The Things We Do
Chapter 11
Disclaimer: I don't own Fallout or any related materials.
It's another cool night in the Wastelands.
The moon and stars are out in full force, giving the sands an ethereal glow as a soft wind brings with it the smell of burnt flesh. The scene reminds of me something, but the Sheriff brushes past cutting the thought short. Sammy, Lucas, and I make our way quietly up a small hill directly north of Big Town. Being only about 500 ft. from the rope bridge, which serves as the only unhindered entrance, makes this an obvious spot for recon and is probably well watched on most nights. Luckily for us, the Raiders seem busy celebrating another day's exploits. I can feel my heart beating furiously, the thumping so loud it begins to drown out the rowdy Raiders. I take deep breaths, willing my heart to slow down and my body to relax.
Though I didn't see Saffron before leaving, she did somehow convince Lucas to come grudgingly along. I imagine she reminded him that the Raiders, not me, had ambushed Harden and the other Regulators while they investigated the remnants Arefu. This fact however, didn't seem to effect the Sheriff's judgment of me.
Sammy on the other hand, couldn't be dissuaded from joining us. Red had told Sammy about the plan so I could trade him for the Sniper Rifle, but he refused. He said he had made a promise to himself to one day avenge all of his former friends who'd been killed when the Raiders stormed Big Town. I of all people couldn't deny the man his chance for vengeance.
I take the sniper rifle from Sammy and look through its scope. It seems like a lifetime since I was last here, looking down on a similar scene. Similar, but different in the worst ways. A 10 ft. wall surrounds the entire complex made of old cars, trucks, sandbags and whatever else they could scavenge or steal. There're also sentries on the rooftops and guards at the front entrance, but they're typical Raiders. Easily distracted, easily confused and rarely able to look past the sadistic opportunities presented to them. I continue to survey when something calls my attention to the large bonfire at the base of a dark curling column of smoke. I spot the gory details and look away.
"Three on the rooftops, another at the entrance and eight around the fire. There's going to be women and children in the houses." I convey in a hushed tone.
The Sheriff looks at me skeptically and takes the rifle, nearly snatching it from my hands. "I don't see no women or children." He says, still looking through the scope.
"They're celebrating new acquisitions." I reply, my tone cold.
"How do you know?" Lucas presses, sounding irritated at my cryptic response.
"Look at what's causing all that smoke."
Lucas scans for another moment before he catches sight of it. Three bodies tied to a post in the middle of the fire, their charred corpses nearly unrecognizable. He hands the rifle back to Sammy, who looks a little scared and edgy. He puts his eye to the scope and after a moment, gags. Sammy's apparently a good shot and experienced, but I doubt he's stupid enough to have done anything like this before.
"Don't you start that shit boy or I'll put holes in you m'self." Lucas growls.
I turn to Sammy and tell him, "You get setup and I'll head down. Remember to take out the snipers first, but wait for my signal."
"Your signal?" The Sheriff sounds pissed at my obvious disregard for his sense of authority.
"Look Sheriff, the first one down there is going to be the bait. If you get shot, who's going to protect Megaton? Me?" Our eyes lock for a moment, but he grudgingly looks away conceding defeat.
"Remember, wait for my signal." I tell Sammy again. "Don't forget those snipers and don't look at the explosion. I need you to get the jump on these guys while they're blinded." I give him an encouraging grin, hiding my own doubts. He responds in kind with a nervous grin. "You with me on this Sheriff?"
"Yeah, yeah. Don't expect me to cry if you end up eatin' it asshole." Something tells me that he might try to shoot me after this is done, but it doesn't matter now.
I go back down the hill and use the uneven terrain to cover my approach to a small drainage ditch across a paved street from the entrance. I stand up slowly, using the lower footing and the remnants of a rusting guardrail to keep me concealed. About twenty feet to my left is a boarded up home, but those twenty feet are in plain view.
I have to wait for my opportunity, to do otherwise on a night so bright would certainly guarantee attention. The time drags on and I feel the knot in my stomach growing larger, the realization that this plan is suicidal creeps on the horizon. I take a deep, slow breath and will my muscles to relax. I focus the fear surging wildly through me to a laser point, listing all the different possible actions I could take. After a couple of minutes, I start drawing blanks and wonder if I'm even going to be able to make it back up the hill without being spotted. The knot gets larger, the ill feeling in the pit of my stomach growing more urgent. I try to calm myself again, but all I want to do is wretch. Then, my chance presents itself. A drunken Raider with an impressive mohawk stumbles to the guard at the front and begins speaking animatedly. I watch as the guard snatches the bottle out of the drunk's hand and a scuffle ensues.
As they tangle up, I sprint across those twenty feet like the wind. Don't look, don't stop. Run! Without waiting for confirmation of my successful run, I sneak across the paved street and press myself against the make-shift walls of the compound. Ten foot walls may hold up against large groups, but can be used to the advantage of a single infiltrator.
I follow the piled cars and twisted metal around to the back of the fort, directly across from the main entrance. I make note of a hole large enough to see the bonfire and continue towards the scrap yard. After a minute of searching, I find what I'm looking for. A section of cars piled just right, making it the ideal spot to climb over. I head towards the back of the compound and find the hole again. I judge the distance to the bonfire and pull out the "special" Nuka-Grenade from my pouch. Taking a few steps back, I heave it over the wall and start running. I'm almost at the scrap yard when a massive explosion erupts, knocking me off my feet and sending large chunks of metal flying through the air. Improved, no kidding...wonder what happens if someone actually drinks the stuff.
The thought is short-lived as I pick myself up and run, a weird chemical stink hanging in the air. Climbing over the twisted wreckage, I hear the first shot ring out quickly followed by a second and a third. I peek over the top of a burnt-out car and spot a sniper about 30 feet from me, crouched on a rooftop with his sight set to the north. I pull out a frag grenade and rip the pin, quickly surveying the chaotic scene of Raiders yelling orders at one another; their symphony echoing into the night. I lob the explosive on to the roof, getting it within a foot of the sniper, but he doesn't hear the telltale 'clink' over the commotion. Gore flies through the air as the roof caves in, followed by more screaming and yelling.
Dropping over the wall into a crouched position, a feeling of dread starts to fill my mind as I realize there's no gunplay. No time to worry about that, I've already crossed the point of no return. Pressing up against a wall of the caved-in building, I risk a look around the corner. Three Raiders are filing out of a house across main clearing, automatics in hand. I can hear them yelling, obviously still deaf from the blast, as I pull another grenade and release the pin; counting a full second before throwing.
The timing is perfect. The fist-sized harbinger of death explodes at chest-height right in the middle of their huddle, creating a bright display of smoldering limbs and crimson. All this free-flowing blood awakens a primal urge, threatening to cloud my judgment. I take another deep breath, taking more of the floating chemicals into my lungs. Have to focus on the moment. On survival.
My sprint to the next building is across ten feet of open ground and I hear the unmistakable sound of automatic gunfire to my right, bullets whizzing past my head. I dive, rolling to my feet behind the house as the gunman continues to spray lead into the metal frame. I can hear him laughing maniacally as he lets loose on the house, emptying an entire clip without changing positions. I quietly enter through the back door, sword in hand. I feel so full of energy I can't keep myself from shaking. My heart is racing, clouding my thinking. All I want to do is act. No plan. No strategy. Simply act.
"Focus!" I growl to myself angrily.
The first room is a mess of blood and limbs in various stages of decay. The stench is sour and metallic, the kind of smell that turns your stomach. To my right is a kitchen covered in more blood with severed limbs on the counters and used plates, pieces of still-poached gore on their forks. Half crouched, I move quietly to the next room looking for any sign of movement. All about are dirty mattresses, tattered clothing and empty bottles. A bathroom to my left is half filled with reeking filth and a heavy porcelain tub.
I crack the front door open and am greeted by a hail of bullets, sending bits of metal and wood everywhere. Where the fuck are you Simms? What the hell are you waiting for Sammy? Ducking into the bathroom, I check my pouches. My heart sinks as I wrap my fingers around a lone grenade. I'm checking the area for anything of use when the utter silence calls my attention. No gunfire, no footsteps, not even the usual taunting that Raiders are known for.
I creep back to the door and look through one of the larger holes. Standing out front is a Raider, flamethrower at the ready. I drop to the floor as a stream of fire and laughter burst through numerous bullet-sized openings. I instinctively roll towards the kitchen, fleeing from the intense heat and dripping flames. Thick, black smoke begins to fill the room as the ceiling and walls fuel the ravenous fire.
I can barely hear the Raiders laughing over my racing heart as the inferno grows larger, claiming everything in the front room. The small house filling with suffocating smoke, I look out the boarded up kitchen window and spot two Raiders, a man and a woman, with assault rifles too busy laughing to notice me.
I quickly grab a bloodied knife from the kitchen and check the door, not remembering if I pulled or pushed to get in. It opens out. You lucky bastard. A grin tugs at the corner of my lips in grim satisfaction at the thought of being able to die fighting.
Switching the knife to my right hand and the sword to my left, I stand in front of the door listening to the rising laughter of the two guarding my exit. I take a short, smoke-clogged breath and in a single motion kick the door open, throw the knife into the woman and roll at the remaining Raider. I stand up underneath the surprised man's rifle, the sharp metal sliding easily into the his exposed flesh.
His rifle clatters to the ground as the warm, sticky liquid oozes over my hand. The metallic smell exhilarates me, making my blood surge even faster. Looking deep into his eyes, something brings a smile to my face. Something very intimate and disturbing. I extract the slender blade, the Raider still too shocked to call out as he drops, unable to support his own weight.
He continues to mouth words as I kick the rifle out of his reach and swipe the sword across his throat, quickening his demise. Moving to my first victim, I struggle to free the knife from her face and snap the blade in the process. Tossing the handle aside, I make my way back towards the house with the caved-in roof. The fire in my veins begins to cool. My breathing slows again, matching the pace of my heart. I can still hear the ones out front, their laughter rising with the shooting flames as they watch the place burn.
I open the door, dust and dirt still heavy in the air. I climb over dead bodies and debris, stopping to finish off a trapped Raider. Finding a solid foothold, I hoist myself onto the precarious roof as quietly as possible. Finding a good position I raise my head a little and spot the four Raiders, including the one with the flamethrower, already drinking as they watch the beautiful spectacle. I reach for the remaining grenade and release the pin. Wanting to make it count, I take another look over the side and toss it.
As I watch my little minion of destruction fly through the air, the roof around me explodes into pieces of shrapnel with a cacophony of gunshots. I duck my head back, but can't avoid the sharp pain in my cheek and burning on my tongue. I spit out the hot metal, the blood flowing freely into my mouth sending me into a near frenzy. I struggle for control, barely fighting off the deep hunger to maintain my sanity. Then the grenade detonates, setting off the flamethrower's tank and sending me tumbling back into the house.