Part 38 – Looking Forward

A far cry from the peaceful town of New Canaan, rocky canyons and pathways marked the expedition's path to the south. For days on end it seemed, they traveled and traveled. Despite Donnovan's protests, they had bypassed the canyon they had come across on their way to New Canaan, and continued on, Morrill deciding it would be much faster to press on without delay.

The flight from the burning New Canaan seemed was nothing new for the expedition. It was almost a rule of some sort that the Corps of Rediscovery could never settle down and rest anywhere without some sort of violent event breaking up their time of recovery. Donnovan, Morgan, and Lyons were discussing this very topic a fortnight later, as the ground began to turn into dry dirt and sand. As they were traveling up along a set of rocky hills, Donnovan made the statement that was on everyone's mind.

"Ever notice that any town we go to, or anyone we meet, usually ends up getting fucked?"

Morgan shrugged. "Bad luck?"

"Well, it hasn't happened in Dogtown, at least." Lyons pointed out.

"Until we pass through there again." Donnovan raised an eyebrow. "Just wait, we're gonna come back to find that the dogs have killed everyone, or something."

"Or that the Legion burned it to the ground." Dusk joined the conversation.

Donnovan snickered. "Or an undetonated nuke blew what was left of the city to hell."

Glade grinned "Or the dogs killed everyone, and in response the Legion burned it to the ground, causing an unexploded nuke to go off."

Most of the group laughed at this, excluding Amata. She had been looking pale again since their escape. Donnovan, despite some terrifying first encounters, had gradually honed his craft fighting and surviving in the Capital Wasteland, Point Lookout, and the Pitt over the course of three years. Before that, he'd gotten his hands dirty on a daily basis in the reactor core of Vault 101. Amata, on the other hand, was a soft-skinned, fresh-out-of-the-Vault supervisor who'd hardly ever used her hands other than to type something in a computer. Amata on the other hand had been thrust into the chaos of it all, far too quickly. In less than a year, she had left the vault, had all of her first traveling companions slaughtered by a giant scorpion, had run several times from hordes of people who wanted to kill the expedition, and seen more death than she ever wanted to in her life. The sacking of New Canaan seemed to have finally broken her will, and despite Rockfowl and Olin's attempts to reassure her, she had closed off completely, staying completely silent for the journey.

Rockfowl, it seemed, had gotten over his distress over the adolescent ghouls back in the Richardson Re-education Institution, and was now back to his old, smiling self. Everyone knew he would most likely always carry that burden with him, but he had taken it in stride. Morgan, always stoic, hardly shaken, was no different now. She was as analytical as ever and had to remind Donnovan, again, that no one but those close to them mattered in the long run. Lyons had adopted this mantra many months ago, and was just as resolute as Morgan. Yearling and Olin had only grown more determined over the course of the journey. Olin, in particular, was determined to reach New Vegas and the promise of a few nights of undisturbed sleep for a change.

Dusk, Glade, and Donnovan, despite the initial shock, had taken their escape lightly, as usual. Despite this, the burning of the town affected Donnovan greatly. The image of the scared Courier running east for the town limits had shaken him more than he let on, and he covered his discomfort with his usual jokes and wisecracking. After New Canaan, it was becoming more difficult. Donnovan told his companions it was because of the shattered bottle of Jonnie Walker Blue Label. In truth, he was horrified at what had happened. New Canaan, possibly the last pocket of civilization and true humanity left in the world, had been swept bare in a matter of hours. He especially thought of the honest, hard-working people who had died, and began to wonder again if anything was worth the struggle anymore. Despite Morgan re-stating her mantra, Donnovan was disturbed. Those people had been tough, polite, and truly caring, and yet had fallen. It was almost a pattern of history. The curse of the forward thinking and enlightened, it seemed, was to be crushed by the armed and dumb. Donnovan's only solace was that at least that would never happen to a massive, well-defended place like New Vegas…

Despite his concern, he was still actively engaged in the conversation.

"So, okay, shall we count how many times shit like this has happened?" Donnovan offered.

Dusk laughed. "I don't think any of us have enough fingers and toes for that."

"I'm pissed I didn't get to go into Junction City." Glade said glumly.

"Hey, fuck you, you weren't the one who almost got handed to the fucking Midwesterners." Donnovan snapped, though he grinned nevertheless. He turned and almost ran into the rear end of the lone pack Brahmin the expedition had managed to keep alive this whole time. The entire group had stopped.

"Everyone! According to Morrill, we have reached the Mojave Wasteland!" Rockfowl called from the front of the group. He was standing on a ridge next to Morrill, who was looking ahead, his back to the others. "Ladies and Gentlemen…"

"And Donnovan…" Glade added.

Donnovan grinned and flipped him the bird.

"We have reached the end of these rocky passes. Though it is only the evening, I believe we should wait until night to head down."

Glade frowned. "Why?"

"Because from the looks of it, the best time to see it would be during the night." Rockfowl smiled, beckoning the others forward.

As Donnovan's line of sight cleared the ridge, his jaw dropped. A large expanse of flat dirt and sand stretched in all directions, with small groups of houses present here and there. The center of focus, however, was a massive cluster of buildings surrounded by a high wall. Tall, square buildings surrounded a massive illuminated tower that stretched far higher than anything else. A saucer-like shape at the end was capped off by a large radio antenna. Everything was lit up, no doubt visible for many miles. Rockfowl was correct; this would prove to be a spectacular sight when darkness fell.

"Welcome to New Vegas, my friends." Rockfowl smiled broadly.

Between hostile power armored soldiers, psychopathic cults, and hordes of ghouls, there was almost nothing the Corps of Rediscovery hadn't experienced. Their perseverance and drive, despite the death of their comrades Lucy West, Star Paladin Cross, Paladin Vargas, and Protector McGraw, had finally bore fruit. They stood only miles away from what had to be the largest and most bustling city in the world.

"Viva New Vegas!" Donnovan exclaimed, tweaking a quote he had remembered from a Vault history archive on the state of Nevada.

The short-term goal of the expedition was now simple: get to New Vegas and relax. Seeing as how their last attempt at this had been violently interrupted, they were looking forward to entering the city they were gazing at. They collectively agreed to take a good, long rest upon their arrival. After all, the weary Corps of Rediscovery deserved it. The expedition now longed to be inside of the reinforced walls of the city. Upon their arrival, they would force themselves to recuperate, and do everything they could to avoid any sort of trouble or quarrel for a time.

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But like every cloud had a silver lining, every silver lining had a cloud. Every good thing had a catch, and New Vegas' was a huge one.

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The bull and the bear were vying for control of the gem of the Mojave, but there was no way they could have known that. New Vegas was nothing like what it seemed, but they couldn't have known that either.

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On the outskirts of the Strip's bright lights lay a darker reality, a mess of shattered dreams that manifested in a horrible, horrible example of society's outcasts. Rage, frustration, and resentment, fueled by a seemingly bottomless supply of drugs, had reached its limit. New Vegas would be inevitably thrown back into war, and the Mojave would not be left untouched.

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And the outsiders that had just arrived on its doorstep? They'd be sucked into the conflict whether they liked it or not.

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Because war…

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War never changes.

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Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone who has been reading this story and leaving reviews. Seriously, thank you guys. It has been your reviews, messages, and questions that have helped me to keep going, and that brought me out of a particular lull in writing, during which I thought I would never finish this story. Again, BeGodlyBeLynn, I don't know what I'd do without you. You are awesome. Thank you!

In case I have not been clear earlier, there will be a sequel. When will it appear? Well, that, I am very unsure of. It will not be any time soon, I can say that for certain. I have made notes on every suggestion I have received, and examined the mistakes I have made when writing this, both major and minor. I will take all of this, and try my best to craft a story that will hopefully be better than this one. If you have any questions, feel free to message me, and I will answer them (without revealing future storylines or plot points, of course). With that, I give another hearty thank you, and bid you adieu.

Goodnight, good luck, and stay tuned for future installments of Back to the West.

And maybe… Just maybe… A tiny glimpse into the future of the series might be offered here in a day or two. Keep an eye out. ;)