd hoped. An expression he'd never seen before crossed her face. But what he wasn't prepared for was the fury in her voice.

"Don't you fuckin' touch Lucy!"

Her tone grated on his nerves. Who did the bitch think she was, talking to him like that? He slammed his fist into her stomach.

"Why?" He snarled, watching as the woman doubled over and threw all the contents of her stomach up. "You jealous because she's not some washed-up slave whore like you? You afraid I'll replace your ass with someone younger? Fresher?"

As she gasped, arm wrapped protectively around her middle, Jericho felt a rush of satisfaction at seeing her look so weak. Jericho used her pain to his advantage and moved in closer, cutting off any escape she had. She tried to lean away from him, but he shifted and brought his face in close to her ear, so only she could hear him.

"Maybe I won't kill you after all, maybe I'll just tie you and Lucy up in the shack together and fuck both of you. Bet you'd like that too, you junkie bitch..."

He knew she didn't have her knife on her. It was always in her boot. Her gun was leaning against the ghouls' wall, well out of reach. The stupid bitch hadn't even thought of bringing any kind of weapon with her. It showed just how much she didn't fear him anymore...and that was after he'd already warned her once yesterday, a knife to her throat. He'd been letting his old age get to him, letting his life in Megaton make him soft. She'd been mistaking his laziness for freedom and it was time he reminded her that the only reason she was 'free' at all was because of him, because of what he'd done for her ungrateful ass five years ago.

The concentration in her face was visible as she tried to straighten more fully, her brown skin flushed. He waited until she'd braced herself against the wall with one hand, breathing slow and steady, and then he slammed the bottom of his boot down sideways on her injured leg.

Lyra's scream was loud as she collapsed on the ground, tears in her eyes. Blood seeped through the bandage the ghoul had wrapped around her leg. But instead of looking broken, like he wanted, the woman at his feet looked absolutely furious.

"Jericho, you motherfuck—you just wait 'til I get up from here!" Lyra growled, eyes flashing. "You'd better watch where you sleep, asshole, because as soon as I get the chance I'm gonna cut your goddamn throat!"

In answer, he slammed his boot down on her leg again. She cried out, a sob escaping her throat this time. Jericho smiled.

"You ain't gonna do shit," he told her, grinding the sole of his boot against her leg. She kicked out at him with her good leg, but the angle was too awkward and she thrashed out at him in vain. He leaned forward and hit her in the face again. The thrashing stopped.

"You think you're a badass, Lyra, but you're not." He bent down and grabbed her by the hair again. She struggled, but when he tightened his grip she whimpered and stilled again. He put his lips next to her ear.

"You're just a stupid bitch who got lucky. If it wasn't for me, you'd still be rottin' in Evergreen Mills – sucking the dick of every raider that came through. But don't worry. I'm about to put you back in your place and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you live."

#####

In the living quarters of Seneca Station, Murphy glanced at the door. He clenched and unclenched his fist, the knuckles popping sporadically with the tension. His heart pounded as the cries of the woman echoed through the station. It made it hard to concentrate on what Barrett was saying.

"What are you gonna do, Murph? You really want to do business with either one of those smoothskins? Both of them are liable to get us what we need, wait 'til we have the stuff and then rob our asses blind."

Barrett had a point. Murphy knew that, but the sounds coming from the station were making it really hard for him to think about himself. He didn't care about the woman. He didn't. He sure as hell didn't give a mole-rat's ass about the man...but the station was his home, Barrett's home. He'd been damned if someone was going to waste his supplies and his time like the fucker outside was doing right now.

He glanced over at Barrett and took off his glasses, setting them down on the counter behind him. "Barrett, get your spare. I'm getting the bat behind the counter. I say it's time we got a bit of payback."

Barrett sighed. "You serious right now?

"I'd rather do business with her than that asshole. At least she looks us in the eye."

"Doesn't mean she won't spit in it later."

"If that happens, we'll take care of it then. Now get your spare."

Finally, Barrett nodded. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Murphy knew what he was doing was probably stupid, but at the moment, he really didn't care. He was tired of being pushed around, antagonized, bullied by assholes just like the one outside his door. He was tired of dealing with people who couldn't see value in his work. The woman, Lyra, was probably as bad as the asshole beating on her right now, but she'd been to Underworld. She'd talked to Doctor Barrows and she made a good enough impression that the physician had decided to let her in on Murphy's plan.

It was a vote of confidence Murphy felt compelled to honor, even if it came to shit later.

Jerking open the door with his free hand, Murphy led the way while Barrett covered him with his spare shotgun. It'd been his idea to go out first. The way he saw it, if he miscalculated and the raider got the jump on him instead of vice versa, it was better to give the raider a subpar weapon. Soon as he walked outside, he heard the mixture of sobbing and animal grunting—and saw far more than he wanted of the raider's ass and the struggling woman beneath him.

Murphy's mind flashed back to his own mother and how she'd sobbed and screamed in their bedroom late at night after his father came home. His eyes hardened. He kicked one of the tin cans littering the metro station's floors, sent it sailing on a low trajectory straight for the man's bare ass. It made contact and clattered on the floor. Murphy kept his bat low, holding it lightly by the handle with one hand.

"Get off of her." Murphy rasped. "Now."

The grunting stopped and the man turned, face red. "What the fuck do you two shitheads want? Can you see I'm fuckin' busy?"

"I don't give a damn. Get up and get out."

With a growl, Jericho climbed to his feet, pulling his pants up as he did. He looked down at Lyra and gave her a sharp kick. "Don't you even think about movin', bitch. I ain't finished with you yet."

Murphy's hand tightened on his bat as Jericho stalked closer.

"What the hell d'you think you're gonna do with that?" Jericho sneered, eyeing Murphy's bat. "You think you're some kind of hero? What's stopping me from knockin' you on your ass?"

"Hey, asshole," Barrett spoke up from behind them. "I don't you didn't forget about me. I got two twelve-gauge shells with your name on them right here. You take another step towards Murphy and I'm putting you down."

Jericho looked from Murphy to Barrett and back again. The ghoul thought he saw realization flit through the man's blood-shot eyes. Taking his eyes off him for a second, Murphy looked around. He didn't see a weapon.

"Looks like you got two options." Raising his bat, Murphy pointed towards the gate leading outside. "You turn the fuck around right now and leave...alive. Or we can kill you and feed you to the mole rats living in the metro."

Barrett shifted behind him and Murphy could imagine him taking aim at the man's head. From the way the man's jaw clenched and his eyes flitted to the right, over Murphy's shoulder, he suspected he was correct.

"Either way, you're leaving without your shit." Barrett added. "Murphy told you you were gonna give him some kind of compensation for wasting his time and meds on that woman of yours. Looks like we'll be taking everything...including her. Now get the fuck out."

"You think this is it?" The raider snarled, baring his teeth like a feral dog. "You think you're gettin' one over on my ass? I know half the motherfuckers in Paradise Falls! I'll lead them righ here and then you fuckin' zombie'll wish you killed me!"

"Not...your best argument, dumbass."

Jericho's head jerked towards Lyra and that's when Murphy took his opportunity. Lunging forward, he took the bat in both hands and swung.

The bat made contact with the raider's skull with a wet crack and the man spasmed wildly, collapsing into a boneless heap on the floor. Murphy stepped away from him, disconcerted by the convulsions, but before he could say or do anything else, a loud BOOM echoed through the station. The twitching ceased.

Murphy, ears ringing, looked down at the dead man...to surprised to say anything.

Barrett walked forward and spat on the floor near the body, then leveled a glare at the woman who stood, perhaps as surprised as Murphy, by the wall. "Consider that payback for yesterday. Now go clean your ass up or something...I'm sick of lookin' at you."

Murphy glanced to the side and Barrett's eyes met his. "I'm going for a smoke, Murph. You got this shit or what?"

Murphy nodded and handed Barrett his bat. "Yeah. You do that."

"Good."

His bodyguard cast another hateful glance towards Lyra, then turned and left. Murphy took a breath and let it out slowly. He turned to his new business partner.

"You good to walk?" Murphy asked her.

Her head turned to look at him. Murphy knew the look. He'd seen it often enough in his own mother's eyes after a night with his father. The only difference was that her eyes were brighter, feverish. He wondered if she'd snapped.

What came out of her mouth surprised him.

"I could use the crutch. Bastard stomped my leg a couple of times." Her voice was hoarse from yelling, but it was even...something at odds with the strange look in her eyes. "Buff-Out too…in my bag. I'm not a chem-junkie...but I have to take Buff-Out for my hand."

She moved and he saw the old injury, the gnarled flesh on her hand that told the tell of a gunshot wound. A bad one. "If I don't, the cramping gets bad and I go into withdrawal. It's not pretty."

A shudder went through her body and she looked away from him. She seemed to realize that she was still half-naked. She started readjusting her clothes. Murphy sighed and turned away from her.

"Just stay here." He told her. "I'll get your bag. Then you'd better get cleaned up like Barrett said...I ain't heartless, but you're gonna be doing that shit by yourself. Stitches are one thing, but this stuff…"

"Don't worry about it, Murphy." Her raspy voice was hollow. He looked back and saw that one corner of her mouth had curled upwards in what might've been a smile. It was hard to tell with the bruises and the swelling starting to take over her face. "It's nothing new."

He walked away, a chill passing through him.

That's what his mother used to say.