"He Ain't Heavy..."
We searched fruitlessly back and forth for Vault 81. That is to say, I searched. MacCready kept his distance, only speaking to answer direct questions. He remained coolly professional, if preoccupied, scanning the terrain for threats with his scope. I forced myself to keep going, fighting down the increasing desire to confront him, make him tell me what was going on. He's so stubborn, though. If I try to force the issue, it'll just make things worse. I don't believe I imagined his concern back there. But it's almost like he doesn't want to care about me anymore. That thought brought a lump to my throat and I turned the thought over and over.
Contemplating the idea that I may be on to something, I wandered aimlessly. Finding Vault 81 became less of a concern to the looming matter of the fracturing relationship with my partner. Time marched on with me as my thoughts and feelings swirled in a miserable spiral. I need to get home, was the thought that surfaced, the most recent horror of the giant scorpion fresh in my mind. "Radscorpion" according to MacCready. The only reason I'm alive right now is because of him, and his admirable determination to his duty, no matter how distasteful. I still love him, but I may need to love him enough to let him go if that's what he truly wants. I wiped a tear away from my cheek, glancing around for my partner. He had stopped his ranging lope and was stepping along behind me at about ten paces or so. He still refused to meet my gaze, so I fought down my misery and marched determinedly across the landscape hoping to find a clue to the Vault's whereabouts.
We headed generally east, using boulders formed by some destroyed highway overpass debris to cross the river that defined the uninhabited area Garvey had outlined. Traversing in a wide crisscross pattern, we moved steadily closer to the edge of Boston proper. No hint of Vault 81 had surfaced, despite my best, if distracted, efforts at looking. MacCready hadn't spoken in hours. He was still behind me, his footfalls sounding oddly noisy in the desiccated vegetation. Frustrated at wasting the entire day in a futile wild goose chase, I picked up the pace, but something sounded wrong to my ears.
The footsteps behind me had slowed, becoming more irregular. It wasn't until I heard Mac's incredulous, "Lucy?" that I turned around. He was standing with his feet braced, rifle lowered, staring off into the middle distance, a confused and pitiful expression on his flushed face. "Lucy?" he repeated, taking a shaky step forward, holding out one hand as if in entreaty. "But you... you're..." Eyes glazed, his shoulders slumped and he took a shuddering breath. "Okay," he finally muttered sadly, as if in reply.
Lucy? I approached him cautiously, not quite sure what was going on. That's his wife, but she passed away years ago. He looked up, his glittering bloodshot eyes slowly focusing on me. After a moment, his gaze cleared up briefly into coherence. "Anne?" he croaked hoarsely. At the sound of my name, a name he almost never used, I quickened my pace, closing the distance between us swiftly as my concern grew.
He mumbled, "I, uh... I don't feel so good..." dropping his beloved sniper rifle to the soft earth. "Lucy... said I had... to tell you." I caught him as he staggered to one side. "Hurts all over," he slurred, leaning heavily into my support. Unprepared for the weight of his sudden collapse, I clumsily lowered us both to the ground, holding on to my partner as he clutched erratically at my jacket.
The moment we touched, all thoughts of finding Vault 81 vanished from my mind. Geez, he's burning up! What happened? "It's okay, I've got you," I soothed, pulling him into a supportive grasp, his normally warm body searing hot to the touch. "Let me get you a stimpak."
"No," he murmured, his voice cracking and weak. "Won't help." He batted at my hand, clutching it with desperate strength when our fingers touched. "Stimm..." he slurred, fading into brief unconsciousness.
He said he took stimpaks after the scorpion attack, I thought, squeezing his hand. They close wounds, but do they work on illness? How did he get so sick so fast? With my other hand, I supported his head against my shoulder, feeling the scorching heat of his skin.
"Duncan!" he cried suddenly. "...Duncan?" Mumbling incoherently, he pressed closer, turning into my embrace. "...he okay?" he pleaded in a heartbreaking moan.
"Duncan's safe," I assured him, stroking back his damp, sweat-soaked hair. He's delirious and hallucinating. I have to get him to a doctor, fast! But where can we go?
Juggling a restlessly twitching sniper and a Pip-Boy I didn't dare attach to my arm proved to be a real challenge. Finally, I hauled MacCready around to curl gracelessly across my lap and braced my arms against his side to flick the selector switch to the MAP screen. The glowing icons lit up all around our current location, showing a variety of different sites nearby. I felt a rush of hope when I realized how close we were to Diamond City. I know they have a doctor in town, I thought as I pictured the center market. He has a stall near the noodle place. We just have to get there.
My mind made up, I gently shook my partner, hoping to bring him around to some form of coherence. "Mac?" I said quietly, "can you hear me?"
"Mmrghh..." came the reply, his eyelids fluttering. His face was flushed and swollen, hot to the touch. MacCready moaned, his teeth audibly grinding as he clenched his jaw around the sound. He's in a lot of pain. Stimpaks might not help, but maybe a Med-X? One-handed, I groped through his pack until I found the small syringe applicator. Here goes nothing. Ignoring his pained gasp, I administered the painkilling drug, willing it to work on systemic agony.
A few moments passed and MacCready groggily raised his head. "What did you do?" His voice was still slurred and filled with pain, but he was speaking coherently. His hands still clutched at my jacket, pulling us into an awkward embrace on the uneven ground. "Med-X? Ah." Using me as a brace, head pressed into my shoulder, he feebly attempted to get his feet under him. After a few unsuccessful tries, he slumped heavily against me, panting with effort. "Sorry, angel," he murmured, the brief moment of clarity slipping away into weak, delirious mumbling. "Can't..."
"Angel?" That's an improvement, even if it's fevered. "All right, RJ," I said in what I hoped was a bracing tone. "We need to get you to a doctor. Do you think you can hold on if I carry you?"
No response. I could feel the tremendous heat radiating from him despite the painkilling properties of the Med-X, and my worry intensified. "I'm going to stand up now. You need to let go for just a moment."
"No!" he pleaded, twitching weakly. "Don't... Please don't leave me." His eyes were closed, tears of pain glinting at the corners.
"I'm not going anywhere without you," I tried to reassure him, but he refused to let go. I had to pry his fingers from the leather of my jacket. "Angel..." he begged with a weak cry. The moment I pulled free, he whimpered in pained fear, curling into a pitiable fetal position on the ground, moaning unintelligibly. "Don't... leave..." were the only words I could make out. The heartbroken tone brought tears to my eyes.
"I'll be right back. I promise!" Moving swiftly, I retrieved the abandoned sniper rifle, struggling to sling it on MacCready's back along with my own weapon. Even weak with fever, he was stronger than I was, and only his delirious confusion allowed me to wriggle the weapon straps into place. I swung my own pack around to hang across my front and crouched down to grab MacCready's arm. "Come on, love."
As lean as the young sniper was, he was still quite a challenge to try and pick up from an unresponsive slump on the ground. I struggled to haul him up into enough of a sitting position so I could brace him against my back and try to stand up. The light faded into evening before he came around just long enough to groggily lean into my pull and I was able to arrange him piggy-back style across my shoulders. Standing up, I had to lean forward in order to keep his unbalanced dead weight from slipping. I grabbed under his bony knees with my forearms, one arm draped over my shoulder to tuck in between my pack and my jacket, his head lolling warmly against the side of my neck. It was uncomfortable, but I thought I could probably walk.
I took a tentative step, then a second. MacCready whimpered quietly in my ear and tossed his head slightly, knocking my glasses askew. I sighed and inched forward a few more feet, each step a study in balance across uneven terrain. Gotta find a raised surface to put him down for a second. I need to secure my glasses somehow or we'll never get anywhere. A blasted boulder provided a temporary platform and I took a moment to dig out a length of torn fabric and a battered hat from my pack. The cloth soon affixed my glasses firmly to my face and the hat created a soft barrier against MacCready's restless head tossing. It also housed the long braid of my hair, since his jacket's zipper kept pulling out strands every time I moved. A little more securely settled, we started off again.
The weight of my partner, both our packs, and our weapons would have been way more than I could handle had we not just spent the last several months traipsing across the Commonwealth. As it was, I was already sore and fatigued from the fight and the hours of walking afterwards. Each step is a step closer to help, I kept telling myself, forcing my tired legs to keep moving, to find the next clear spot on the ground. MacCready initially twitched and fidgeted, moaning quietly, but after a while he slumped into true unconsciousness, deathly still. Only the searing heat emitting from his body let me know he was still alive, and it worried me. How high can a fever go before it gets dangerous?
The uneven dirt gave way to broken concrete and vehicle debris as we reached the road, the former highway leading directly towards the western edge of the city. It was true dark, and every step became a guessing game I couldn't afford to lose to a trip or a stumble. Would I step onto solid road, a hidden puddle of water, or a patch of loose gravel? I was panting quietly with effort, head down, just focusing on staying upright and moving. The city's buildings loomed ahead, a twisted maze of broken brick and collapsed walls we needed to thread in order to reach safety. I didn't dare use the light on my Pip-Boy, even if I could have attached it. Stealth was the priority. The closer we came to Diamond City on the outskirts of Boston, the more likely we were to run into...
"Hello. Is someone present?" The deep voice was emotionless and computerized. I froze, leaning against a concrete barrier at the edge of the road proper. Oh no oh no oh no, my brain screamed silently. Craning my neck to scan the surroundings, I couldn't spot the speaker, but I definitely had heard someone... something. A Synth, I realized. But where? Could they pick up on the Pip-Boy's signal, even tucked away in my cargo pocket? I barely dared to breathe and silently willed MacCready to stay unconscious and quiet.
"You cannot escape detection for long." The voice echoed oddly, off to my left. I very slowly shifted my weight to turn and look. On the other side of the barrier was an outflow tunnel of some sort, wide and filled with standing water broken up by massive piles of unidentifiable detritus. The Synth voice was coming from the sidewalk on the far side of the channel. A glinting shadow caught my attention as it paced back and forth. Hmm, I don't think it can locate me. But if I move... I can't fight, I can barely walk, and I don't know if that's the only one over there. Frozen in place, I took slow breaths and listened as hard as I could.
"Please come out," came the lame entreaty. I mentally snorted. Did the Institute honestly think that line would work? How can I get rid of that thing? Below, in the tunnel, I heard the slight, familiar muttering groans of feral Ghouls and my mind locked on to a plan, inspired by my partner's acidic comments back in Sanctuary. Huh, thank MacCready for being a snarky bastard when he wants to be, I thought as I silently reached out to pluck a fist-sized piece of concrete off the barrier next to me. Grabbing a firm hold of the aforementioned sniper, I held my breath and lobbed the chunk towards the mouth of the tunnel below. I'm just glad it doesn't matter whether or not I hit anything, just gotta make noise. It also appears they can't detect my Pip-Boy or they would have attacked. Good to know.
Bang. The concrete rock clattered noisily off something metallic, landing with a gloopy splash in the stagnant water. The faint noises inside the tunnel grew louder.
"There you are. I have found you." The emotionless battle cry of the Synth was eerily creepy. It moved swiftly, the bare metallic body leaping over the barrier and into the sludgy water with ease, followed closely by a second identical form. Ha, thought there might be more than one. Both Synths strode towards the tunnel entrance, barely appearing to notice the change in terrain. They lifted their laser pistols in unison, aiming into the blackness.
As soon as the group of feral Ghouls charged, howling and flailing noisily, I scuttled away as quickly as I could to the sounds of the Synths being torn asunder, lasers cracking in rapid fire.
-0-
Diamond City lay just ahead, the glowing lights within reflecting off low clouds overhead like a gentle beacon.
It had taken the rest of the long, exhausting night to creep, inch by inch, the usually easy distance from the broken highway towards the old baseball stadium. The Synth/feral altercation was only the first of our near-encounters. An old apartment building on the main path was the stronghold for raiders, and I had had to backtrack one agonizing step at a time to skirt around the guard post they had set up. At one point, the voice of a wandering Super Mutant echoed down an alley, causing my heart to nearly explode in fright. I had taken cover behind a dumpster, crouched painfully on hands and knees, praying that we would stay undetected, that MacCready would stay balanced on my back, that I could stand up again once the threat had faded. It took every ounce of my strength to regain my feet and press on, my legs screaming with exhaustion.
Even with the beckoning call of safety and help within reach, I paused. I knew the Institute had agents on the surface. I didn't know if any of them were in Diamond City, but had to act as if there were. That means, I pondered, wearily hiking MacCready's slipping form back into place, I can't be me just now.
We were already both wearing disguises and bandannas. We probably also looked like bloody hell, covered in mud and leaves, gritty asphalt dust, bits of garbage, blood, and the ichor of Wasteland bugs. MacCready was practically unrecognizable, his face flushed and swollen from the fever raging through his system. My long hair was tucked up under a hat, and my glasses looked almost like goggles with the frayed cloth holding them in place. My biggest concern was my left forearm, but a quick scraping of stinky wet muck off the street corner disguised the scars and covered over the line of metallic pin receivers. I just hope I can pull this off. We don't exactly look respectable right now. I sighed, bone-tired and willed my shaking legs to move, staggering the last few steps towards the protection of Diamond City. A crack of electrical thunder hastened my steps as a pre-dawn radstorm threatened from the south.
"Move along, scavver," the sleepy guard at the main gate warned. He held his wire-wrapped baseball bat at the ready, eyeing both of us with suspicion.
"Not a scavver," I coughed, roughing my voice into a hoarse grunt. "We're from a caravan... got hit by a giant uh, radscorpion." I had to think to remember what MacCready had called the monstrosity. At his skeptical expression, I inched forward, wanting to get under cover before the storm's radiation reached us. "My friend's hurt. I hear you guys have a doctor."
Stepping close, he prodded MacCready's shoulder with the end of his bat, barely missing my face with the barbed wire. "Watch it!" I snapped, getting into character as a trader, a tough wanderer type. Mac's head lolled, but had no other response. "Radstorm's coming, we all gonna stand out here and go Ghoul, or are we gonna get under cover?"
"Yeah, we got a doctor." When I would have stepped forward, he stopped me. "A caravan, huh?" he drawled, holding his bat out to keep us from getting too close. "Where's your brahmin?"
"Dead," I snarled, faking a cough. "What part of 'radscorpion attack' did you not understand? I barely got away with this one," I nodded my head to MacCready. Sickly green lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the open square where we were standing. Thunder rumbled overhead, sounding closer than before. The guard hesitated, sparing a glance at the sky.
"Look," I bluffed, trying to hide the shaking of my numbed legs. "I heard of another settlement nearby, called Hangman's Alley. Don't know if they have a doctor or not, but if you don't let us in, I'll be more than happy to go there and find out. And spread the word to all the caravans that Diamond City ain't friendly to traders no more. How about that?"
"Whoa, no need to be hasty there!" The man nervously shouldered his bat, backing under the shelter of the entrance and I followed slowly. "Just gotta put you in the logs. Name?"
"Angel." That way, if Mac slips in his delirium, I'm good.
He scribbled in the log book. "What caravan you with?"
"We were working for the Minutemen this time." True enough, as far as it went. If you have to lie, keep it simple and as close to the truth as possible.
"Good enough." He came out from behind the security desk, ostensibly to help guide us towards the steps into the stadium, but his hand gripping my left arm was a bit too firm to be mere chance. I stared at him looking down at my arm until he let go with a disappointed frown. "Welcome to Diamond City. You, ah, okay carrying your friend there? I can't leave my post."
"He ain't heavy," I quoted from the old song. The guard showed no sign of recognition to my relief, I had almost given myself away with that sarcastic reply. I'm so tired. Gotta watch what I say. "You guys got a place I can stay while my friend here recovers?"
"The Dugout Inn has rooms... and showers," he emphasized. "Down to the right, past the market. Ten caps a night."
"Thanks." The radstorm crackled behind me, sweeping across the city in the pre-dawn velvet darkness. Fighting off the wave of debilitating fatigue threatening to overwhelm my senses, I staggered up the steps and into Diamond City.