The ruins of Indianapolis shone in the light of the Moon as John and Smith stood their watch. The caravan had increased its pace as they approached the city, doing everything in their power to make it past the raider den as quickly as possible. They hadn't succeeded, though, and the area was so dangerous that it necessitated a stronger than normal guard. Fawkes could stand watch alone, and Gale and Bonzo were nowhere near as proficient as Smith and John at fighting; and so the three best combatants had opted to split the watches amongst themselves. Fawkes required little rest, so the two humans had offered to stand watch first. Nearby, under the wagon, Gale had laid out her sleeping mat, John's Regulator duster serving as her blanket. Bonzo lay stretched out on the bench of the wagon, and Fawkes had simply fallen asleep leaned against the wagon wheel. John adjusted his rifle before pacing the length of the wagon to where Smith stood. The man had begun to come out of his shell more and more, particularly since Gale had joined their party. As he did, John had begun to wonder how he had failed to notice the man earlier. Smith had a talent, it seemed, for making himself appear unremarkable at first. As John looked at Smith in the Moonlight, he wondered, not for the first time, how the man had learned to blend in. Everything about him-his odd accent, his size, the weapon he carried-stood out. He had avoided answering most of Gale's questions, managing to escape with a cursory explanation that he was from a small village in the West but called New Reno home now. He had been no more forthcoming about his personal life, to the point that John didn't even know the man's age. If forced to guess, he would estimate as young as 40, but possibly as old as his father would have been. And something else, an indescribable vibe the man gave off, said he could be as old as the Wasteland itself. Smith raising the night sight on his rifle brought John to alert, readying his own rifle in response to the movement.
"What is it?" John whispered as Smith scanned the area.
"Movement," he replied. "I think we may have compa-" Smith was cut off by the staccato sound of gunfire, directed at them.
"Shit!" John yelled as rounds impacted at his feet. He shouldered his rifle and unloaded a burst in the direction of the muzzle flashes, searching for some sort of cover as he did. The initiation of the fire had been enough to awake the rest of the party, Fawkes roaring to his feet as he shouldered his Gatling laser and began to unload a withering amount of fire. John dropped to the ground and saw Gale, death-gripping the pistol he had given her.
"Gale, cover that way!" He yelled as she stared, wide eyed, before nodding in acknowledgement and rolling out from under the wagon to cover their backs. Turning back to the fight, he realized Smith was gone; his shape fading into the night as he raced toward the positions they were being fired upon from. He knew, instinctively, that it was the correct move. Take the initiative away from the enemy. "Fawkes, protect the wagon!" he yelled over the hum of the mutant's weapon. Fawkes bellowed an acknowledgement as John raced forward, following Smith into the night.
Amata sat next to Susie on the overlook outside Vault 101, the light of the Moon casting a white glow over the Capital Wasteland. The air was still and hot, and Amata welcomed the change it brought from the recycled air of the Vault. Amata had felt more trapped than usual after Susie had returned from Megaton with a package for her. One look at the handwriting had given away the sender-it was JJ's neat print. She had sat alone in her quarters, reading the small journal; part love letter, part account of his trip to a place called Coalseam. Amata's hope that she would be able to get a message to JJ had been dashed by Susie, who had told her that the journal had been posted more than two weeks before. By now they would be far away from the town it had been sent from.
Susie telling her that had effectively crushed the faint hope Amata had held onto, the hope that she would be able to let JJ know she was pregnant. She knew now that, support from Susie and Elliot aside, she would have to go through the next 8 months alone. That thought had opened the door to all her other anxieties about being pregnant and being a mother; the knowledge that JJ's mother had died in childbirth doing nothing to ease her fears. It had rapidly led to Amata feeling as if she was on the verge of a panic attack; and she had decided that getting out of the Vault, even momentarily, would be the best course to clear her mind. She had found Susie and together they had sat outside as the sun had set, Amata telling Susie about the contents of the journal. The moon had risen by the time they had talked about everything it had said, and they found themselves sitting in silence. Finally, Susie addressed the elephant in the room, as they looked out towards the ruins of D.C.
"Any preference on boy or girl?" Susie asked. Amata smiled at the thought.
"No. Not really, as long as it's healthy. I've got this feeling, though, that it's a girl."
"Why do you think that?" Amata shrugged in response.
"I dunno. Just a feeling," she replied. Susie looked at her, raising a questioning eyebrow.
"Thought of any names?" she asked. That drew a proper laugh from Amata.
"Yeah, a few. I thought maybe name it after our parents," Amata replied.
"You'd name the baby after your dad? After what he said?" Susie immediately asked. Amata felt a twist in her stomach at the memory. She had told Susie about how her conversation with her father had gone.
"No," she said. "I meant if it's a girl-Catherine Maria doesn't sound too bad, does it?" Susie smiled.
"Has a nice ring to it. What about a boy?"
"Maybe James. I think JJ would like that," Amata replied. The conversation fell silent as they sat, enjoying the peace of the night. Finally, they rose to return to the Vault. Amata looked up at the Moon one last time as they did. It occurred to her that it was something humanity hadn't managed to destroy. It still shone its light on the Earth, the same as it had for the entirety of human existence. Somewhere, she realized, JJ could be looking up at the same Moon. And so Amata bid the Moon to be her relay; to tell her distant love that he was still with her, no matter how far he went. The creak of the wooden door opening drew Amata back to reality. With a final glance at the outside would, she made her way back into the Vault.
Reilly silently fumed as she crossed the courtyard of the Citadel, Brick and Butch following her closely. She'd had low expectations for her meeting with the Brotherhood leadership, and even those expectations hadn't been met. The Brotherhood had flat out refused to give them energy weapons, which she had expected. They had also refused the supplies Reilly had requested, which struck her as vaguely selfish; and when she had begun to explain why she thought the raiders had attacked, Elder Lyons had rather icily dismissed her. The final part had been what pushed Reilly over the edge. She had stormed from the Citadel proper with Brick and Butcher, back to the squad they had left in the courtyard. The squad rose to their feet as the trio approached, falling in behind Reilly to begin the trek back to the Ranger compound. Her temper began to cool as they made their way from the Citadel and back into D.C. itself. Brick and Butcher had wisely backed off, letting Reilly calm down before they tried to address what had happened. The unballing of her fists and a slowing in her pace were their signs that it was safe to talk.
"So what's the plan, boss?" Brick drawled out. Reilly thought for a moment. If the Brotherhood didn't want to play ball, maybe there was someone else that would.
"We're going to make a detour and stop by the GNR building. If the Brotherhood doesn't care what we think, maybe Three-Dog will," Reilly responded.
"You sure that's a good idea, Reilly?" Butcher asked, concern evident in his voice. "GNR has a pretty decent Brotherhood guard stationed at it." Reilly nodded in acknowledgement, the Moon bright enough to see everything by.
"Worst that happens is they tell us to get lost," she began, "but we're still technically on good terms with Three-Dog. And who knows, maybe he still believes his 'Good Fight' bullshit. Either way, he's our best chance to warn the people," Reilly finished as she set a course for GNR. Brick and Butcher's silence served as their acquiescence to her plan; both well aware of how stubborn Reilly was when she set her mind to something. The group made their way unmolested through the streets and abandoned Metro tunnels, the silence a far cry from that day, years before, when Reilly and her crew had first met the Wanderer.
The memory of that day was pushed from Reilly's mind as they emerged from the Metro and back onto the streets. Reilly recognized the place, having been there before; and she knew from the talks she'd had with him that the Wanderer and Sarah Lyons had first met here. She led the group over the makeshift catwalks and through the ruined building to emerge into the GNR Plaza, a lone Brotherhood knight standing watch at the building the only other presence in the Plaza. The armor did nothing to mask the guard's uncomfortable shifting as the group approached.
"What is your business, outsiders?" the knight asked, his voice modified by the helmet's speech unit. Even in power armor, and carrying a laser rifle, the knight's body language revealed how conscious he was of the number of Rangers around him. Reilly held up her hand; a mixture of greeting and an attempt at calming the man.
"We're friendly, knight. We just have important news for Three-Dog," Reilly responded, flashing her most winning smile as she did. If using some seductive charm would get her access to Three-Dog, then so be it. There was a moment's pause as the knight tried to think of the appropriate response.
"I, uh…I have to check with my superiors," he offered up, before making his way to the intercom. "Sir? There's a group from Reilly's Rangers here to see Three-Dog. Is he receiving visitors?"
"Standby," came the response. The group stood in awkward silence, Reilly considering what her options would be should they be turned away. While she probably had enough men to overwhelm the small Brotherhood garrison if they caught them off guard, it would still be a costly fight. Reilly ruled out the thought almost as quickly as it had occurred to her. She was there to try and maintain some of the peace the Wanderer had built, not start a shooting war with the Brotherhood; one she knew she had no chance of winning. The reply from the intercom put an end to her debate.
"Alright, send them up," the voice replied through the static, the lock audibly unbolting as the intercom went silent. The smile disappeared from Reilly's face as she opened the door to enter the building, the garrison commander waiting to greet her group. She knew the man, though not well; she believed his name was Wilks. His eyes showed surprise at the size of her group.
"I had not realized there were so many of you," Wilks said, surveying the squad of heavily armed Rangers. Reilly saved her smile. With a young, inexperienced knight it would work; a veteran warrior, such as Wilks, would be indifferent to it.
"We were at the Citadel today. Don't like traveling alone, after recent events," Reilly explained.
"What events are those?" Wilks pressed, obviously fishing for information.
"That's what I'm here to talk to Three-Dog about. Where's he at?" she asked. Wilks sighed in frustration before responding.
"Up in his studio, like usual. Your squad has to stay down here, though," he replied. That caught Reilly off guard.
"Why?" she asked, worried that the knight somehow knew her intent.
"Policy," he succinctly replied.
"Can these two-" she began, gesturing at Brick and Butcher-"come too? They're part of the story." Wilks huffed again.
"Fine. But leave your weapons here," he said, Reilly nodding assent as she handed her rifle to one of the mercs. She always carried a well concealed pistol, and she knew Brick and Butcher had concealed weapons as well. The trio silently made their way through the door to the studio, Reilly looking at Butcher as they did. Her face spoke volumes, and Butcher nodded, understanding what she was implying as he stayed behind to cover the door. Reilly and Brick silently climbed the stairs to meet Three-Dog, finding him sitting at a table, eating what appeared to be Mirelurk. Supplied by the Brotherhood, doubtless. Reilly felt a hint of distaste at the sight of the man. She had respected him and his message of hope during the dark times; and he had given her and her crew positive coverage. She had always thought his portrayal of the Lone Wanderer was outlandish, to say the least, but anything that gave people some hope in those days was worth it. Now, though…now she just saw a shameless Brotherhood propagandist. He had effectively sold out the Lone Wanderer at the same time that the Brotherhood had, in Reilly's eyes. The DJ smiled widely as Reilly and Brick approached his table.
"Now this is a pleasant surprise! To what does ol' Three-Dog owe the pleasure, ladies?" The man had lost none of his flamboyant charm.
"We got some news I thought you may be interested in," Reilly responded as she took a seat. Brick remained standing, ready to be an intimidating presence if the situation called for it. Three-Dog's eyebrows went up at that, elated at the possibility of something new to report.
"And what's that?" Three-Dog replied.
"There are raiders attacking again, and they killed two of my men," Reilly replied flatly. Three-Dog's face betrayed a hint of shock.
"Raiders? You're sure?" he asked quickly.
"Yeah, asshole, we're sure," Brick interjected before Reilly could respond. Three-Dog's expression went from shocked to hostile. Shit. Thanks, Brick.
"Well what the fuck do you want me to do about it? I'm sorry 'bout your guys, but I can't do much from here," he fired back. Reilly took control before things could get out of hand.
"I want you to stop crowing about the Wanderer being gone," she replied. There was a pause before Three-Dog burst out laughing.
"Is…is that why you're here? To stand up for your boyfriend?" he replied, drawing a flash of fury from Reilly. He couldn't possibly know, could he? "Whooey, I have heard some good shit, but that takes the cake," he continued, wiping his eyes. He looked like he was going to continue, but before he could Brick's fist slammed into the man's jaw, knocking him from his chair. He was caught so off guard that he couldn't even call out before Brick set upon him. She drove a kick into his ribs before pinning him to the ground, drawing her pistol from its hiding place. Three-Dog's eyes went wide at the sight of the weapon. Reilly rose from the chair and calmly strode to where Three-Dog was pinned, drawing her .44 Magnum as she walked. Three-Dog's eyes frantically darted around the room, looking for help that wasn't coming. Reilly knelt next to him, the anger in her eyes obvious.
"Listen, Three-Dog. This wasn't a request. You're going to stop reporting on the Wanderer. I don't know what game you and the Brotherhood are playing, and I don't normally care how far down your throat you keep Lyons' dick; but if any more of my people get killed by raiders 'cause you wouldn't shut up, you'll die the way they did: on a fuckin' meat hook. We clear?" Her voice had dropped into an icy whisper, every syllable dripping with menace, making clear that she was deadly serious. Three-Dog looked at her with barely controlled hate.
"I thought you were Reilly's Rangers, not Thompson's Rangers," he spat out. "That how it is, Reilly? He fucks you and you think he can do better than the Brotherhood?"
"He did do better than the Brotherhood. Remember what I said, Three-Dog." Before the man could respond, she clubbed him with the butt of her pistol, rendering him unconscious. How could he have heard about me and John? She wondered as she rose to her feet. She looked to Brick, the gunner's eyes wide as the magnitude of what they had done hit her.
"Come on, Brick. Let's get the hell out of here before he wakes up," Reilly said. Brick silently nodded and followed her as they hastily made their way back down to her squad and out the door before Wilks could ask any questions. Only once they were well away from GNR did Reilly speak.
"Thompson's Rangers. Has a kind of nice sound, doesn't it?"
"You renaming the outfit, Reilly?" Butcher replied. She shrugged.
"Why not? I don't see wearing his name as some sort of shameful thing. Maybe it will even make the raiders think he's still out there."
John's knee was screaming with pain as he made his way through the rubble and ruins that the caravan had been shot at from. It took every ounce of his self-control to ignore the pain and focus on his surroundings. He was moving down an alley in what used to be a building complex, the sound of voices and gunfire coming from where the alley turned right. He paused at the junction, peeking around the corner as he did. The bright moonlight revealed two figures, laughing and haphazardly firing automatic weapons at the caravan. John rounded the corner and unloaded a burst from his rifle, killing both men. 207. Before he could advance down the alley a voice came from behind him.
"Drop the gun, fucker," a man's voice said. Shit! Shit! John screamed at himself as his rifle dropped to the ground. He turned to face the man that would be his killer and was instantly disgusted. This is how it ends. The Lone Wanderer of the Capital Wasteland, killed by some strung-out raider. All because I got sloppy. In the distance the shooting had stopped, and he could hear Smith and Fawkes yelling his name. The raider didn't fail to notice.
"Sounds like all my friends are dead. Guess I should give yours something to cry about; return the favor," the man said, his eyes betraying his glee at the idea. John glanced up at the Moon, the same one he had spent so many nights under back home. Right now everyone he knew and had loved-Sarah, Lucy, Moira; all were under that Moon. And if she came out of the Vault, Amata was too. John used the Moon as the focus of his last goodbyes, filling in for the God that almost no one believed in anymore. Tell Lucy I'm sorry I hurt her and never got to make things right. Tell Sarah I'm sorry I let her down. Tell Moira I wish I could have been better. And tell Amata…forever. All these goodbyes flashed through his mind as the raider pulled back the bolt on his rifle and raised it at John. For the first time in years, the Lone Wanderer felt fear of death. Just as he had something to live for again, it was ending.
"Time to say bye-bye," the raider said, grinning wildly. The man's smile-indeed, all his facial features-were destroyed as the report of a pistol sounded, blowing the side of the man's head out and sending him to the ground, dead. John jumped back, shocked, before turning to face his savior. Gale Campbell stood, eyes wide in shock, gripping her pistol the way he had taught her. He recognized the look on her face. It mirrored how he had felt, the first time he had killed. John covered the short distance to Gale as she lowered the weapon, still shocked at what she had done. He pulled her into his chest and embraced her, blocking her view of the dead man.
"Thank you," he whispered as he heard a sob choke out of her.
"I killed him," she whispered back.
"No. You saved me," he replied, the sounds of heavy footsteps breaking the two apart. Smith and Fawkes came into sight, Smith in the lead. His eyes fell on Gale and the pistol.
"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply.
"I was at the wagon, but then I got scared that John didn't have anyone to protect him. So I went after him," she replied, voice still faint.
"John doesn't need protecting. You could have-"
"She saved my life," John interjected. Now wasn't the time to make Gale feel worse. Smith's eyes went slightly wide at that.
"How did that happen?" he asked.
"Long story. Tell you later. Let's just get away from this God forsaken city first," he replied, putting his arm around Gale and leading her to the caravan. He would have time to hate himself for his sloppiness later.
Well, this month sure got away from me. Sorry about that, guys. I'm wrapping up my degree and got super distracted by that, and had a bit of writer's block going on. Hoping to have this back on track here now; my goal is to have this completed by September 3. So a couple thoughts about this chapter:
I started playing Fallout 3 again and I hadn't paid attention before; but good God, the Brotherhood is condescending. Seriously, hardcore condescending, even after you retake Project Purity. They're actually kind of dicks.
Three-Dog...yeah, he annoys me. He really is just a propaganda jockey for the Brotherhood.
Anyway, thoughts, feedback, lay it on me. Thanks for reading, guys.