Note - this story is the fourth of a series. Read at your own discretion!
The rest of the stories are as follows;
1 - Legacy of the Capital
2 - Misadventures of the Mojave
3 - The Mojave Misfits
Read them or don't. Just enjoy!
"And it'll feel like the whole wide world, is rainin' down on yo-ou… brought to you courtesy, of the red white 'n blue…!"
Headphones firmly on her head, crimson bangs fluttering above her sunglasses in the breeze, and Ulysses's old world duster shifting at her heels—Sandra strode into the isolated old town, tucked deep in the northern mountains beyond the Mojave wasteland, her combat shotgun named Charon in her hands, revolver named Sweet Revenge on her side.
Valle del Hierro was an off-the-books town, nestled in between mountainsides and hidden away from society—and the reason for this was simple, as it was a town filled with and operated by raiders.
For many weeks now—Sandra had solidified her name as the best bounty hunter in the Mojave, working with the NCR and the Boulder City Jail in order to bring in bounties, since her original firm was no more. It'd been a long, rough road—but not a particularly troubling one, not, at least, for her.
Because—after Randall was gone, she'd decided it for everyone, that she'd go it alone from here on and banish her friends form the dangers of her life. She knew they must've spent time searching for her before eventually giving up and heading back to the Lucky 38—but it hardly mattered. They were safe—and she was right in the fire where she belonged.
And with this new routine—she no longer worried, and rarely even cared.
Sandra was free to simply do her job with no worries attached, sometimes sniping from afar, sometimes shooting from up close—and her favorite new trick was to obliterate the opposition, using Esther or a large assortment of plasma grenades. The tact and restraint shown by ordinary bounty hunters was a thing the courier was not hindered by.
Thus, her reputation grew.
Thus, villains like Red Bear—essentially Marko's apprentice—were brought down.
And thus—she finally found a lead on Marko.
A man named Sergio—who was apparently Marko's brother—was rumored to be living in this very town now, and she followed the bounty on him straight here.
Sandra exhaled a smoke cloud, flicking her cigarette and striding toward the town's entrance. Amidst a large assortment of boulders, a large metal gateway stood open—two guard towers on either side, and the raiders perked up at the sight of her.
Sighing, she let her shotgun hang by her side—her left arm occupied by a much larger weapon, one she propped onto her shoulder and launched that very instant.
Esther shot the mini-nuke off toward the gate—and it landed right in the heart of the raider nest, causing a grand explosion that shook the very earth. The great blast glistened against her sunglasses as she lowered the large weapon, strolling forward and not minding the many limbs and bursts of red mist cluttering the area before her.
Arms, legs, heads, and torsos rained down all around her as she calmly breezed into town, the smoke clearing as her feet carried her on. A short line of buildings were on either side, though none of them stirred, as the rest of the town was presumably either hiding or already dead on the streets out here.
Sandra marched directly toward the opposite end of town, straight for the saloon. She stepped onto the stoop, glancing to the side and seeing a naked man stabbed into a propped-up chunk of plywood, a man she vaguely recognized, his corpse decorated with a birthday hat on the head and two small blades jammed into either eye, his mouth hanging open and his face sliced deeply on either side, creating a bloody, revolting smile that crawled morbidly up either cheek.
The man—Ramsey—was one of the employees of the Boulder City Jail, a man who had recently gone missing. Sandra never got along with him too well, but it was a shame to see him in such a state nonetheless.
She simply sighed again, placing Esther against the wall and double-checking her shotgun before pushing the saloon's swiveling doors open.
A few people appeared from around the corner—and she fired off her shots with usual swift precision, the music in her ears working to soften the audible blows to some degree.
The men around her fell dead, and she meandered around, searching the back hall and the closet, but seeing no sign of the man she actually sought.
With yet another sigh, Sandra strolled outside again, slowing to a stop just when someone appeared before her.
Directly down the street and perfectly opposite her—a man in black stood, a dark duster complete with a hat, his pensive eyes narrowing at her from beneath its rim. He stood at the ready, revolver at hand, and he calmly moved forward, staring at her and giving her a brief once-over.
"Not… exactly what I expected," Sergio remarked, making a face. "I thought it'd be someone taller, frankly. And certainly not a little girl."
Sandra said nothing, merely stepping off the stoop and returning his stare.
"I mean… really, who does that?" Sergio wondered, cocking his head at her. "Who hires a little twenty-something-year-old girl to be a friggin' bounty hunter? Are you… are you really Courier Six? Forgive me, I just find it hard to believe. This is a man's game, sweetheart… so how in the hell are you pulling so far ahead in it? You must have a hell of a trick up your sleeve."
Sandra took another step forward, her expression vacant, eyes steely as they rested on him behind her lenses.
"I do," she affirmed, her tone equally as deadened.
"Ah yeah?" Sergio perked his brow with interest, moving closer and giving her a curious look. "What is it?"
Sandra let out a breath, tightened her grasp on her shotgun, and gave him a shrug.
"Most bounty hunters… on some level… give a damn," she murmured. "I don't."
BANG.
They both fired—Sergio's bullet pelting into her torso as the 12-gauge round met his skull—obliterating it in a sudden burst of red and bone. The blood splattered and the body crumbled, dead before it hit the pavement.
Sandra felt a sharp pain in her chest, though she knew she wasn't seriously hurt. She'd been wearing the thin bulletproof vest given to her by Joshua Graham for every bounty thus far—and she wasn't about to go without it now.
Dust gusted by in the wind as an ominous silence fell upon the dead town.
The song in her ears changed, a melody that happened to suit her now somber environment, and she easefully strode forward.
"When I was a child… I heard voices. Some would sing… and some would scream. You soon find… you have few choices. I learned the voices… died with me."
Sandra slowly knelt over Sergio's fresh corpse, reaching into his pocket and fishing a few things out—a key, a couple loose bullets, and a single, crumpled note.
"All you have… is your fire… and the place, you need to reach. Don't you ever… tame your demons… but always keep 'em, on a leash."
Sandra stood, unfolded the note, and read it.
And—for the first time in three months of endless, empty bounty-hunting—she felt the slightest spark of hope, seeing that this letter was signed at the bottom by Marko.
The note read;
Sergio,
I heard you're doing well down in the Mojave. I'm proud of you.
But, as for me… I'm wrapping things up and heading for Frosthill, that mining town up in north Utah. I'm retiring.
Yea, I know, last thing you'd ever expect to hear from me… but this life isn't what it used to be, brother, and times are changing. I guess I'll just settle like the rest of those saps out there. Town's full of people who ran from the law at some point or another. No marshals up there, just one crooked sheriff.
Riding solo now… but I could've sworn some ghoul was following me. Face looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't tell who it was, rotting flesh and all. I'm probably just being paranoid.
Anyway… if you do come looking for me, just don't ask for Marko. He won't be there.
Take care of yourself, and don't ever let those law dogs see you sweat.
Your brother,
—Marko
Sandra stared into the note for several minutes, not moving, fingers slowly tightening around it—feeling it, grazing the sheet, the place where Marko's hands once were, where he himself was touching the paper, writing on it, placing his thoughts down as if they were those of a person.
"No," Sandra breathed, shaking her head once and scoffing out a laugh. "No, motherfucker… you don't get to be done."
At that—she chopped off Sergio's finger, set off, collected Esther, and marched out of Valle del Hierro, leaving behind—as she'd done in the past—nothing but a town of the dead in her wake.
"Here."
Sandra tossed the finger onto the desk, and it rolled twice, stopping at the edge of a clipboard.
The man behind the desk—Larry Skull, the gray-haired man who'd been administering all her bounties for the past three months—blinked at the finger, then gave her a look.
"I'll be damned," he said with a laugh. "You really did it, didn't you? Every damn top-dog in the Mojave seems to have fallen off the face of the planet now. You're a damn blessing, y'know that?"
Sandra tried to smirk, only halfway succeeding.
For all these weeks, she felt little to nothing, and she struggled to feign any emotion at all. Quite honestly—she felt as if she was simply on pause, as if everything inside her was halted and powered off, waiting until all the top-dogs like Marko were gone, waiting until she could reunite with her friends before she would be allowed to feel again.
But—as she'd promised herself weeks ago—she would not return to them until she was certain that the worst of the worst were all eliminated, and the ever-persistent dangers were gone. They'd be safest that way.
And—Randall could rest in peace.
Larry graciously paid her for the bounty, and they said their goodbyes, Sandra striding off from the jail and heading back to the Boulder City Saloon. She would grab some drinks and snacks for the road, take a nap in the nearby hostel, and then—she would head off and make a return to Utah.
Sandra pondered on this as she walked, the sun setting, her expression thoughtful as she gazed up at the oncoming night sky. She hadn't been to Utah since her encounter with the tribes in Zion—and with Joshua Graham, an intense and terrifying man whom she'd somehow made a friend out of. But this place—Frosthill—sounded nothing like Zion, and she likely wouldn't cross paths with the tribes again this time.
She wandered off, vanishing into the rubble of Boulder City—and only moments later, a man appeared from far down the opposite way, marching up the hill with a displacer glove on his arm, navy blue suit and a hat to match, and he slowed to a stop just outside the Boulder City Jail.
Vulpes squinted at the building—mostly at the billboard on its wall, one that had several bounty posters pinned onto it.
He glared at the posters for a moment, then glanced at the door, sighing deeply. He'd been wandering the wastes alone for a while now, and—being a defected Legionary—he often took care to avoid the Republic whenever possible.
But—he knew for certain that Sandra was likely still hunting bounties, and this was the first place he'd seen that was still openly offering them.
His jaw twitched, and Vulpes took in a deep breath of disdain, pushing the door open and marching inside. Larry Skull's desk was directly to the right, and he stopped at it, his pensive blue eyes landing on the man.
Larry returned the stare. "Ah… can I help you?"
"Yes. I'm… looking for someone," Vulpes replied. "A bounty hunter."
Larry's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "We don't get a lot of revenge-seekers in the office… namely because waltzing directly into our office is a pretty stupid move."
"It's not a vendetta. It's a…" Vulpes sighed, thinking for a second. "I don't know what it is… but she's a friend of mine. One I haven't seen in quite a while. Just checking up on her."
Larry surveyed him intently. "Name?"
"Sandra," Vulpes informed. "Or… better known as Courier Six."
"Oooh… the hero," Larry smirked. "Hell, you just missed her. She just walked out."
"What?" Vulpes barked, instantly forcing his composure back into place. "Ah… all right. Did she say where she was heading?"
"Right this second? No, I don't know where she's heading," Larry replied honestly. "But… she did say she planned to head off for Utah as soon as she could. Bounties have pretty much dried up for the time being, so she's gonna continue her work up there… so she said."
Vulpes's eyes narrowed, his teeth beginning to clench. "Why? Why Utah?"
Larry's smile faded. "To hunt down Marko."
Vulpes's hand coiled into a fist by his side, turning away and scowling at nothing in particular. It seemed she'd killed all the Markos of the Mojave—and she wouldn't be content until she killed the top-tier criminal above all the rest, an endeavor that would likely get her killed if she pushed it any farther.
"Idiot," he hissed under his breath, facing Larry again. "Listen, you… do you have a postal service here? One that reaches the Strip?"
Larry gave him another odd squint. "Ah… yeah. Why?"
"Good. I need you to send a brief message to the Lucky 38 for me," Vulpes requested, digging into his pocket. "I intend to pay you. Just write this down and send it off; 'Sandra's gone to Utah, and I'm going there to find her. Join if you like. –Vincent Fox.' Can you remember that?"
"Um… sure," Larry mumbled. "You're really gonna just set off after her? Just like that?"
Vulpes smirked, placing coins on the desk. "I'm not a stranger to the hazards of the wasteland. Quite the contrary. Thank you for your time… and goodnight."
He slid the coins forward, then turned and marched out of the building without another word.
Larry stared after him strangely, then glanced down, seeing that he'd paid with Legion Areus.
"Fuckin' weirdo…"
