12. The Starlight Vigil

MacCready rescues Preston and a pair of brothers from an angry group of settlers.

MacCready yawned heavily as he leaned against the side of the shack he'd just finished building. When he'd told Preston that he wasn't a huge fan of manual labor, the Colonel had seemed to take that as a challenge rather than a statement of fact. At least the Gunners had never made MacCready spend an entire day tying chicken wire to fence posts to make a brahmin pen. His fingers still ached from yesterday's project, and he hoped that the pain wouldn't affect his ability to shoot too much. After all, a sniper was only as good as his hands and his eyes.

Still, the mercenary had to admit that they'd accomplished quite a lot over the last week or so. The first few days were just dedicated to the two men hauling burnt-out husks of twisted metal out of the parking lot. Then, they'd set up a few rows of tato plants and carrots near the future town's workbench. Now, finally, they had completed a few simple buildings to provide shelter for any settlers who decided to live there. It wasn't much, but it was definitely a start. MacCready was beginning to understand Preston's enthusiasm for Starlight as a settlement site. It really did have a lot of promise.

Preston wandered up next to him, grinning. "Well, Mac, I guess you're more handy than you let on. Good work."

"I really need to start charging by the hour," MacCready replied with a dramatic groan. "Between you and that General of yours, Preston, I'm feeling really taken advantage of."

The minuteman laughed. "You know, Myra said the same thing when we started working together. I suppose next you'll be telling me that you've got to go find your missing son, and then I won't see you again."

MacCready frowned. "Missing son?"

Preston's eyes widened. "Oh, damn. I shouldn't have said that. It's...well, it's the General's business."

The mercenary thought back to the woman he'd met in Goodneighbor. She hadn't struck him as the maternal type. Then again, if the rumors he'd heard about her were true…

"You're right," he replied with a shrug. "It's none of my business. I was just curious, since you brought it up."

Preston sighed in relief. "For a second there, I thought you were going to drag it out of me."

MacCready rolled his eyes. "What do I look like, an old woman? Come on, pal." He pulled a can of purified water out of his bag, taking a large gulp from the white canister. "I've got enough problems without worrying about anyone else's," he continued, offering the can to Preston.

The Colonel shook his head, respectfully refusing the offered beverage. "No thanks, Mac. I've got to run down to Lexington. Last time I was there, there was a pretty good scrap heap that might have what we need to finish the water purifier. I'd like to get the recruitment beacon active by tomorrow, and we can't be asking people to move here without a source of water."

"Do you want me to come with you? Lexington's not the safest place to travel alone."

Preston shook his head once more. "No, you need to stay here. We can't leave a site like this unguarded, or someone might take it over before we get back. I don't know about you, but I'm not keen on someone else taking credit for all our hard work."

MacCready grinned. "Well, if that's how you want to play things, then sure. I'll try to get a few more things done while you're gone, maybe find some straw for bedding."

"Sounds good. I'll be back in a few hours." Preston tipped his hat to the mercenary before pulling his pack back over one shoulder, his laser musket slung across the other. "If anyone from Sanctuary comes looking for me, you can tell them the same."

"You'd better be back before that happens," MacCready shot back, "or they'll probably just assume I shot you and took your stuff."

The minuteman chuckled. "I'll do my best." He took one last look about the future settlement with a satisfied smile, and made his way down the road, the shattered buildings in the distance marking his way.

MacCready wasted little time in getting to work. With Preston off his back, he was finally able to get things done without worrying that every little thing he did would be scrutinized. To say that the minuteman irritated him would be going a bit far, but MacCready certainly had never been a fan of being bossed around.

Still, he'd met more than his share of micro-managers over the years. Hell, his best friend was the queen of micro-managers. She'd been ordering him around since the day they'd met. But there was respect there, an understanding that their friendship was always more important than pride. MacCready hadn't gotten there with Preston, at least not yet. As far as he was concerned, the minuteman had yet to prove his salt.

All the same, MacCready didn't dislike Preston. The guy seemed sincere, and that was a rare trait in the people that the sniper usually found himself working for. If Preston could just learn to let other people have their own opinions, their own ways of solving problems, he would actually be a pretty decent guy.

The mercenary took one more swig from his can of water before setting it down on the counter of the old diner. He climbed the steps to the projection booth where he'd squirreled away bits of electronics and other more valuable salvage. It was never a smart idea to leave that stuff out in the open.

Once he'd gathered what he needed and shoved the scrap into a large canvas sack, MacCready dragged his components with him across the parking lot towards the old movie screen. It'd be easier to move the turrets into position now before they were assembled, and he was determined to finish fortifying the top of the screen.

"That can wait, he says," the mercenary muttered under his breath as he attached the bundle of scrap to a pulley system he'd rigged on their first full day at Starlight. "We've got to build the farm first, he says. Well, no time like the present."

With the pulley in place, it was easy for him to lift the heavy sack of steel and electronics to the platform above. He tied off the rope quickly, then raced up the steps, snagging the bag from the railing with a triumphant grin. It looked like all of Joseph's stupid science classes actually ended up teaching MacCready something useful. Who knew?

Even though MacCready knew his way around most guns, turrets proved to be another beast altogether. A few times, he came pretty close to blowing his arm off as he wrestled with a few of the more temperamental components. How had those idiots in the Gunners managed to make this look so easy? Most of them couldn't even tie their own shoes without Winlock or Barnes telling them how, and the two commanders weren't exactly a brain trust either. So what secret knowledge did they have that the sniper didn't?

Eventually, after hours of jury-rigging and near-cussing, MacCready managed to build a few functional heavy gun turrets. He placed them at regular intervals along the top of the screen, wiping his greasy hands on his trousers as he stepped back and admired his handiwork. By the time he was satisfied with their placement, the sun had almost finished its descent. MacCready frowned. Preston should have been back by now. Something must have happened.

With the turrets operational, MacCready rationalized, it would probably be fine for him to leave Starlight for a while. The sniper climbed back down from his perch on top of the movie screen, grabbing a few extra bullets from an ammo container on his way and tucking them into his pack, just in case. He hated traveling at night, but he couldn't ignore the growing worry that gnawed at him as he loped towards Lexington, his eyes scanning for any sign of Preston's whereabouts.

If something terrible had happened to the Colonel, MacCready knew that he'd be blamed for it. All people would see was one more Gunner who decided to turn on the Minutemen. Whether he liked it or not, Preston was his responsibility.

It didn't take long before MacCready caught the scent of smoke on the air, and his pulse quickened as he noticed a flickering glow on the horizon, dancing flames in the darkness outside Mystic Pines Retirement Home. He clung to the shadows, creeping around towards the back of the building. As he drew closer, he began to hear angry voices from the front of the structure.

"They're fucking synths, man!" cried a gruff, masculine voice. "Don't you know what that means?"

"I swear, we're human!" whimpered another, softer voice. "How many times do we have to tell you, we weren't spying on you. We didn't think anyone else was living here."

"But this is our property!" spit a furious woman. "Which makes you synths and trespassers."

"You don't have any proof that these people are synths, and they haven't actually taken anything from you," urged a familiar voice. "Everyone just calm down, lower your weapons, and let's talk this out."

"Like hell!" growled another voice, feral and hungry. "We don't answer to you, minuteman. This is a free settlement, and we got every right to defend ourselves from these...things."

MacCready had climbed up the fire escape and now carefully stretched prone on the edge of the roof, looking down on the scene below. Two young men, neither much older than twenty, lay on the broken pavement, bound and beaten. One was barely conscious, moaning in pain with his eyes scrunched shut. Blood oozed from a large cut hidden among a tangle of dark curls, painting ghoulish patterns across his tanned face. The other stared up at their attackers, his deep brown eyes wide in terror.

Six or seven people stood in a semicircle around the pair, torches and various makeshift weapons clutched in their hands. In front of the small mob was a large man, bear-like in his posture. And there, his laser musket pointed directly at the massive man's chest, was Preston. The minuteman glared at the apparent leader, barely-controlled rage burning behind his eyes. "I said back the hell up," Preston snarled, "and put your weapons down so we can talk about this!"

The man's face twisted with malice as he spat his reply at Preston. "It's too late for that, you bastard!" the man howled, and MacCready recognized him as the first voice he'd heard. "We've gotta kill them. It's the only way to be sure."

The crowd shouted in agreement, brandishing their weapons.

"You gotta help us," whined the conscious prisoner to Preston. "Please. I swear, my brother and I haven't done anything wrong."

"Don't worry," said Preston, as calmly as he could manage. "We're going to get out of this."

The giant laughed, brandishing a large tire iron with a knife attached to the crook. "I'm only going to tell you one more time, minuteman. Leave, and let us handle this, or you're gonna die with them. 'Cause I don't know how you all feel, but I think the only thing worse than a fucking synth is a fucking synth sympathizer."

The crowd pressed forward, screaming insults at Preston, who glared back at them defiantly.

"Well," the Colonel retorted, "I've almost died before for worse reasons. I'm warning you, though. Unlike these poor kids you beat up, I know how to fight back. I don't want to hurt anyone, and if you go home now, I promise, I won't come after you."

MacCready rolled his eyes. Of all the stupid...was Preston seriously trying to bluff his way out of this? Couldn't he see that these people were beyond reason? To his surprise, however, a few of the crowd lowered their weapons. Their leader seemed to be as shocked by this development as MacCready was.

"What, losing your fucking nerve already?" the huge beast of a man bellowed. "You really think we can't take this guy? Well, fine. I guess I'll just finish the job myself."

As the man raised his weapon, preparing to slash town at Preston, MacCready gently eased back the trigger on his sniper rifle. The giant toppled backwards, a crimson flower blossoming on his forehead as he thudded, lifeless, to the ground. A few of the crowd screamed, and several people fled, tearing through the night back into the city.

Preston took aim at another man as he charged at him, catching him square in the chest with a laser round. The man gasped in pain as his body disintegrated, leaving nothing but ash. That was enough to convince the remaining members of the crowd to leave, and they dispersed quickly like rats into a sewer.

MacCready reloaded his gun, aiming for one of the stragglers.

"Let them go, Mac," Preston commanded, looking up at him. "They've learned their lesson."

MacCready sighed, lowering his weapon and hopping down from his perch, dusting himself off. "Maybe they have. But have you?"

"If you mean that I shouldn't go scavving without backup," Preston replied, offering his hand to MacCready, "then the answer's yes. Thanks for showing up when you did."

MacCready shook the Colonel's hand with a smirk. "Hey, I told you, if I let you die, I'm the one who your guys are gonna blame. I don't need another bounty on my head, that's for sure."

Preston turned his attention to the captives, hastily cutting their bonds with his knife. "Hey, are you ok to walk?" he asked the more conscious of the pair.

The young man nodded. "Yeah, I think so. But Dov...he's not."

"No problem. We can carry him. It's not that far back to our settlement."

MacCready frowned. "Preston, are you sure? I mean, what if they really are...you know…not human?"

Preston sighed. "Does it really matter? Look at them. They're hurt, scared, and they need our help. You said you wanted to learn how to be one of the good guys. This is what good guys do."

"Maybe that's why there are so few of them left," the mercenary replied, hoisting one of the unconscious man's arms around his shoulder. "Grab his other side, will you? We're gonna have to move quickly if we want to get out of here in one piece." He turned to the battered young man, tossing him a pipe pistol. "You ever fire one of these, pal?"

The young man shook his head. "I'm not really a fan of guns," he said nervously, holding the improvised weapon as if it were about to bite him.

MacCready rolled his eyes. "Well, one of us has to be ready to fend off an attack, and unless you're up for lugging your brother, that's gonna have to be you. Seriously, it's easy. Point the shooty end at your target, not yourself or us, and pull the trigger. A baby could use that gun."

"Uh...um…" muttered the young man, quivering.

Preston glared at MacCready before turning his attention to the frightened man. "Hey, it's ok. What's your name?"

"Zev," managed the younger man. "Zev Stern. I'm...I'm sorry. I'm not used to all of this. Dov's always been the fighter."

Preston nodded, grabbing the bladed tire iron off the ground next to the massive man's corpse. He wiped the blood off of it delicately before handing it to the young man. "Here, use this instead. It's not pretty, but it'll be enough protection for now. You can give that gun back to MacCready, if you want."

The mercenary shook his head. "No, keep it. When your wounds heal, I'll teach you how to use it. I can't believe you've gotten to be this old without knowing how to use a gun. No wonder those guys thought you were a synth."

Zev blushed, sliding the pipe pistol into his belt. "Thanks. I'm really sorry about all of this."

MacCready snorted. "You can apologize when we're safe. Come on, Preston. I'd prefer to get back before the local ghoul population gets curious."

Preston grabbed Dov's other arm, and the four men began to move slowly but steadily back towards Starlight.


A few hours later, after he'd thrown together some food for the others, MacCready entered one of the makeshift huts he'd built. Preston had temporarily converted the small wooden shelter into a clinic for the Stern brothers as he did his best to patch their wounds.

The minuteman knelt beside a lumpy straw mattress, wringing his handkerchief out in a small pot of boiled water. He gently wiped the blood and filth from Dov's face. The young man groaned as the hot, wet cloth brushed over his wounds.

Zev sat nearby, his doe-like eyes a thousand miles away. The man's lips were drawn in a tight grimace as he wrung his hands nervously, the bladed tire iron laying unused by his feet. They'd gotten lucky.

"How are they, Preston?" asked MacCready. "Are we gonna need to amputate anything?"

"Well, they'll both live with all their limbs still attached," the Colonel replied, "so that's the good news."

"And the bad news?"

Preston sighed. "I've done what I can for Dov, but they really did a number on his shoulder. I'm not sure he'll ever be able to lift his arm all the way again."

Zev whimpered at the news. "Damn it, Dov. I'm so sorry. You should have left me behind."

Preston placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Zev, your brother obviously loves you a lot. I'm sure he'll just be grateful that you're ok."

The young man's shoulders slumped. "But it was all my fault. I'm the one who said we should set up camp in that building. Dov said we should keep heading north, towards that Sanctuary place we've been hearing about on the radio. I was tired, and just wanted a place to rest. If I'd only been stronger, none of this would have happened."

MacCready felt a pang in his heart as he watched the young man struggle with the consequences of his own frailty. How many times had the mercenary felt the same way, watching the lives of the people he cared about most in the world run like dust through his fingers? If he'd have only kept a closer eye on Zip...if he'd have taken the time to adequately scout those metro tunnels...if he'd spent more time playing with Duncan instead of letting him fend for himself while the sniper drank his pain away…

The mercenary frowned, eyeing the battered young man next to him. "Come on, Zev. I could use your help with the stew."

The young man eyed him in shock. "But shouldn't I stay here?"

MacCready shook his head. "Your brother's resting. Come on. I want to talk to you for a minute, and I really could use an extra hand."

Slowly, Zev followed him out of the hut and over towards the cooking fire. It was a simple setup, just a large iron pot hanging over a carefully-maintained campfire, but MacCready was proud of it. It had been a long time since he'd had a hearth even this nice to work with. Maybe he'd add a little clay oven eventually, if he could find enough clay to make it. It'd be nice to have bread again.

MacCready eased the lid off the pot with a hooked piece of rebar he'd fashioned, smiling to himself as the rich, bubbling stew came into view. It wasn't his best work, just a simple mix of molerat, tato, carrot, and the last of his supply of salt. He'd need to find more soon, but like hell was he going to make stew without salt in it. He wasn't a monster.

MacCready handed an empty bowl to Zev, ladling a portion of the stew into it. "Taste that," he said, "and tell me if it needs anything."

The nervous young man pulled a small sample of the rich red broth to his mouth, blowing on it gently before tasting it. His eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly grabbed another mouthful. "Holy crap, this is good!"

"So it doesn't need anything?" MacCready asked.

"You made this?" Zev asked. "Really?"

The sniper nodded. "It wasn't hard. I could teach you, if you want."

The younger man smiled nervously. "I'd like that. No offense, I just…you don't really look like you'd be a good cook."

MacCready sighed. "Everyone always says that. I'm not sure why. I'm pretty great at a lot of things. Why's it so strange that cooking's one of them?"

Zev chuckled nervously. "Well, I can't speak for everyone, but...I mean, you're kind of…thin?"

"You mean I'm scrawny," MacCready muttered grumpily. "Yeah, I know. Hey, if you'd spent the first sixteen years of your life living on cave fungus, you'd be small too, ok? It's not my fault."

"I really didn't...sorry for bringing it up," said Zev.

MacCready shook his head. "Hey, no. Don't get upset. I asked. I just wish 'scrawny' wasn't the first word people used to describe me, ok? It...it gets old."

Zev smiled shyly at him. "I understand. I get tired of people calling me useless, too. People always tell Dov that, and I guess it's true, but it still bugs me. Bugs him, too, I guess, since he usually punches whoever said it. It's one of the reasons we haven't found a place to stay in a long while." The young man sighed. "I guess I really am just a burden to him after all."

"Look, pal," MacCready said softly, "what happened with your brother...these things happen. The important thing is that you're both alive. If you're still alive, then there's still hope, right?"

Zev thought for a moment, fiddling with the clasp on his threadbare jacket. After a while, he nodded. "You're right. We'll make it through this. We always do. Even after our parents died, Dov always managed to keep us going. 'Sterns don't give up,' he says."

"Yeah, sure," muttered MacCready in reply. "Just, if you feel like you aren't doing enough to help your brother out, maybe this is a wake-up call. If you're tired of being weak and useless, change it. You can be someone he can depend on, right?"

Zev sighed. "Look, I know I'm pretty useless. I always have been. If it wasn't for Dov, I'd be dead."

"But it doesn't have to be that way," MacCready chided. "If there's one thing I learned early on in my life, it's that everyone has some way they can contribute. You might never be a good farmer, or a strong leader. You might not be good at building things, or fighting monsters. But there's gotta be something you're good at. You just have to find it. The only really useless people are the people who never try."

"I guess you're right," the young man said with a sigh. "But how can I figure that out?"

"You can start by helping out around here," called a voice from behind them. Both men turned, startled, to see Preston watching them. "I've got to say, Mac," the minuteman continued, "I never took you for the inspirational speech type."

"Didn't I tell you, Preston?" he replied, "I used to be a mayor."

"I really can't picture that," Preston replied. "Who the hell would ever put you in charge of anything?"

"Well, my constituents were all under the age of 16, so…"

Preston chuckled. "That makes a hell of a lot more sense." He turned to Zev. "Anyway, what do you say? You and your brother are welcome to live here, as long as you promise to work hard and help anyone who needs it."

"Really?" asked Zev, his dark eyes brightening. "You mean it?"

"Well, Starlight's not much of a settlement without settlers," Preston replied. "Besides, I have a feeling that the two of you would make excellent minutemen."

"I've been meaning to ask," said Zev, "what's a minuteman?"

MacCready groaned, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his duster pocket and lighting one. Preston really had his work cut out for him with this one, that was for sure. "You hungry, Preston? There's plenty of stew."

"What's in it?" the minuteman asked, frowning. "You'd better not say mole rat, or I swear…"

"It's the last of it, ok? After this, we can eat something else. Besides, the kid says it's good."

Zev nodded. "It's really tasty, actually."

Preston heaved a great sigh, sitting down by the fire and warming his hands. "Fine. But after this, I don't ever want to even see another mole rat, is that clear?"

MacCready chuckled. "Hey, I'm not the one who hired me to kill a couple dozen of the hairless bas...um, jerks. Next time, you could pick a settlement with a radstag infestation, you know."

"And give you an easy day's work?" snorted Preston. "Nah. I'm thinking yao guai next."

"You son of a…" moaned MacCready, scowling as the minuteman laughed heartily. "Don't even think about it. Squirrels, or no deal."

"You sure you want to hunt squirrels?" Zev asked. "They're really fast."

MacCready smirked. "I'm faster."

"That...that must be from all the...running away you're always doing," Preston retorted, breathless from laughter. Zev cracked up, reaching for the ladle to pour more soup in his bowl. MacCready smacked his hand away playfully.

"If you two are just going to make fun of me," he replied with a sardonic grin, "then I guess you'll just have to find your own food. I'm sorry, Zev, but that'll probably be your job. Preston here believes in 'delegating,' which really means that he makes other people do his job for him."

Preston rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, MacCready. You can do better than that."

The three of them traded barbs and stories until the fire began to die down, at which point, MacCready stood, filling a clean bowl with stew and handing it to Zev.

"Here, take this to your brother. Even if he can't eat it yet, I'm sure he'll be glad to have you close by."

The younger man nodded, walking carefully back towards the hut. MacCready turned to Preston, frowning slightly. "So how bad is his brother, really?"

Preston sighed. "It's hard to tell. I'm not a doctor. But with the stimpacks, we shouldn't have to worry about too much. I'm just worried about that head wound. Those can be...tricky."

MacCready groaned. "Great. What do we tell Zev?"

"We'll just have to see what happens," Preston replied. "If we're lucky, everything will be fine, and Dov will be exactly the way he remembers when he wakes up."

"And if we aren't?"

"I'm not sure," sighed Preston. "Here's hoping it doesn't come to that."

MacCready nodded, clamping the lid back on his cooking pot a little more forcefully than he'd intended. "Yeah. Here's hoping."