Chapter 13: Something's Gotta Give
Joel opened his eyes slowly. He had been dreaming of M City again… down in the catacomb-like service corridors under the mall, he'd been running from something yet again. Bones and Chiller ran ahead of him, calling him on. But then their screams had changed, and they weren't urging him to follow. They were scared of him. He looked down and saw his hands were hulking yellow claws.
And then he'd woken up here. Where was here? He turned his head slowly, feeling like his body was stuck in place on this cot with glue. His head was foggy, and as he tried to roll over, he felt a wave of nausea. After pausing a second until his body calmed down, he surveyed his surroundings. This was a nice place, and the room was quite large. The high ceilings were exaggerated by long, long curtains hanging in front of the towering windows. The ceiling was plaster, with an intricate floral design. Fancy.
There were several cots in his view, all empty. Medical equipment on a couple different carts sat around the space too. That seemed vaguely reassuring. He could vaguely remember what had happened… something had bitten him. What was it? The plant! Suddenly, falling back to a full flat position, the memory of Vault Twenty-Two surged back, and he shuddered.
When Joel rolled to the other side, he got another nasty shock. Two cots to his left there was a nightstalker! Its forked tongue lolled from its open mouth, and its dead eyes stared back at him.
"Oh, you're awake!" said someone in an extremely dry, raspy voice. He looked past his feet and saw a ghoul woman standing there, hands on her hips, grinning a lipless smile. "Don't move around too much. The doc should be back soon."
"Where am I?" Joel asked. His throat burned, and his voice came out nearly as hoarse as the ghoul's.
"Welcome to Jacobstown, smoothskin," she answered cheerily, brushing one of her sparse locks of auburn hair away from her blister-covered forehead. "You lucked out making it here alive. That was some nasty toxin in your blood—and a lot of it too."
"Jacobstown?" Joel choked out. "Where… where's Sandra?" He tried to sit up again, fighting the intense second wave of nausea that hit him like a charging bighorner.
"Easy, easy!" said the ghoul, pushing him gently but firmly back onto the cot. "Your wife's fine. Your Follower buddy too."
Joel swallowed hard, nodding to show he understood and wasn't going to do any more bolting. The ghoul backed off. "You can call me Calamity," she said. "Your name's Steve, right?"
"What? No, it's Joel."
Calamity snorted out a laugh. "Good, you remember. That was a test."
"I… was it…?" Joel looked at her incredulously, realizing how much his head was throbbing—or maybe it was throbbing harder now. She just picked up a clipboard and jotted something on it. He wasn't sure if she was kidding or not. He was suddenly distracted from this question, though, by a startling sight over Calamity's shoulder: a giant blue-skinned man stalked by in the hall. He must've been eight feet tall, bulked up as big as Mean Sonofabitch or bigger. He paused in the doorway and snapped his attention to Joel, beady eyes shooting a hateful glare at him.
"Don't look at me," the giant mutant hissed. He shrugged his ragged red cape straight over his shoulders and stomped on.
Calamity glanced back then gave Joel a bemused look. "That's just Keene. He's the leader of the Nightkin around here. They don't like being looked at."
"I see…" said Joel. He'd heard of Jacobstown, of course. A mountainous haven for supermutants and these Nightkin he'd never seen before—which, he supposed, they would appreciate. "Hey… can I get some water?"
"Oh, sure thing. One sec." Calamity tossed her clipboard aside and snatched a beat-up canteen from a nearby desk. "Here, smoothskin," she said, handing it to him. He took a long swig that burned his throat, but he forced himself to swallow and not waste a drop choking.
"Thanks." He handed it back. His arm felt funny—numb and heavy. But he was getting settled into his body again, it seemed. The nausea was fading too. That was a relief.
Calamity looked at the canteen. "Wait, was that the water or the nightstalker venom?" she asked casually.
"What?" Joel yelped.
"Kidding," Calamity said smugly. He didn't find it funny. Just then, Joel heard a door open, and a gust of cold air swept into the room. "That'll be the doc," said Calamity. In came a thin, white-haired man with thick-rimmed glasses, and behind him…
"Joel!" Sandra yelled, rushing to the cot. She dropped to her knees, hugging him and burying her face in the crux of his shoulder. "You're okay… thank God you're okay."
"Yeah… I'm okay, honey," he said, stiffly hugging her back.
"Good to see you up and at it again, son," said the white-haired man with a smile. "I'm Dr. Henry. I'll have to check you out, make sure there's no lingering effects of that venom, but lemme give you a minute to breathe first. You survived quite an ordeal, from what Sandra and Arcade told me."
"How did we get here?" Joel asked.
"You passed out again, after we left the Vault," Sandra explained, "and we started making our way back out of the canyon. But that's when the cazadores came."
"Cazadores?" Joel exclaimed.
"Yeah… apparently they're all over the ridges up above the canyon. I didn't know. Neither did Gannon. We ran. I didn't… I didn't think we'd make it. But we had to, after everything. We had to. And we did, all thanks to Marcus."
"Marcus is the leader of the supermutants here," said Dr. Henry. "Not to be confused with… well." At this, he glanced over his shoulder. The doorway was empty, but Joel pictured, with a little knot in his chest, that scowling nightkin Keene.
"Got it," he said.
"The only reason we survived at all was because some of Marcus's bighorner herd got loose, and he and some others of them supermutants were out scourin' the canyon," said Sandra. "Well, and Arcade's a born diplomat."
"That he is," added Dr. Henry with a solemn nod.
"Do you… know him? I mean, from before we got here?" Joel asked, puzzled. That was an oddly familiar way the doctor remarked on Gannon.
Dr. Henry shifted nervously then shook his head vigorously. "No, I don't. I just mean, ya see, from the way he's taken to this place and to the different groups here. Y'know, we don't get a lot of visitors, unless they're supermutants or nightkin seeking refuge."
Joel nodded, letting it go. He looked back at Sandra, smiling at his wife and trying to stay focused on her face. There were tears welling in her eyes. "I'm so glad those cattle got out, then, he agreed." He rested his head back down.
"Get some more sleep, honey," said Sandra, caressing his face softly before rising again.
"We gotta… got back to West… side…" Joel said groggily, but his own voice sounded distant even to himself.
"Soon, honey. Soon."
/ / / /
When an irresistible force such as you… Meets an old immovable object like me… You can bet just as sure as you live… Somethin's gotta give… Somethin's gotta give… Somethin's gotta give.
Meanwhile, in Westside's militia office, the radio played softly until Miles turned it off. He paused there a moment, collecting himself, then came over and pulled up a chair opposite Yee-Haw. The cowboy sat imprisoned in their one small holding cell. The bars were made of rebar, and some of them still had bits of concrete clinging to them. Occassionally, Mean Sonofabitch was able to haul in some extra metal to repair it, but it rarely got any use, except when someone took the wrong combination of chems and got a little more violent than usual but not violent enough for someone to put a bullet in their head. This new use was unprecedented.
Yee-Haw stared levelly back at Miles. He raised his eyebrows, as if giving him permission to ask what was on his mind. Miles sighed and finally said, "I don't know, man. I wanna ask a million questions."
"So why don't you?" his prisoner asked.
"'Cause if I assume you're a spy, then how can I trust what you say? And if you tell me you're not, well…" He looked plaintively at Yee-Haw, feeling a touch of, what, embarrassment? He felt very looked at right now, and it made him uncomfortable. He realized he was so used to Yee-Haw wearing sunglasses, it was unsettling seeing his eyes now. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever seem him without shades before. His eyes were piercing blue and had an easiness to them. But that wasn't it. That definitely wasn't all.
"I'm tellin' you I'm not. Like I told Klamath Bob. Like I told Eva. Like I told Judah and Clayton." Yee-Haw kept up that icy blue stare. That easy, icy blue stare. How could he be so calm on that side of the bars while Miles felt so anxious outside of them? "But you're right. How'm I supposed to convince you? How can you trust me?"
Miles looked down at his dirty, scuffed black boots and shook his head again. He felt useless. "Why you? Why would they frame you?"
Yee-Haw shrugged. "That's what I wanna know too. Glad we're on the same page." He flashed a quick, wry grin.
Just then, a voice behind Miles made him jump. He hadn't heard anyone come in. His hand went to the gun on his hip before he recognized the speaker. She had said coolly, "So this is the Legion prisoner?"
Red Lucy stood in the short hallway connecting the front office with the holding cell. She had that serene but vaguely deadly expression on her face as she surveyed Yee-Haw. Miles wondered if that was the same way she looked at the creatures in the Thorn's pens. "We ain't taking visitors, you're gonna have to go outside," Miles said, mustering all the even-keeled authoritativeness he could. Lucy just flitted her sharp, predatory eyes from Yee-Haw to him and continued to stare, head titled back slightly.
"Miles, isn't it?" she asked. "I've seen you in the Thorn. You come to… what? To see the demonstrations. That's it."
"Demonstrations?" Miles asked in return, completely forgetting for a moment that he was trying to throw her out of here. Her calm, stoic voice was even more disarming than Yee-Haw's. But it was also alluring.
"The Thorn demonstrates, beyond anything else, that we're self-sufficient. Our desert-blood has overcome even the strangest beasts of the Wasteland." She stepped closer to Yee-Haw, even reaching out and gripping the bars of his cell. "The Legion's blood pumps red and strong. To overcome all enemies and fight their way to a stalemate at Hoover Dam and hold their position, waiting for the next chance… that's impressive."
"Sorry to burst yer bubble, ma'am," said Yee-Haw levelly, "but if you're a fan of them, you ain't a fan of me. I've got no love for the Legion, no matter what some folks are sayin'."
"I am no fan," Lucy replied. "I do not wish to see the bull flag flying over New Vegas. But your people have qualities we can learn from. That is why I wish to speak with you."
"Listen, I ain't with the Legion!" Yee-Haw said, his voice sharpening. This was finally getting to him. He gritted his teeth, but he didn't get up.
"I have heard tales of an arena in the Fort, where laves and captive soldiers are made to battle for the amusement of Caesar," Lucy went on, unfazed. "I have also heard that there are many of these to the east, in Caesar's conquered lands, and in his capital, far from here, a great coliseum pits scores of fighters against each other in great pitched battles."
"Well, you've heard more of these tales than me," Yee-Haw retorted. "But I'm the one who's suspicious."
Red Lucy raised an eyebrow. "You accuse me of something, prisoner?"
"Okay, like I said, we're not taking visitors," Miles interjected. This was not helping him have any sort of clarity on the situation. At all.
"I relent, for now," said Lucy, stepping away from the bars and heading for the door. She nodded to Miles. "I know where to find him, if I have more questions." She glided out the doorway without another word, without looking back, without anything—she was totally done. Miles turned awkwardly back to Yee-Haw for a moment, and then he realized something he hadn't thought of before. He went out onto the street.
"Where're you going?" asked Eva, sitting in the rickety wooden chair on the office's porch and checking over her weapons and equipment.
"The Thorn," he said. "I'm sure these NCR troopers hang out there—we see them milling around just past the wall all the time."
"And you figure you might overhear something?" Eva asked, connecting the very plain dots.
"Right. I mean, it's worth a shot, right?"
"Seems like a shot in the dark, but sure. If Judah comes by?"
"Tell him, ah…" Miles racked his brain quickly. "Uh…"
"I mean, if I tell him you're gambling at the Thorn, he won't be happy, but he also won't exactly be surprised or suspicious." She cocked her eyebrows at him, but the look she gave him was more than just joshing. She was appraising him. There was something genuine in that look that took Miles off guard.
"What is it, Eva?" he asked, a little awkwardly.
"I don't know, you just seem different lately. It's good." She went back to checking over the repeating rifle braced over her knees. "Hurry up. Main event should be starting soon, you don't wanna miss it. I ain't gonna tell Judah where you are, but I ain't gonna lie to his face either. I'll come up with something. And I'll watch over him." She jerked her head in the direction of the open office door, and the imprisoned Yee-Haw within.
"Thank you," said Miles, hurrying off. He kept up a brisk pace through the town. People were milling around like usual, some still lingering after picking up water from the NCR distribution, some sitting down for a hand of caravan. No one paid him much mind as he went along. He noticed Mean shambling down a side street not far from the wall, and he picked up his pace, not wanting to get bogged down if the supermutant wanted to talk.
Just past the southern gate, he caught up to Red Lucy. She paused in the street and said just a bit icily, "So you're following me. What have I done, then?"
"Haven't done a thing, as far as I know," Miles replied, trying to be lighthearted. It did no effect. "Just don't want to, er, miss the 'main event.'"
Red Lucy brushed a stray lock of her namesake scarlet hair away from her forehead and stared in the direction of her beloved Thorn. A big red arrow pointed down at the manhole cover entrance. A smile darted fleetingly across her lips. "It will be quite an evening, to be sure," she said.
"Hope so," Miles said. Together—well, maybe not together but at the same time, at least—they made their way towards the manhole and down into the Thorn.
About then, a small double column of six NCR troopers came marching by, perpendicular to their path. One was running alongside—their leader, obviously, but Miles didn't know anything about NCR military ranks to know what he was. They were chanting as they marched. The leader called out, "I wanna be an Army Ranger!"
In time, the six responded, "I wanna be an Army Ranger!"
"Live a life of guts and danger!" he went on.
"Live a life of guts and danger!"
"Army Ranger!"
"Army Ranger!"
"Guts and danger!"
"Guts and danger!"
The chant went on from there, devolving into a call and response of grunts and yells to the rhythm. Red Lucy watched them silently for a moment before wrapping the manhole cover of the Thorn with her heel. It slid open, and the attendant, peering up from the shadows, beckoned her below with reverence. Miles followed along.
The sewer was musty but clean, the walls coated in an even enough coating of rust that they looked just menacing enough. Aesthetically dangerous without making the guests think too much about tetanus. There was a good crowd, and Miles recognized most of them. Marco, the liquor store owner, was in the front row, and they nodded to each other in greeting. Miles looked a little past him, though, and spotted a cluster of NCR troopers watching. Even without their signature armor, as they all just wore drab pants and dingy, coyote brown tee shirts, they were instantly recognizable by their demeanor. They were an island.
Miles crept close to them, trying to be as absolutely casual as possible as he threaded his way through the crowd. He got close to the three troopers and stood just a few rows back from them. In between them was the Copperhills' eldest son and some drifter-looking folks he'd never seen before, probably visitors from Freeside or somewhere like that.
"Damn it, that's not good. They'll transfer my ass to HELIOS One for sure now," said one of the soldiers, a young woman with sandy hair tied back in a tight bun. "And before you say a word, no, it really is that bad."
"Says who?" said another soldier, a lanky man wearing glasses.
"Says everyone who's ever been out there," she shot back immediately. "Patrolling the perimeter over and over in the wide open desert, the sun burning you to a crisp all day and then going in to freeze in your crappy cot in the lobby. Oh, yeah, good times."
"Everything going on here, we got nothin' to worry about," said the third trooper in their trio. "First a Legion spy gets discovered, then Anders goes missing." She was staring intently at the pit, not looking up at the other two.
"What's that about Anders?" asked the blonde soldier.
"You didn't hear? Our poster boy ranger hasn't reported back. He's missing. All the brass is freaking out about it. Wherever he went, though, it's classified, so…"
"Hey," the man with glasses said, nudging the others. He had glanced back in Miles' direction and suddenly perked up. Miles tried to look away, but there wasn't much to see here with the pit still empty. "Look who it is!"
The relief was momentary as Miles realized they hadn't spotted him but rather a pair of late arriving troopers—unfortunately, it was Stache and Sunburn. Miles suppressed a groan. "Hey, you finally hauled your asses down here!" said Stache, grinning broadly.
"Supposed to be a good one," said the soldier who was staring into the arena.
"Yo, Hillman," said the one with glasses, addressing Stache, "You hear about Anders? What's goin' on?"
Stache—or Hillman—barked back, "Keep your voice down, idiot! You see where you are?" Scowling around, the red mustached trooper finally spotted Miles. "What're you lookin' at?" snapped Hillman. "Shouldn't you be watching your little Legion buddy?"
Sunburn sniggered. "I hear that in the Legion, they—"
"Silence!" echoed a voice, making Sunburn jump. Miles couldn't help but crack a smile. Red Lucy had walked out onto her platform at the center of the arena, a safe distance in the air over it. She scanned the crowd as they grew hushed and took their seats. "The Thorn requires silence," she went on. "Today we celebrate again the strength it takes to survive the Wasteland! Today three newcomers have offered themselves up as tribute to this noble celebration. If they have the strength required, their names will take on greater life on your lips! If they are too weak, then they will at least sate Hell as they are fed into its jaws! Let us begin!"
The crowd erupted into applause. Lucy bowed modestly and raised her arm towards the blue gate. It slid open on rusty chains, and out came three contenders in studded leather jackets and dirty jeans. They were clearly tribals, two men and one woman. Each had a long, bladed polearm in their hands. They waved to the crowd, some of whom cheered and applauded them, some of whom booed and jeered at.
"Fresh meat!" Sunburn called out. "Fresh meat, ain't that right?" He laughed and slapped Hillman on the back.
Hillman scowled over at his companion, but he said, "Yeah, that's right. Fresh meat for the 'jaws of hell.' Damn, that lady's crazy, but what I wouldn't give… Mm. My God."
Red Lucy now gestured to the other gate, and the crowd quieted down in anticipation, leaning out to try and get a glimpse of what was in the shadows beyond the bars. Something big was moving in there. "And now…" Lucy intoned, "at last my prized pet, raised from an egg the size three feet tall, fed whole brahmins and trained against the fiercest creatures of the Wasteland, I present to you, Gigante!"
The red gate ground open, and the crowd went wild. Someone screamed. Out came skittering the biggest radscorpion Miles had ever seen. The biggest living thing he'd ever seen! It must have been thirty feet long, with hard, yellow legs like small tree trunks and giant pincers big enough to snatch up a brahmin. Its stinger, arched high over its back, was glistening and seemed almost bloated with poison. Its beedy black eyes fixed on the trio of tribals, and they balked.
"Let us begin!" Red Lucy cried out, but the scorpion needed no command. It launched towards the fighters, making an alien, chittering shriek.
Author's Note: Finally back from an unintended hiatus on this one! That gap was not intentional, but it just kept getting longer and longer. Thank you for sticking with the story. From this point, I'm going to try to move to updating once every two weeks. That seems more feasible than once a week how I started out. And, that way, there should be slightly longer chapters each time, too. Anyway, take care, and thank you again. Until next time!