Chapter 9: "Carmelita " by Warren Zevon

Simms woke as the sun was rising. The sad ball of fire on the horizon, barely shining through the unusually thick wasteland haze, gave him the feeling the day was going to be difficult. Overwhelmed by the sight and corresponding thought, the aging sheriff decided he was not at all up to facing the day and that the problems that needed to be solved could wait a few minutes longer. He went back to sleep.

Stevie woke up early to take the mourning watch, relieving Lucy. He spent a few hours waiting for something to happen. Nothing did.

At least, nothing attacked the settlement. A few people got up soon after he did, but the majority took the security the walls and numbers gave them as a sign to sleep in without fear of a surprise attack. For the few that did get up, the preferred activity seemed to be speculating on how Simms was going to handle the situation with the Bigtowners, and weather the group should stay in Bigtown or not. The conversation was not far away from where Stevie sat at the gate, as those who were awake did not want to disturb those who chose to sleep in, so he followed the conversation while his eyes scanned back and forth.

Walter, the grizzled old mechanic that had kept the megaton water treatment operation up and running for several decades, said, "Simms lead Megaton for years, facing problems, finding solutions and getting things done the whole while. I'm pretty sure he can negotiate peace with a group of people he outnumbers and that he just saved from slavery. With those cards to play, I don't see how anyone could mess that up, let alone Simms of all people."

"But... have you noticed he's been a little off recently?" Lilith reminded, keeping her volume down. Stevie could not really tell, but she sounded like what she was saying was unpleasant for her to voice. "He's strained. You saw how he was after he saved Maggie and Harden was shot. And yesterday when that jerk-off Bigtowner said all that stuff about sucking and dyeing, it was obviously not something the kids should have been hearing. As soon as he was done with his little tirade I looked over at Simms to see what he would say. He didn't say anything. He's strong, but I'm not sure that's enough. Walter, if what you say is true then why didn't he just settle everything yesterday instead of putting it off like he did?"

There was enough truth in what the bodyguard said to make everyone nervous, and the chatter died out after that.

Three hours after the sun rose Stevie heard something behind him and Ethyl tapped him on the shoulder. "Um, I'll take watch. I think something is going down, you should get in there."

With a mumbled thanks he rose and hustled down the street a bit to see what was happening. There were still a few figures that remained prone, including Moria, who was still in a coma, Lucy, who was catching up on the sleep she had missed on night shift, and the children. Simms had apparently been getting everyone organized when six Bigtown residents, including Dusty, Kimba and Shorty, came from the building that they all slept in and approached him. It was obviously an attempt to try and squeeze some influence out of the situation from a show of numbers. With looks of unease, Red and Timebomb tailed them while carefully keeping separate from them. At the front of the posse was a young man whose name Stevie did not know. The arrogant faced leader took it upon himself to speak first with, "Simms!"

Instantly the residents had the attention of everyone. Those who had still been sleeping decided whatever was happening was more important than rest.

The sheriff straightened and turned to face the group. He refrained from being openly hostile from the start, but began with a hint of an edge in his voice. "You woke my son."

The man either had brass balls or was cocky to the point of insanity. He smirked and replied, "Yes, I did. How about that? Now, let's discuss your little group of refugees. Bigtown is our town, we say get out. What do you say?"

The solidarity of the group dissolved rapidly. Of the five that backed the conceited man, three looked uncomfortable, like the conflict was heading down a path they did not approve of. Kimba was among them and blanched at the proclamation, "What? That's not-" before being cut off by a look from the leader.

Simms considered for a second, the calmly asked, "What is your name, son?"

"The name is Flash, and that," he pointed at Harden, who was now up and at his father's side, "is your son, not me. What do you say?"

"Well, Flash, I'd say you don't have a clue what you are doing." The angry young man started to make a comment but Simms ignored him and moved on, raising his voice so it was easier to hear him. "People of Bigtown! I understand that you are uneasy that the refugees of Megaton are here, sleeping on your doorstep and possibly threatening your homes and lives. I assure you, you do not have to fear us. We are not welcome, and this settlement would not be large enough to contain all of us in any case. We will be moving on tonight." Most everyone agreed with this decision, and anyone who did not saw either the logic or Simms suddenly invincible and authoritative demeanor as good enough reason to not argue. "However, you have to admit that the situation in Bigtown is unsustainable. I do not see our arrival as a factor in you being pushed from your homes, this place was threatened long before we got here. So I offer you the option of joining us in our exile. We have some food and some guns, but any is more than you have now, and we can offer the influence of numbers. We don't have a destination in mind, only a direction to wander in and the hope and chance that we will find somewhere relatively safe." He paused to cast a deep look over the fractured Bigtown group before ending with, "Think about it. We leave at dusk."

As the dark skinned man in his worn and limp sheriff hat turned away to help pack up, Stevie could only smile. Simms might be under a lot of strain. He might even be breaking under the surface, where the only way to tell would be to watch the ripples. But at the moment, he was just fine.

Bittercup looked at Flash to see what he would do. As always, he folded when someone called him out. Instead of putting his foot down and telling the oh-so-powerful sheriff to go stuff it he just let it pass. Another missed chance. Everyone had thought that his dickish attitude would help him confront the leader of the dirty refugees the night before when they decided to take a stand, but she should have known better. Their short relationship had shown her that behind his mask of badass and bigheadedness was a man just as pathetic as all the others in the shit town.

Though she didn't acknowledge it consciously, only the emotions it spawned, and she certainly would not have been able to properly voice it even if she was acutely aware of it, her spiteful, childish and defiant nature made her hateful of Simms and the authority he represented, the refugees and the power that they held, and the world that allowed it all to happen. She was being pressured. She hated being pressured.

The reason she liked Bigtown, in spite of the death and hunger and constant threat of horrible things, was because there were no rules. Bittercup's most cherished ideal was that rules oppressed her and therefor were made to be broken. Not just in a fun, "Hey, let's see if we can get away with this," way, but with a passion. The point of the act was tarnished if no one knew the rule had been shattered. You were supposed to make a point, so that people did not try and oppress you again.

Of course that not how she thought, only how she felt. Her thoughts were much more juvenile and less eloquent.

All the Bigtowners went back into the common house where they had slept the night before to talk things over. Bittercup stayed out of the stupid arguing, mostly ignoring everything. Now that Flash had shamed himself and lost all chance of having authority her interest in the proceedings had vanished. Something would happen. The group would decide on something, not that it would at all affect the fact that they were all going to be killed or eaten or enslaved like countless before them had been. She would do whatever she wanted in spite of whatever the decision was. If anyone tried to force her she would throw a fit, like always. It was the boring cycle of her life. The only event worth noting would be when one of the supermutants finally bit her head off, or something similarly stupid and pointless that resulted in her death.

Red took Flash's fall from grace as an opportunity. As soon as everyone was in the common house she started. "Simms is right, we can't stay here. We'll die. This is our chance. They have numbers, they have guns, they have food." When the others failed to rally like she hoped she pushed a bit harder. "Dusty, we don't have enough people for a proper guard. They do. If you joined you wouldn't have to do guard duty any more than your fair share, and it would not be looking out over the same stretch of ground all the time. And Kimba, you heard their stories. They're people, just like us."

"No, they're not," Shorty cut in, "They are mungos. That means they can't be trusted!"

The town doctor stared in disbelief. She had not heard the word'mungo' used since she left Little Lamplight. Who still thought like that? "What? Mungos? Holy shit, Shorty, you need to grow up! Are you serious?" Then a realization struck her, and she understood slightly better. "Wait a minute, you didn't even say it right. Mungo means adult. You, "she jabbed a finger at his chest, "are a mungo now, and so is everyone else here. Me are mungos now, and guess what that means? You need to grow up! Get in touch with reality because not every person in the world is from Lamplight. You can't just stick with the people that you have known all your life." Red stopped and looked around to see what the others thought of this, and by the cringes she guessed that this had been the underlying problem from the start. They had been so isolated all their lives that severe and chronic xenophobia had set in. The only outside person that had never tried to hurt them was Stevie-

Stevie. Yeah, that might work.

"Not everyone in the wasteland is evil. Stevie has helped us in the past. Remember before the Cough," she said, referring to the deadly illness a few weeks prior that had decimated the town, "when we needed a little extra help with the defense, and he went out and got us a robot to help? Sure, it was trashed a few weeks later, but he did help."

Timebomb spoke up then. "Yeah, and Cornelu healed me! I'd be dead without him. These people aren't enemies."

"And, they are out only chance at survival. We will die if we stay here," Red finished. As she did she looked around at the less opinionated Bigtowners, ignoring Flash and Shorty. It had taken a while, but she had convinced them. She knew it. "Alright, let's decide. I'm leaving with the Megaton group at dusk, who is coming with us?"

Timebomb moved closer to her and said, "I am."

Kimba, who was very close to Red and like a sister to her not just in looks, walked over and planted herself firmly by her side without saying anything. Dusty followed, then Pappy.

Knowing she could not be bothered to move, Red asked, "Bittercup?"

"Whatever," she replied in a way that anyone who knew her would interpret as 'yes.'

"Okay," Flash sneered, "fine. Just leave me alone." The look on Shorty's face conveyed the same sentiments.

With the relative safety of the group assured, at least for the moment, Red left to get ready for the long march that was to come.

After fixing the hulking sentry bot and subsequently realizing he could not remember fixing it, Cornelu went and sat down next to the machine. Without noticing it, his hand slid over and found the pocket with the drug canisters in it. Once he noticed it he became angry with himself but it did not last long. Emotionally and physically spent, and with the rush of energy for the high long gone, he passed out, still in Armor's protective casing.

Red woke him several hours later. His head hurt and he felt feverish and sick to his stomach, but he remembered to try and conceal his habit. Hoping the speaker playback of his voice would cover any uneasiness, he said, "Red, what is it?"

"We're leaving. It's getting dark. Simms decided to continue on, and I convinced the others to join your crazy traveling circus." She glanced at the repaired bot and added, "It's good you got that thing working, we're going to need it."

"Yeah, probably. Alright, I'll be up and ready in a minute. Thanks."

She started to move away, then spotted the empty container that Cornelu had tossed aside the previous night after using all of its mind-altering substance. "I knew it," she whispered, then looked around to confirm they were along before saying, "Cornelu, you have to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop using jet."

"What is jet?"

"This," she bent over and picked up the red plastic inhaler from the ground, "is jet. Take that helmet off."

"That's not mine."

She gave him a withering glare and he removed the high-tech armor headpiece. The air felt cool against his face, which was unnatural because it was usually hot and dry in the wastes, not cold. A hand was pressed up against his forehead and Red said, "Oh, god Cornelu, you are burning up. Alright, I know you took more from my supplies. Hand them over. Now."

Suddenly Cornelu found it rather hard to speak. Things were slipping out of his control. He tried to deflect her demand, but his throat caught and scattered his words. All he managed to get out was, "...used them all."

Gently the amateur doctor said, "If you had used them all at once, you would be dead. Now give them to me or I will search you and take them." Giving up, he retrieved the other doses of jet and surrendered them. His arms were heavy with weakness and the extra weight of his armor so he was unable, though not unwilling, to resist. "Now get up, we're going to see Simms."

He donned the enclave helmet again, then stood and followed. The world tilted and rolled around him, but he managed to stay upright and walking.

Cornelu felt as if the world was closing in on him, like something big and heavy was charging at him from all directions. Yet it was all dulled by a loss of touch with reality. He had been caught, and he did not remember what that meant. The Overseer would just give him a minor punishment and he could go on with his life.

Oh, wait. He had left the Vault over a month ago.

The next thing he knew they were in front of Simms. Red had the courtesy to pull the grizzled sheriff aside so that no one overheard before saying, "Cornelu here has a jet problem. I found him lying next to a robot that he built during his trip."

This confused Cornelu. She had actually told him about the robots in the first place. "How would you know I made them while... um... using jet?"

Simms answered for her. "Because jet can sometimes give bursts of energy and a drive to do something with that energy. The jet trip is infamous for providing the means for some of the most amazing, deranged and fucked up things in the wasteland. Raider graffiti is a prime example.

"Now son, I understand that you joined us willingly and that you helped us when we needed it, but you will not use again while I am leader or you will be expelled from the group. I can't have you stealing, setting such an example for the kids and undermining everyone's moral, all of which you will end up doing if you keep using. This is not something we can deal with right now." He turned to Red, "You did take his chems, right?" She showed the two maroon canisters, "Good, keep them locked up. Red, see if you can give him anything to help kick the habit, but don't waste your time by trying to help him through this. If wants to be free of that cloud he's in he won't need help and if he doesn't than there is nothing you can do." Then the bearded sheriff walked away.

Cornelu listened and a sense of shame overcame him. Simms's calm, disciplinary tone was worse than anything he had ever experienced. His father had always been willingly ignorant of his activities, good or bad, and scoldings from him had been so out of touch with whatever the problem had been that they always seemed half-hearted. The Overseer's punishments had been laughable because the power he held was obviously fake. He controlled the Vault security, and because of that he was leader. That was it.

But Simms, he had real authority in his voice. This was a man who had earned his place and knew what to do with the power he held. It was frightening that such might was directed at him, and Cornelu could not help but recoil a bit from it.

To say Bittercup was unhappy with Red's decision and the seeds of a leadership and structure taking root would be misleading. 'Unhappy' sounds like the situation is a bit out of someone's comfort zone, or is slightly unpleasant. To be more accurate, Bittercup's feelings on the events of the day were closer to someone who has had their life's work destroyed while they were forced to watch every agonizing moment.

She was not lacking a vent for her rage, however. With a semblance of organization, rules would be set down. And rules are meant to be broken.