Chapter 7: "Another Brick in the Wall Part 1" by Pink Floyd

Stevie expected it. The group was secure here. They had a wall. He was not needed for physical protection, and he was a liability now. A dangerous loner who might erode Lucas's authority. So as he sat on top of the stone fortification, legs hanging off as he kept watch, he prepared himself for it. No matter what happened, he would stay calm as Simms accused him and slandered him, and then he would leave.

He made that resolution because he did not know what this new man was capable of. No longer Lucas, peaceable sheriff who did what was necessary, he was Simms now. It felt like there should be a designation before it, Captain or Sergent. He went farther than just physical protection, he was taking steps to become more powerful, to solidify his authority. No one was allowed to have a different opinion? No one was allowed to do as he or she wished? This was a dictatorship now? Stevie had seen his share of those. He would not be subjected to that again.

What Stevie did not expect to confront was an angry Cornelu. He emerged from the building and jumped down from the high stone stoop in front of the door to the ground, his newly issued hunting rifle in hand.

"Steve!" he heard the young man yell. The aged Wastelander rose and turned to the approaching Vault Boy. "You told!"

"Told what?"

"You told some asshole on the radio that I came from the Vault!"

He was obviously enraged beyond rational thought by something, and Stevie suspected this was the only direction that he could pursue at the time. He was venting.

"Really? Did Three Dog say, 'Hey everyone, Cornelu, a kid who prefers Enclave armor and jet, currently traveling with the Megaton refugees, popped his head out of a Vault a few weeks ago?'"

Cornelu stopped and thought. "No."

"No. Because he can't possibly know any of that, they are what you would call 'recent developments.' But I did tell him that I had met someone who had just emerged from Vault 101, and that I wanted some caps in exchange for the information. Three Dog and I have a very good working relationship. When interesting things happened and I see them, I report them for money. Just another of my many occupations. I did not describe you, name you, say where I had met you or where you might have been going. I even asked him to delay airing the story so you had a chance to put some distance between yourself and the Vault. Anything that might have put you in harm's way was omitted."

The young man looked at him suspiciously and asked, "Then why did you want my Vault jumpsuit?"

"I told you why when I bought it. I knew someone who paid a hefty price for it because she likes that kind of stuff."

"Who?"

"Moria Brown," Stevie replied immediately.

A small crowd had gathered by then, and a chill fell over it at Stevie's words. The news that Moria was turning into a ghoul had spread quickly since Gob discovered it. It was a sad thing that the energetic, yet eccentric, former shop owner was going to be subjected to such a fate.

Cornelu had no response, but whatever had prompted the sudden rage was not extinguished. After a few stammered words he yelled, "My dad talked to Three Dog and you didn't tell me!"

Although it was not quite the bombshell he made it out to be, it was somewhat shocking that Cornelu's dad was on the news. Stevie had not heard of the other Vault Dweller that had emerged from 101. If he had, it would have come to mind when he heard that Cornelu was looking for his father.

"Well, I didn't know. I'm... sorry?" Stevie said uncertainly. With the source of Cornelu's mindset revealed it let him feel a little empathy and he let his defensiveness fall away, but he was not sure what he could say or do to help. It was a strange situation.


With the climax of the argument the people lost interest. Cornelu noticed. None of them cared about him. He was just a junkie to them. So what if he had taken them in at the Super Duper Mart? So what if he had kept them fed with his food and with Box, which carried it all for them? So what if he had helped arm them, defended them, built a fucking sentrybot for them? No one here cared.

All of his despair compiled on top of itself, each item another brick in the wall between him and the others. He was not cared for here. He was not cared for by his father, who had taken off without him. He had not been cared for by Amata. He had gone and gotten himself addicted to jet. All of the bullshit he had put up with in the Vault classroom, learning history an all that shit, it was useless out here in the Wasteland.

He had not looked for his father after he left the Vault.

Every good thing he had done was forgotten, and the mistakes and failures of his life were laid out for all to see. He realized he was still standing in front of Stevie. A minute or so must have passed now, while he was lost in thought. The crowd was gone.

Then someone approached. Simms, the sheriff. The big man. The one who had cast the image of a useless junkie on him.

It was sudden. The urge came over Cornelu and he acted on it without any thought. He brought his hunting rifle to bear, stock on his right shoulder. He noticed an abrupt movement from his target but did not stop.

Stevie tackled him at the same moment that he heard the loud crack of gunfire. But it was not from the hunting rifle he held, the index finger on his right hand was not even on the trigger yet.

For a few seconds everything was a tangled mess of limbs, his and Stevie's. Then he was pulled up by his collar and the rifle was knocked out of his grip. Simms held him up with his left hand and the smoking barrel of a revolver was pointed at his face. His eyes slowly focused past the tip of the gun to the dark, bearded face of the sheriff and he saw his death written very clearly in the expression on it.

Cornelu surprised himself then. He took stock of his body and realized that he was glaring right back. His face was not contorted in fear, he was not begging, he had not pissed himself. With nothing left to lose and everything inside him turned to hate, he stared death in the face. And he didn't flinch.

"Simms! Don't do it!" It was Stevie. He held his left shoulder, where a bloody hole was punched through the back plate of his armor. "You know he isn't thinking straight. He just got news of his father! He took it out on me for a second as well, though it wasn't so extreme. He just needs time to calm down."

Cornelu interjected, "No. I tried to kill you because I hate you. I took you in, I helped you, I defended you from raiders, and you repay me by slandering me? By turning everyone against me? By taking my gun, ruining my armor, using the Box and the robot that I made, and ignoring the person who made them? It was a sudden thing, an urge that came upon me. I didn't plan it. But I would do it again, because you deserve it, you arrogant, thieving, power-loving fuck."

Simms moved so fast that Cornelu could barely catch what happened. He spun the heavy revolver on his finger, formed a fist around the handle, cocked his arm and then Cornelu saw only blackness.


Because of her augmented hearing, Zoiks heard the radio broadcast that caught everyone else's attention, but did not pay attention. Then the argument outside, which was likewise ignored. She and Perez were talking and she found that he had a very deep, intelligent way of thinking. He had the ability to see causes in things. It was how his mind worked, and she found it fascinating. They got into really interesting topics, like what the building blocks of civilization are and how the Wasteland might be restored again, and the conversation was positively engrossing.

Then she heard the gunshot. Everyone did. Outside Stevie yelled something. They jumped up and ran to the door of the broadcast station. Zoiks was out in time to see Simms pull a handgun out of Cornelu's face, twirl it and knock him out cold with a fist wrapped around the handle.

"I came over to say that because we are now safe and secure, we no longer need your help, Stevie. You are free to return to your life as a Wastelander." His tone made it clear that it was much, much more than a suggestion. "However, it seems Cornelu here has got it into his head that I have shamed him and abused the services he has provided. He made to attack me for it. Is that what you witnessed, Stevie?"

"Yes, but you left out the part where he just learned of his father's whereabouts and that you did abuse his services," the old man sneered. "Oh, and you shot me."

"Cornelu is banned from this settlement from now on. We will not rob him, everything that was his will be returned. Get all of the food out of the handcart. Harden, your rifle?" He was still holding the limp form with his left hand. He held out his right hand for the gun. Harden gave up the painted assault rifle without protest.

The sheriff carried the two, Cornelu and the gun, down the stairs to the parking lot and set them next to the handcart. The ramshackle vehicle was quickly emptied of the food and water, but the black armor, the missiles Stevie had collected from the raiders at Arefu and the powerless computer Cornelu had placed at the bottom of the handcart long ago all remained.

Then he returned back up the stairs without a word.


Perez was unsettled by the violence within the group. He politely declined an awkward offer from Zoiks to continue their conversation and headed for Simms. The sheriff was standing out in the open watching the exiles disappear into the distance. People were giving the sheriff a wide berth so Perez did not worry about being overheard.

"Do you want to talk, Simms?"

There was no response.

"Well I think there are some things that need to be said. The others are questioning whether that was too harsh. They are wondering if maybe Cornelu's sudden attack... Well, maybe you were not thinking clearly at the time.

"Now, I'm not saying anything either way, who am I to judge another? I just thought that you should know the group's general attitude. And, depending on your own thoughts on the matter, it might be helpful to be reminded that humans are imperfect creatures. We make mistakes. If you did or didn't, that is not anyone's call but your own. But maybe you can take comfort in the fact that no one is perfect."

It was just starting to get dark. The sun was a foot above the horizon and already heavily filtered trough the Wasteland haze. After a few moments of silence Simms turned to him and said, "You have wisdom beyond your years, Perez, and you know how to say the things that people will listen to, even when they don't want to hear it. That is quite a gift.

"Perez, I'm going to tell you something. It is someone's secret. I'm telling you because I feel like I need to justify myself a little and you are the only person on this rock that I know can be trusted with it." He turned away again, then continued.

"Stevie was once an Enclave soldier. He always hated being used as a toll, an instrument of death. He once described it to me like, 'being a puppet, your bullets like the rain, cutting down the just and unjust alike.' So one day, when his superior ordered him to kill some more innocent Wastelanders, he turned and said, 'You are a sick fuck, Sir,' and shot the man in the face.

"A few days ago I condemned him for leaving the group when there was a chance of a raider attack. I had ordered him to stay, but he left anyway. I was right, we did need him in the fight and if we had been more consolidated we might not have had so many dead and wounded. For disobeying I informed him that once the group was back on its feet he would not be welcome to join us. He had to leave.

"His response was to say, 'Yes Sir,' and walk away. Perez, I have been in fights and, recently, even all-out battles. But in that moment I was truly scared. Of him, and of the implications of what he said. Am I turning into a dictator? In my ordering and controlling for the survival of the group, am I oppressing them as well?

"And most importantly, does it even matter? Because as I told Stevie, 'If that is what it takes, then I would gladly.' Out here in the Wasteland physical security is the top priority. I will do whatever it takes to keep this group protected. If they don't like the sacrifices required, then can take it up with the raiders and the... deathclaws that I protect them from."

It was very sudden. Simm's voice became hard and fell to an even lower whisper. He removed the painted assault rifle from his back and fired out over the lip of the wall. A horrific, blood-curdling scream ripped through the dusk. Perez grabbed for his shotgun and followed the sheriff's gaze just as he heard the rhythmic thud thud thud thud of giant feet sprinting towards them.

"Sam! Need some help here!" Simms called out.

The ten-foot-tall demonic thing made a leap and slammed into the stone beneath them. Its hands and grotesque, disproportionately large claws clung to the top of their protective wall, and it started to pull itself up.

Perez put three rounds from his shotgun into one of the oversized paws to try and loosen its grip. Another nightmarish shriek of anger was the only result. The creature pulled its head over the lip of the wall to expose a feral snarl. Two horns extended down to the sides of its face and its gaping mouth bared irregular pointed fangs. The leathery, tan skin was pockmarked with bullet holes, some old, most fresh from Simms's barrage. More popped into existence in the half second it took Perez to aim his shotgun at the devilish mug.

More fire opened up from behind them, the rattle of automatic rifles and the distinctive pop of Sam's precise sniper rifle. Before the beast could get a firm grip with its legs its already injured paw lost the traction it had. Still the deathclaw did not fall, holding on with only one arm.

Caleb ran past Perez and the sheriff. The former slave brought the metal head of his sledgehammer down on the remaining claw. It would take the man a second to raise and swing the heavy weapon again so Simms, without letting go of the trigger on his chinese assault rifle, jumped into the air and stomped firmly with both feet on the limb. It let go and fell twenty feet to the ground, tripping the sheriff in the process. He landed perilously close to the lip of the wall, but did not fall off.

Peering over the edge of the wall they saw it was not dead. The reptilian abomination rose to its feet and moved swiftly towards the stairs. Perez followed along the top of the wall, firing away. It scaled the two dozen steps in seconds and the torrent opened up again, at least five or six automatic weapons unloading as fast as possible. The puffs of dust, dirt, flesh and blood that came from the deathclaw's body indicated it was not being affected much.

With the crack of Sam's scoped rifle the beast finally went down. One of its three-inch wide eyes exploded and it fell, thrashing. Perez ran forward and polished off the twelve shell round drum magazine of his combat shotgun into the hole in its face. Caleb joined with his hammer, then Simms with his gun. It stopped frantically twitching.

Breathing heavily Caleb said, "I forgot to mention, at night deathclaws sometimes roam around here. If you stay quiet and don't attract them they won't bother us. That's the first time one has attacked."

"Caleb, you said you know how to cut stone? You were a mason?" Simms had a wild look.

"Yes."

"Good. People! It looks like this wall is not quite big enough to ensure our safety. Rest up tonight. Tomorrow we start building!"