FOURTEEN - Sabotage
"Hey, Jacob – you still with us?"
Jacob immediately snapped back from his daydream – he was still fraught with worry, but the hope that he would soon be rescued continued to well up inside him. Hard to think that a few days ago, he was at the lowest of the low. His bruises had also healed up pretty well, and he guessed his face didn't look like a bruised tomato anymore.
"Sorry, I was miles away." he said to the group he was supposed to be participating in. It essentially consisted of himself, Doug and a few other slaves that they had been chatting with over the past few days.
"It's alright." replied Doug, repeatedly tossing a lump of plaster up with his hand while casually sat against the wall. If it wasn't for Jacobs's cards, the pair of them would have probably gone mad with boredom by now. Still, there were only so many hands you can deal before it begins to get tedious.
"Say, Jacob – what do you know about this 'Metzger' guy?" asked Doug.
Jacob gave a short laugh. "Our hate-hate relationship goes way back, he came from back west like me. Used to be the local authority of an entire town, more or less."
Doug whistled. "And you had the balls to screw with him?"
Jacob shrugged at what he guessed was a compliment. "The NCR was finally beginning to crack down on slavery anyway. I think his days are numbered."
That brought Jacob to a good point – why had the NCR let slavery run rampant for so long? From what he had learned, long before he was born Metzger's grasp used to extend to within sight the front gate of Shady Sands, with the NCR too lazy to even lift a finger. Downright shameful.
Come to think of it, the NCR were probably the reason why Metzger was in the Mojave in the first place. Talk about a hypocrite – he was running as well.
"Huh, I would come to the same conclusion myself - sounds like a pussy if you ask me. I mean… Metzger? Did his mother really call him that?"
Doug's joke earned him a few laughs, and Jacob smiled – morale was certainly high. He reminded himself not to get too self-assured though – Metzger may be old, but his iron fist was still strong.
Goris lay basking in the midday sun until the gate to his pen was opened, the unpleasant screeching sound rousing him from his doze. He lazily opened one eye in time to see a slaver hastily throw a few scraps of food in his direction before shutting the gate again. Goris yawned, and tried to piece together his dream. He remembered his childhood spent on the Enclave oil rig, imprisoned not dissimilar to what was happening to him right now. He didn't know why he even bothered. It wasn't like he had 'normal' dreams anymore – the post-traumatic stress from what he had been through had taken care of that.
Fighting back a surge of anger, he reminded himself that he needed to be patient - if he had let his feral side take over on that oil rig, he would have been slaughtered. Instead his people had bided their time, waiting for the right moment to finally escape. No, he wasn't going to bite the hand that fed him… yet.
Grudgingly rising to a crouch, he slowly took a piece of raw meat and began to chew. He guessed that the saying could be taken literally as well as figuratively – if you could call it feeding him at all. Whether by accident or design, he was barely being fed more than the humans here, and it just wasn't enough. He weighed several times as much as one and was far taller – surely it was obvious?
Thankfully all the slaves were inside – they all still didn't want to go near him. As much as he disliked being left out like this, he also didn't like the thought of people watching him eat; his mouth was not really designed with etiquette in mind. Very strange, being born into a human world – was he human, or an abomination?
Goris pushed the thought to the back of his mind while wiping the blood off his chin. Those thoughts only served to confuse him. Rising off his knees, he began pacing. Risking a look through the fence, he caught this 'Troy' character strutting around as usual. It was as if this invertebrate thought it was above him? Ask no question, retribution will be sweet.
Yet again, Goris had to fight to keep his bloodlust in check. "I am not a monster." he quietly growled to himself, sitting back down. What would Gruthar have done in this situation? Sure, he was the strongest Deathclaw he had ever known, but he was also thoroughly against violence in any shape or form. Maybe that was his fatal flaw? Goris had learned the hard way that sometimes, some people just need to die.
Long ago, he would never have thought of these things. He had simply lived his cosy life in Vault 13, thinking the Enclave and their evil intentions were far behind him. He was the pack alpha's eldest son, on the cusp of adulthood – 'the world was his oyster' he believed the saying went.
Snorting in frustration, Goris laid down on his back again, stretching out his legs and tail. He remembered reading about oysters somewhere, having never seen one before. He figured the strange, shell-like things were probably long extinct – another species banished into history by the hands of man. From what he had gathered from his studies, humans found them a delicacy of sorts, being hidden away underwater and protected by a hard shell. He could only imagine what they tasted like – humans seemed to have enjoyed them, at least.
He also read that humans found the 'pearls' from inside their shells very valuable. Goris didn't fully understand humanity's materialistic nature, but he guessed that was where the saying came from.
However, if there was even the remotest chance of them still being alive, he wasn't too keen on going to look for them. For reasons Goris never understood, he hated the thought of swimming in large spans of water. Probably because he couldn't swim to save his life, but the point still stands.
He certainly didn't mind looking at water – his scholarly trips to San Francisco and along the coast allowed him to see the seemingly-unending ocean reaching off into the horizon. He actually found it quite relaxing, a perfect backdrop on which to philosophise. Many times he had simply sat on the beach and stared out towards the horizon, musing. Having been alone for so long, thinking was something he did very often – as his body weakened with age, his mind only grew stronger. Come to mention it, that's what he was doing right now.
Closing his eyes with a deep sigh, he hoped that Alex will come back to free them soon.
Jacob sat towards the fence, peering through at the slaver scum on the other side. He wanted to know every single weakness to exploit by the time help arrived, but there was only so much he could surmise from the confines of his detention. He could clearly see the minigun-wielding slaver at his post on top of a raised platform, but that was obvious. The slavers wanted him there for all to see in case the slaves got any ideas.
Examining the compound, he could see two other buildings besides the one linked to his pen. One of them was the building that Jacob was dragged out of a few days ago, and another was what he presumed to be a storage building of some kind. He had seen some of the slavers come out with boxes of ammunition occasionally, so he was certain it was an ammo dump as well. Right now there was a slaver standing beside the door, smoking a cigarette with a rifle hanging from a strap slung over his shoulder.
Deep in thought, Jacob found a plan begin to come together. Sure, Alex and Kate will hopefully arrive with help, but it was almost certain somebody was going to get killed by the slavers when it finally happened. He just needed to get to that building and back without getting caught.
"Hey, what's up?"
Jacob was suddenly roused from his thoughts with a start, and quickly snapped his head round to face Doug, who was walking across the pen towards him.
"Afternoon, Doug." Jacob shakily replied, beginning to regain his composure; the paranoia since Alex's appearance was beginning to set in.
"What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost." asked Doug, casually sitting down next to him.
"Nothing." replied Jacob, hesitating before adding in a hushed whisper: "I think I have a plan."
Doug suddenly began to grin madly, and Jacob wondered if the potential danger had even got to him. "Let's hear it." came his short reply.
Despite the optimistic start, as Jacob explained his plan he couldn't help but notice the ever-so slight cynical quality appear in his voice and face. Hopefully his idea wasn't that mad, but you do funny things when you're desperate.
"It's a crazy idea, Jacob." Doug finally said, leaning back on his elbows with a sigh. "What if they catch you?"
Doug's uninspiring reply didn't dent Jacob's resolve. He had to do this. If Alex or Kate died because of him, he would never be able to live with himself. All he needed was a diversion…
Night had fallen, and Jacob had still refused to go inside - there was no way he would be able to sneak out in broad daylight. Shivering, he braved the cold and waited: all the while looking vigilantly for the smallest window of opportunity to show itself.
It wasn't until he was about to give up out of fear of hypothermia when he was finally rewarded. Jacob spied the minigun-wielding slaver stride across the yard, calling something about radscorpions to the slaver guarding the storage building. After a brief exchange, the hesitant guard was then led away from the door and across the compound, out of sight. By this time Jacob had already entered the slave quarters, and was rousing Doug.
"Doug, wake up! It's now or never." hissed Jacob, hurriedly grabbing his shoulder. Doug awoke in an instant, and was quickly on his feet.
"Right." said Doug, surprisingly nervously. He then began striding towards the door, while fishing out a pair of long, thin pieces of metal out of the pocket of his leather jacket. Jacob followed him out into the crisp night air, shaking with nerves. There was no telling what would happen if the slavers caught him, but it wasn't going to be painless.
Sneaking across to the gate just to be sure, Doug started the process of picking the gate's padlock. Jacob crouched next to him, glad to have his expertise on his side – Jacob's lockpicking skills left little to be desired.
After a few tense moments, the padlock sprang open with a neat 'click', signalling the turn that Jacob had been dreading. Forcing himself to man up, he sneaked through the gate; earning a good-luck nod from Doug before he closed it behind him.
Jacob had barely taken his first few steps when he suddenly heard the distant sound of gunfire from outside the courtyard, instinctively dropping flat on his stomach. He heard the sound rise in a crescendo, followed by the unmistakeable roar of the minigun. Hopefully they were going to be kept busy for a while.
Certain that the shots weren't aimed at him; Jacob got to his feet again and continued creeping across the deserted compound under the cover of darkness, darting from cover to cover. The distraction was working its magic for now at least, but he only had a few minutes. Would his plan work? There were so many variables, so many things that could go wrong. However, Jacob fought back his doubts – there was no going back now.
Having finally reached the now-unguarded door, he prayed as he quietly pushed it open. Once he was confident there were no slavers in the same room, he began attempting to keep his breathing in check again.
He hurried to the shelves of ammunition that he had spotted from across the room, and set about his plan. Grabbing the heavy dry storage boxes, he began emptying their contents wherever he could, hidden away from the unknowing eye. Returning to the shelves, he set about another set of boxes, with the word "blanks" carelessly scrawled on the sides.
Opening it up, he began to fill all the magazines he could find with them, although he had to leave a single live round at the top just in case a particularly observant slaver noticed; the bullet at the top of the magazine was visible, and blanks looked too different to risk it. The compromise wasn't what Jacob wanted, but it was a compromise he had to make.
His numb hands continued to work frantically, knowing he didn't have much time. At any moment now, a slaver could walk through the door. Either that, or maybe they were waiting on the outside for him? The thought didn't bear thinking about.
As he pushed the final bullet home, he didn't think he could set it back down on the shelf faster if he tried. Jacob then rushed across the room again, almost slipping on the bullets that he had clumsily dropped on the floor a few seconds before.
Expecting the sinking feeling of dread that could follow opening the door, Jacob found that his luck was still holding. Repeating the same process of darting from cover to cover, he risked a glance towards the front gate to find that an enormous group of slavers were on their way back. Thankfully they didn't look like they had noticed him, but it rattled him all the same.
Fighting the panic that was welling up inside him, Jacob made his way back to the pen with Doug on the other side watching his every move.
Jacob dived through the gap that had been opened for him, with Doug quickly snapping the padlock shut. "You are one crazy bastard!" he said in awe as Jacob lay panting on the ground. "Did it work?"
Jacob gave a breathless nod, simultaneously running a hand through his hair. "I can only hope." he managed to whisper, just moments before the slavers appeared into view.
"Kickin' ass as usual, Gunner!" said one, towards the minigun-wielding slaver.
"It's a living." he casually replied.
"Alright, alright – let's just get rearmed and back on post before Metzger gets pissed." said an impatient Troy, while heading towards the storage building.
Jacob returned to a hero's welcome once he was back at the slave quarters, with people enthusiastically congratulating him in quiet celebration. Feeling the nerves dissipate from his body to be replaced with relief, Jacob couldn't help but grin. Had he redeemed himself? Not really. But it was at least a start.