Chapter Summary: Ominous forecasts make it clear that there is more at stake on this journey than just revenge. Beth gets a reminder of home. Against his better judgment, Boone begins to open up more to his companion.

Chapter 4: Yesterday

In late afternoon, Beth and Boone made a stop at the 188 Trading Post to grab some food and rest before their continued push on to New Vegas. The towering skyline of the city looked close, but was actually at least a half a day's walk from here. Daylight was fading and most of the traders were starting to pack up for the day. No more caravans would be passing through until the next morning.

As the companions walked along, several of the traders greeted her with familiarity.

"Hi, Michelle," she replied to one. "Good to see you."

"You too," the young woman said as she wiped down the bar with an old rag. "Hey, you know about that courier getting shot in Goodsprings? It's all over the radio."

"Yeah, I know about it." She raked her bangs back with her fingers to show the scars.

The woman's eyes went wide and she stopped wiping the counter. "Holy shit! You okay?"

Smoothing the hair back, Beth shrugged. "More or less."

"Gotta say, you're tougher than you look."

Boone let out small grunt of agreement.

The Courier glanced at him, then back to Michelle. "I guess. Anyway, is Veronica around?" she asked, wanting to change the subject.

"You just missed her. She was by this morning. Should be back in a few days."

"Thanks. Say hi to her for me when you see her."

"Will do."

Continuing over the bridge, Beth directed Boone toward one particular trader, a fellow discharged NCR soldier, who she knew would have a good supply of ammo for a decent price. "Maybe that beret of yours will get you a discount," she observed.

"Doubt it."

"Whatever. Hey, you get what we need." She tossed him a bag of caps. "I need to go talk to someone about getting...something."

"Fine."

Heading down the hill, passing the Gun Runners with a nod, she made her way under the bridge. "Clay?" she called out to a boy sitting on the ground wearing a scout uniform.

His head popped up from a book on his lap and he smiled broadly. "Lizzy!"

She shook her head with a grin and walked over to sit on the ground next to him. "You know, you're the only one I let call me that. And that's only because you won't stop."

"Did you bring me any thoughts?" he asked. She knew he was referring to the books and magazines she would bring him when she would pass through.

Suddenly, she felt terrible. She hadn't. She had been on such a singular mission. "No, sorry, kid. I forgot."

"Too many thoughts?" he asked, sympathetically, pointing to her head.

With a grimace, she nodded and rubbed her throbbing head. "Yeah...too many thoughts." Not usually one to believe in the supernatural, she had to admit there was something about this kid. Some of what he knew could be explained away as perceptiveness, but not all of it. Her father had been the last person to call her "Lizzy" and that was almost ten years ago. Yet, she hadn't given this kid any name when they met and it was as if he pulled that one out of her mind somehow. Had it been anyone else, it would have upset her. She had a particular soft spot for the orphans of the Wasteland, however, of which there were far too many. Clay seemed to be doing pretty well for himself, though. The traders of the 188 made sure to look out for him, which was a comfort to her.

"That's okay. A trader came a few weeks ago with a book about Utah. It's got pictures and everything. Zion's just like you said." He beamed with excitement. "I can't wait until you take me there someday, you know, when I'm old enough."

"Yeah." The reminder of the promise made her heart ache. It seemed so remote now. "Hey, I wanted to ask you about your 'medicine.' Where did you get it? I could really use one."

He patted the red metallic device on his head. "I don't remember. Maybe I always had it." Looking at her sadly, he added, "I wish I could let you have this one, but it hurts real bad when I don't wear it."

"I know, Clay. Don't worry about me, I'll be alright." She gave him a reassuring smile.

"You haven't been around in a while. Whatcha been up to? Got any good stories?"

Reaching up to her forehead again, she made sure her hair was still covering her scars. That was one story he didn't need to hear. "Well, I made a new friend. He and I have been traveling together."

His eyes brightened with earnest interest. "Tell me about him."

"He doesn't really talk much, so I don't know a lot about him," she started. Some people might assume that Boone's quiet nature reflected a simple, unfeeling interior, but she could tell that wasn't the case. "We met in Novac."

"That's the place with the big dinosaur, right?"

"Yes, that's it. Um...he used to be in the NCR army as a sniper, so he's really good with a rifle." She continued on, "He lost his wife, whom he loved very much, and it's been really hard for him. She was taken away by some very bad people. I think that's what makes him quiet."

Clay nodded with sympathetic understanding.

"So, right now, he's helping me finish up my last delivery and otherwise, we're working on stopping the bad people."

"Do you think he'd like a thought?" he asked helpfully.

She shook her head with a sad smile. "No, I think he has enough thoughts already. But I wouldn't mind one." Reaching in her pack, she pulled out the bag of caps Boone had given her as payment back in Novac and set them on the ground between them. "Alright, kid. Tell me about 'everywhere.'"

Taking off the device, he stared into the middle-distance with blank eyes. "Bull and Bear over the Dam, at each other's throats...but a light from Vegas? Ball spinning on the wheel, more than two at the table. Placing bets. All lose in different ways. A dam of corpses, towns of corpses, scattered across the sand. But whose in what shares? Even the dealer doesn't know. Forecast: A rain of blood will flood the desert and not purify it."

She was taken aback. Towns of corpses? Rain of blood? This was much more dire than his previous "forecasts." Carefully, she reached out and helped him put the device back on, his eyes returning to focus. He didn't know what he had just said. It was better that way.

He scrunched up his nose. "Bleh. Thinking about 'everywhere' always makes me a little sick."

"Sorry, Clay. Thanks for the 'thought.' I'll try and stop by again soon with some other people's 'thoughts,' okay?" She reached out and gave him a hug before standing up.

"Be careful, Lizzy."

The caring words struck her to her core and she turned away so he couldn't see the tears suddenly welling up in her eyes. "I will," she responded, trying to keep her voice strong.

When she was out of sight, she quickly wiped away the tears before anyone saw them. From her pack, she pulled out a syringe of med-x. "I guess this 'medicine' will have to do," she thought, injecting it into her arm. After a moment, the searing throb in her head started to subside into a dull ache, a welcome relief, even if it wouldn't last. Closing her eyes, she stood there for a minute to enjoy a moment of peace before hoisting her pack up and returning to the upper part of the trading post.

Beth found Boone sitting on the ground alone, leaning against one of the rusty campers. He had two bowls of some kind of stew, one half eaten in his hands, the other on the ground waiting for her. "Hey," she greeted, dumping her pack down next to him and sitting beside it.

"You were gone a while," he observed. "Get what you needed?"

"No, but it's okay. He needs it more than I do." Despite how vague her response was, she knew he wouldn't press it. She picked up the bowl and took a bite. Generous chunks of tender brahmin mingled with carrots and potatoes in a thick gravy. "Not bad."

"Yeah, not bad," he responded, taking another bite of stew.

The pair finished their dinner in peaceful silence as the sun set behind the hills, the air becoming noticeably cooler. Afterwards, they sat around a campfire with some of the traders, swapping stories and whiskey, though Beth passed on the latter. They had been especially interested in hearing the Courier's tale of how she escaped death at the hands of some New Vegas thug, but she wasn't in the mood to share more than the bare details.

She always got quiet and contemplative after she spoke with Clay; it was his "thoughts" and the way he made her think about home. "Be careful, Lizzy. I'm proud of you." had been the last words her father said to her before all hell broke loose. It was hard to remember his face, but thanks to the holotapes he had left behind, she still knew the sound of his voice. Though it had been a long time since she had listened to them.

Taking a deep breath, she stood up, telling her companion quietly that she was heading to bed. "Yeah, I'll be there in a bit," he responded and she headed up to the old camper with the spare mattresses.

Not wanting to be alone with a bunch of strangers who might try to make conversation with him, Boone excused himself and decided to take a walk. He hadn't had many moments alone for a little while now and it was good to take a break. The lower part of the trading post seemed less active, so he he ventured down there.

Under the bridge, he could see a light and he heard paper rustling. As he walked closer, he saw a young boy reading a book by a lantern.

Hearing the sniper's boots on the gravely ground, the boy looked up. "Hello." He put down his book and studied the sniper's face with a friendly expression. "Are you Lizzy's friend?"

Boone shook his head. "No, I don't know any 'Lizzy.'"

"Oh, I thought you were him." He paused and then shrugged. "Did you want to buy a 'thought'?"

"A 'thought'?"

The boy nodded. "I can take off my medicine and do some thinking. Folks say it's real interesting. I don't know 'cause I never hear it. Some say that it's a gift. Others say it's the kind of thinking anyone could do if they watched more than they talked."

Boone liked that sentiment. Most people talked far too much, in his opinion, and didn't do enough watching or thinking. "How much?"

"Hundred caps. I can tell you about 'you,' 'here,' or 'everywhere.'"

Although he was skeptical, he agreed and pulled out the money. "Fine, you choose." The price seemed steep, but something made him want to know more. Besides, the kid probably needed the money more than he did, since caps flowed much more freely while traveling with the Courier than he was previously used to.

"Okay, I'll think about you," he said decisively. The boy took off the device on his head and stared into Boone's face so intensely, he was almost looking through him. "You show the Bull red, but they don't see. One shot kills two. Through the canyon of death – you run from a debt of ghosts and blood, you are sure it will catch you... To move forward, go backward. Trust the stranger who is not a stranger. Bear or girl, which will you choose? Forecast: Remorseful with a chance of a broken heart."

Boone blinked slowly as the boy put his device back on his head and brought his eyes back into focus. Handing over the caps, he stood and started to walk away, not sure how to process these "thoughts."

"Take care of Lizzy, okay?" the boy called after him.

He was about to say again that he didn't know any "Lizzy," but figured it was pointless to argue, so he nodded and walked back up the hill. When he returned to the upper part of the trading post, he saw that the camp had fallen silent in his absence with only a couple of guards still awake, keeping watch.

Across the bridge, he found Beth asleep on a mattress inside an old camper. He sat down on the unoccupied mattress, quietly putting down his pack and rifle so as not to wake her.

Feeling too unnerved by what he had just heard, he didn't feel like sleeping. Boone had a firm belief that there was something out there, some force or presence, that cared about right and wrong, good and evil. That thing was coming for him to settle his debt. If he saw it, part of him wouldn't want to fight back-maybe it would even be a relief. But he knew it wouldn't be that easy. If it just wanted him dead, he'd be dead. No, it wanted him to suffer, to take everything away from him before it killed him.

Looking over at the Courier, he seriously questioned whether continuing to travel with her was a good idea. When he first agreed to come along with her, he figured that he would protect her until she soon realized traversing the Wasteland hunting down the Legion was foolish and he'd drop her off somewhere safe. He also thought she'd be upbeat and annoying to match her young freckled face, so he'd be glad to be rid of her. That didn't happen. Instead, he found a capable traveling companion who didn't get on his nerves. By contrast to most people, she actually made him want to talk sometimes, largely due to her not being pushy about it, never commenting about how quiet he was.

There was potential for real friendship here and that was frightening. Even after knowing her for only a short time, he felt he was getting too used to being around her. If they parted ways, he would miss her, at least for a little while. No, traveling was fine, but he needed to keep his distance. That was safer for both of them.

A couple of hours later, Boone was still sitting up thinking. In his hands, he held the photograph taken of him and Carla on their wedding day. Even though the picture was in black and white, he could still remember the colors. She was in her pale blue dress, cut just above the knee to show off her shapely legs, which were further accentuated by her dark blue high heels. A flow of light blonde hair fell over her shoulders in soft curls and a small white veil covered her forehead. That genuine smile of hers stretched her pink painted lips and brightened her dark brown eyes. Standing next to her, he wore his freshly pressed tan NCR army uniform and was also smiling broadly. He didn't think he was capable of smiling like that anymore, like the muscles were atrophied. A lock of dark brown hair peeked out from under his red First Recon beret and his green eyes were clear.

All that color was gone now.

As much as he stared at it, this happy image would not replace the one that was there when he closed his eyes, the one of the last time he saw her.

The sound of his companion stirring and mumbling in her sleep diverted his attention. He couldn't make out any clear words, but he could see her eyes moving rapidly, her breathing shaky, and her face damp with sweat.

As he watched her sleep restlessly, he wondered if she was all right and if he should wake her. Then he glanced down at her pack and saw something poking out, the top of what looked like a small syringe with the plunger pushed down. It hadn't been the first time. He had also seen the pain in her face at times when she thought he wasn't looking, or when she couldn't help it, and he wondered how severe it was. Getting shot in the head had to leave some residual effects. When he would ask her if she was okay, she always said that she was fine. Figuring that talking about it wouldn't make it go away and since neither the pain nor the chems seemed to be affecting her mentally, he let her be.

Suddenly, she woke with a gasp like she'd been underwater for too long, looking around, unsure of where she was for a moment. Seeing the sniper sitting there, she seemed to relax slightly, reassured that whatever danger she was just in had passed.

It was still dark, the streetlamp lightly illuminating the road outside. Beth sat up and leaned against the wall of the camper, holding her knees to her chest, trying to calm herself with controlled breaths. The sniper couldn't count the number of times he had woken up like that, but he didn't have any words to help. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to her. "Small sips."

She took it with a nod, wiping the sweat from her face, her breathing starting to return to normal. Taking a sip of water, she looked over at her companion and the photograph in his hand. She watched him for a couple of minutes before clearing her throat softly, asking, "That Carla?"

"Yeah."

"Can I see?"

Hesitantly, he handed it to her and she looked at it for a long moment. "She's really beautiful," Beth said, handing the picture back to him.

"Yeah. She was."

"Tell me about her."

He sighed. "I was on leave at the Strip. She came up to me and said I looked lost." The corner of his mouth twitched like it was trying to form a smile. "She talked a lot. About all kinds of things. Suited me fine." He shrugged. "I never know what to say and she didn't seem to mind. Listening to her, it could...make you forget. Like there was nothing else except her." Looking at the photograph again, he lightly rubbed the edge with his finger. "I never met anyone like her."

Beth smiled at him sadly.

An uneasy silence hung in the air for several long minutes before she asked, "Are you going to tell me what happened to her?"

His eyes snapped up from the picture and stared at her, his breath quickening in anger at her overstep. "Are you gonna tell me what your nightmare was about?" he asked coldly, not expecting an answer.

Staring back at him, she swallowed another sip of water. "No."

"Didn't think so."

She lay back down on the mattress with her back to him. "Goodnight."

"Right."