Chapter 3: The Inn of the Cold Oasis

She reached in her pocket, grabbing a wad of cash and placing it on the table. "One room for me, and one for my handsome friend here. And a shower for me, and well, if he wants one. Separate rooms, no interruptions and makes sure people knock, or someone will get hurt, in a very terminal fashion." She gave an extra ten dollars to the Man at the desk.

"Thank you for your generosity, my lady." The hotel clerk said in a crisp accent of the Midwest. He sounded from the West indeed. He had a bald spot in the middle of his head that would have been fit for a crows nest. Charlyn could swear a bird would come in now and nest on the dude's crown. Charlyn/Edden could imagine a bird setting up a roost there and maybe even laying an egg. Breaking that chain of thought, Charlyn/Edden felt compelled to get to her room.

It was a quaint place, a pre-war inn that was preserved from the horror of the nuclear holocaust that engulfed the continent so many centuries ago. A vending machine caught her eye. Grabbing a coin, she inserted it and pressed the button. A Meal-Ready-to-Eat brick was being moved by the coil, the slender brick sliding forward and dropping down in the bin. With a hand movement as a quick as a cobras strike, she had the bar in her hand. There was also a stock of MREs of vacuum packed meals. Some tasted fairly fresh, and some tasted stale. Or maybe that was the way it was supposed to be?

It was preserved by ICE-Tec, a special freezing technology that kept anything tasting good and fresh. Of course, the idea of 'tasting good was highly debatable. In either case, she peeled the plastic rap and picked at it. As she ate her shotgun rocked slightly as it was hanging around her waist and the Colt MK4 Delta Elite in its leather holster, Mexican carry style, the hammer cocked and locked.

Ron pays money for his room and takes the key. He walks up the stairs towards the room. "Night, Edden. I'll see you in the morning." He said, once again showing manners hadn't entirely died with the old world.

He opens the door to the room and shuts it quietly. Edden's room is right next to his. First thing he does is lock and bolt the door. The bolt's a little cheap piece of shit, and so is the lock--one hard kick and the whole thing would fly in.

He removed his shirt and pants, then his underwear, and got into the shower. He let the hot water wash the accumulated dirt off of his body, and made good use of the soap and rag. He looked in the cabinet by the stall and found a bottle of Head & Shoulders. Hot Damn. Even two hundred years and change and you could still find some descent shampoo.

Ten minutes later, he got out of the shower and put on a pair of loose boxer briefs and a sleeveless shirt, both from his knapsack. Laying a knife on the nightstand and the beretta--safety on--under his pillow, the tortured man fell asleep.

Program running...

Second Scenario... Identity found, humanity lost...

((("The subject is in position. Awaiting advice to pursue."))) The voice halts on the radio awaiting further orders. A voice speaks, but no one but the figure looking from the shadowy roads could hear. ((("Understood. Observation prerogative activated."))) The man said in response to the mysterious figure behind the radio.

A second figure emerges from the shadows. "What are our orders?" He asked, his voice even and patient. As if he was always in the habit of being formal.

"To observe the subject. Monitor behavior. So far there has been one incident in the town of Moscow. A dispute that ended... rather badly." The first man said.

"I see." He seems to weigh on the words. "The subject is remembering."

"Yes. But Mr. Essex expresses that we follow and not reveal ourselves."

"Understood."

Both men stood in the distance and looked at the Inn. Waiting and pondering.

ColdOasis Inn, Room #6... 23:00...

A key enters the slot, the tumblers meet, a turn of the wrist, the door opens. As Charlyn enters she sees a small room before her. Not the sort of tight space that would cause a claustrophobic to hyperventilate, but it was still small. Or maybe, Vidal just had picky tastes.

It was the latter. She was picky.

A single bed fit for two or four people. Two people would be comfortable. Over that, it was crowded. Charlyn/Edden hated the thought of slumming. The room was also complete with some posters and two paintings. One was a fuzzy painting of some long forgotten rock star she recalls vaguely seeing such portrait sometime ago during her hazy travels.

The bed was enough, clean sheets, two pillows. It was Heaven.

Another feature was the small bathroom complete with toilet, toilet paper, a shower and tub. A TV was sitting on a table. Whether it worked or not, wasn't much of an issue yet. Three book shelves complete with books and other reading materials. A foot locker and locker were just next to the head of the bed. She opened the foot locker and dropped her bag inside. All her items, belongings and lost memories lay inside that large bag. Sealing the lid, she took her footlocker key and closed it. The key was a skeleton key, could work with almost any locker or foot locker. A key-man back in some one horse town had given her a set when she cleared out some unwanted guests.

Grabbing the handle of the larger locker, she opened it and placed her shotgun inside, leaving it to stand. To her surprise, someone left a small box of .12ga shells, #00 Winchester made buckshot. Making a mental note, she made sure she'd take it when the time came to leave.

Grabbing the beige towel, she began to undress. Boots, sox, jacket, shirt, panty, bra, it was all gone. She was naked and swathed in a towel.

Reaching to the locker once more, she removed a rectangular strong box and grabbed some scented soap. She had some cleaning to do. The feeling of being grimy ticked Edden badly. A clean woman was a good woman.

She made sure her door was open and grabbing the Colt 10mm, she took that along. Her room door was locked, but in case someone came charging in, they'd get a nasty surprise. Paranoia was a short coming of the lovely Edden. She knew it and accepted it. It had saved her life a couple times.

Turning the handle counter clockwise, warm water began to fill the tub. A couple candles lay about. Taking some matches from the cabinet by the sink she lit them and waited for the tub to fill before she would settle in.

A tune came to mind. Something like the moon light sonata. She had sung that song before with the violin. Dropping the towel.

A sound of water being moved by human flesh could faintly be heard as the sound of a sigh of pleasure escaped through her lips as she set her self in the tube. Her upper torso, save the swell of her breasts were submerged in the warm water. The sound of relief echoes through the walls as the steamy water began the process of loosening the dirt on her flesh. Her many rings were set aside on a small bench and she rested her head backwards as the heat from the water relaxed her tight limbs.

This was heaven on some scale. The chain of a key was hung around her neck, accompanying the domino piece and tooth. She wasn't sure what the round key was for, but soon she'd find out.

It would all come back to her... eventually.

Grabbing the violin and stick, she began to play the low haunting melody of the Moonlight Sonata. Even Ron in his room could hear the melodic tragedy being played out, and whom ever heard it couldn't help but be moved by tears...

The man's tortured dreams wouldn't stop. He knew the rule--kill yourself in the dream, you wake up. Not the case. In every dream, he died only to have a worse one.

The smell of burning fat was accompanied by a sizzling sound--one of the three obese men in Nightmare company had met up with a super-mutant carrying a flamer. Pork rinds for everybody. A ghoul with a crude saw was ripping hunks off of Caparzo's legs and letting him watch as they were cooked and eaten. The whole time he was in a ditch surrounded by waste and corpses. Sludge, that's what it was. He could feel where the meat hook had gone into the space between the bones in his left lower arm. If he pulled, blood would shoot out. He slipped in and out of consciousness.

The dreams would last for so long tonight...

She played on as if possessed, the cat-gut strings met and clashed and played music that tore at the hearts of all who heard it. One old man was sobbing like a baby at the frenetic playing of Edden. She in her tub, her cut short hair and head tilted forth, tears streaming down her cheeks as she recalls the past... and the song plays on.

The Past

Men and women screaming as rotten things jumped from nowhere and ripped into a young would be merc. She remembers his face well. He was a young lad, handsome, courageous, but also kind and warm hearted. She remembers sharing a cup of coffee with this lad at some palace among others like their kind.

The playing intensifies. Her eyes shut, but the fingers and hands moved along as if possessed. The violin rod dances across the strings of the taught cords and she plays on the tears blinding her to the world.

The past reels on...

The boy was standing back to back with her when the wolf monsters came out of the shadow, as if they were being spawned from the very darkness. His rifle went off and her shotgun blazed death. They were fighting tooth and claw, one not giving up. They were winning.

But it would be short lived. The kid's antiquated, but powerful dough boy m1 Garande had run out of ammo, she knew because she heard the ammo link pop out with the audible chink. The lad had his throat ripped out as a wolf pounced on him and clenched its teeth on his soft voice box, tearing it out like a ripe piece of fruit. His screams had been the sound of a man drowning on his own blood. He was dead and Edden was screaming as she blasted the wolf's head off clean. Then another figure came and grabbed her by the arm. Same golden eyes and brown skin. He pulled her away from the battlement, his free hand unleashing death on the shadow hounds. They reached the silver gates.

Tears were in his eyes when she faced her 'savior'. His eyes held no warmth, nor did his touch. He saved her life. When the gates slammed shut, She kept looking at the direction of the fallen lad...She could hear the shadow hounds of hell feast on him.

The song ends, and claps erupt from all around the inn. She stops, her hands aching and her eyes full of tears of for a past she can vaguely recall.

There sat in the tub of warm water, was a weapon, a woman with no past... and she wept because she feared she had no future.

Somebody else screamed. Ron caught glimpses--a M-60 firing wildly, laser beams slicing a ghoul into sections, someone's head exploding. Dell Jones, Ron's best friend, running from a huge mutant. Ron ran towards him, hand outstretched. Not fast enough. Dell was impaled through the back, mutant's hand suddenly growing from his chest.

The entire Inn, right after it was done clapping, heard the scream as Ron bolted upright.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

He picked the beretta up, breathing heavily. There was enough clear, odorless sweat to fill a bucket coming from his forehead. He chuckled weakly. Just a dream, he told himself. Just a dream.

The shell-shocked soldier got up and put his pants on. He didn't feel right now. He tucked three throwing knives into their harness and took the knife with a black, weighted blade. He tucked the Beretta into his pants. He rose and walked towards his door--when he heard a noise from in the hallway. Something scratched on his door.

Shit.

He pulled the beretta out... then changed his mind. He looked in the closet--instead of a rack, there was a cord to hang your clothes. He tore it out, then ran to the bathroom and got to the sink. He turned the water on as hot as possible, and filled up a small glass full of it.

He put the water glass up above the door frame, and wrapped the cord in a loop under it. The door opened, and the man from the front desk stepped in with a shotgun. He expected the captain to be sleeping in the bed--not standing in the blind spot, smiling.

Ron tugged the cord, and hot water landed in the clerk's eyes because he looked up. He screamed, and Ron hit him square in the Adam's apple, causing him to gag and stumble backwards. He let go of the shotgun, and Spears kicked the front end of it, causing it to flip over. He grabbed the stock and pulled the trigger, blowing the clerk into Edden's bedroom door. No pellets went through his body--none hit anything inside Edden's door.

The captain laughed, spun the shotgun like a toy, and cocked it. The clerk's sightless eyes stared up at nothing. Another clerk with a military surplus M14, a heavy but accurate rifle, rushed up the steps--and got blasted. Ron shouted to Edden.

"EDDEN, WAKEY, WAKEY, EGGS AND BAKEY!"

The old man down the hall ran out of his room with a rifle, saw that the clerks were fighting a tenant, and decided to help the clerks. He thought they were on the same side. He raised the old rifle--and Ron raised his, but he was faster and put another shotgun shell into his ancient body. The blast snapped the old man backwards into his room. Several clerks in plain clothes were running around in the lobby.

NOT ANOTHER AMBUSH!

Gun fire and screams awoke her from her daze. Like a snake coiled for the kill, she sprang out of bed and began to get dressed. Putting on her clothing as before and grabbed her double barrel shotgun, she got dressed.

Her large brahmin hide duffel bag was slung across her back, pistol in one hand, shotgun held in the other.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and her shotgun's barrel slamming against his temple sent him recalling backwards. An unfamiliar hand was treated as a hostile. Nothing more... nothing less.

Ron gave a war cry.

He was in trouble. It was an ambush. They were under attack. Mind focused, Edden inserted herself into the terrible world of battle mode. Opening her door, she blasted tenants and clerks who got in her way. One such man got one barrel of peppered lead and the second man got a double tap with the powerful 10mm to his chest. If one didn't do the trick, two did.

A thunderous double blast from the widow maker sent a man fly through the air and across the lobby. His chest eviscerated, his eyes clouded and dead. She moved along, reloading the shotgun with two more buckshot shells. The wily Edden hadn't forgotten to take the extra shells she had found in the locker room, reloading as she walked, ignoring the burning of her finger tips from the fired shells.

Crimson began to fill her vision and instead of gun fire and screams, all she could hear was the symphony of a hundred red violins.

The Outside

The sound of gun fire echoed through out the tundra in thunderous claps. No doubt the shadowy figures heard, the two men dressed in fine suits of gray and black. "Shall we proceed, Gog?" Magog asked nonchalantly.

The other man shook his head. "No, we have our orders Magog. We stay here and await further instruction." Gog replied mechanically. His voice seemed synthesized, artificial and flat, too flat for that of a human being.

Both of them could pass for twins or even brothers. But they weren't all that identical. Gog was a beefier looking man with a hard face that seemed to have been chiseled from stone. Magog on the other hand was slightly leaner, but still had that face that seemed carved from rough stone. Both their brown eyes were hidden from view by special shades. How they could make out in the dark with shades was anyone's guess.

"The subject is active."

"Yes. Something must have triggered her."

"You think it was the man she was with?"

"Affirmative, Magog. She is prone to responding to acts of violence. It attracts her, though she is probably unaware of the attraction." Gog deduced. Mr. Essex had given Gog and Magog all the available information of the woman they were sent to shadow.

"We shall watch and wait." Gog said as he folded his arms across his broad chest.

Ron was standing at the top of the stairs, armed with the shotgun and the M14. He started firing single shot volleys into the clerks in the lobby, not wanting to use the unsteady burst function. True it had a slower version of burst, but Ron had never liked the M14 for it's burst capabilities. For now, single shot did good, dropping the rabid clerks with .308 AADP stopping power. He saw Edden coming towards him down the hallway and gave an apologetic look combined with his patented shit-eating-grin.

Charlyn stood with her bag on back, amidst her the clerks and tenants scampered around the inn. It was pure chaos, the tenants not sure what the hell was going on or if they were being invaded by mutants. Seeing this as a good moment to bring some form of peace, she raised her pistol in the air and fired a single shot. When that thunderclap of her Delta Elite reported over the confined space of the Inn, Charlyn had briefly lost her hearing. Only then she remembered the special ear plugs she carried on her person. DEF-Con battle ear plugs. Those wonderful babies could sift out a whisper but also white out any loud sound capable of damaging the ear drum.

Now that she had everyone's undivided attention, clerks and tenants, she decided it was a good time to go, but before that, she had to pay for her stay. "Sorry for all the damages," she threw a roll of bills and coins on the table. "This should cover it." She said blankly. The tenants cringed, but one among them began to draw a gun.

Like a flicker in the air, she could sense the danger, but instead of responding with her shotgun, she responded in words. "If I were you, I'd advise you holster the gun and go back to your room. Be a good lad and put the gun down. Now."

She cocked the hammer of the 10mm pistol and reiterated her ultimatum. "I don't feel like killing anymore people today. Hell, I don't think you want to be dead." She turned now and faced the would-be hero, and her icy stare forced the man to rethink his position in life. The man lowered his fire arm and walked off to his room. The violin playing stopped and Edden was herself again.

"Let's go, Ron. I think we wore out our welcome."

Ron lowers the M14 halfway, and walks backwards, keeping an eye on the clerks and tenants, all of which seemed content to let the party go. They decided to make for the kitchen. "I suppose we can at least pick up our meal; we did after all, pay for breakfast."

Charlyn couldn't disagree they could at least take a meal at gun point at least. From the smell, she could smell the scent of roasted beef and something else… something that had a recognizable and aromatic aroma. It smelt like pork. Red Violin wasn't too familiar with pre-war version of pork, as the nearest thing she had to pork chops was pig rat slabs. Now that tasted good, once you forgo the rat part.

When they enter the common room, the double doors flapped back and forth like bat wings, it was a room that was both common room and cafeteria. Ron took the M14 and placed it between the bars of the double doors. Making a makeshift lock. It would hold off the Clerks if they decided to get brave again. They had waited, Ron placing the Mossberg 500 Marine with sawn of barrel. "Happy birthday, Edden," He handed her the chrome finished shotgun with the butt stock. Charlyn smiled and retired the Widowmaker, as it served her well, but a shotgun that held multiple shells was better then a two shot weapon.

"Thanks, this baby oughta come in handy," She smiled, accepting the weapon. It had a sawed down barrel, which made it easier to wield, especially for close quarter combat and the devastation it would wrought would make up for the limited range.

"Oh, and uh, sorry about that, didn't realize the clerks would try and rob us, I mean, they have enough guests as it is."

Edden smiled knowingly. She supposed no one could have guessed that the clerks would rob their guests, but even that didn't make sense. "Yeah, well. In this world, you just can't trust anyone." The words rang true and Ron seemed relieved that Red Violin didn't hold him responsible for putting them in this mess. With that said, Ron and Red surveyed the common room which was massive and noticed it was vacant though there was a low buzzing sound coming from the direction of the kitchen. She noticed a fire exit, but it was chained over and she had wanted to get her damn meal from the clerks, they owed the duo that much.

"C'mon, let's go Ron. Let's see if the chef has our meals ready to--" Then there was a low buzzing sound and the sound of something soft and wet being cut. It didn't sound right, it didn't feel right. The feeling she and Ron felt was like a tingle under their skin. This wasn't right at all. And it was Ron who spoke. "Something ain't right." He muttered, taking point, gripping his beretta with both hands and Charlyn followed suit, she holding the newly gained Mossberg.

Ron stealthily pushed the flapping doors of the kitchen, and what he saw, what they both saw, it was something fit for a horror movie. It was something Ron had seen far too many times in his dreams. Red notice Ron's hands began to shake and if she could see his face, she would notice his eyes went wide and his lips went pale white.

Charlyn realized why the scent seemed so vaguely familiar. And the site they both saw would be but another nightmare for their dreams. Another terror to keep them awake at night.

The Cold Oasis Inn had been prospering for many years now. Many, many years. Some always wondered why the Inn had prospered for so long, why it always had warm water, and piping hot meals. And those meals, those unique and tasty dishes and exotic meats.
But there was also another odd question. If people checked in, usually some never checked out. Actually, they just disappeared, vanished.

This wasn't really unusual, other tenants surmised that the missing tenants probably fled during the night, so they didn't have to pay extra. That was the usual excuse the clerks would give, and no one challenged it. If the tenants knew what was happening in the confines of the kitchen, if they knew that the meals they had were more then special, Cold Oasis Inn would be set ablaze. In the back room, they would see all the shoes and clothing of the missing persons.

Charlyn Vidal saw the pile of shoes and knew that this had been a business for a long time. She and Ron had seen one of the butchers in the white smocks cleaving away at some indistinguishable meat. They could hear the men talking.

"Poor kid, oh, well." Butcher one said, conversationally as he carved away, "More meat for the pot. I suppose we can always tell them we got deer meat."

"How long you think we can keep this up?" Butcher two asked, his voice a bit nervous, probably even guilt riddled. He carved out something and placed it on a small dish.

The second Butcher seemed to chuckle, "C'mon, better us then them. Besides, this nosey kid was spying on us. This would ruin business here. And besides, you get used to it." The first Butcher said, and with that the conversation ended and they worked on the remains of a boy they were forced to kill. They already put the parents on the hooks. It looked like a twisted parody of a meat locker.

What caught Ron's attention was the hanging human torso suspended from the many meat hooks, and Spears acted. All the visions of the war came back now, flashing in his mind and all he could hear was the cry of his men. He didn't care to surprise them, nor wait for Charlyn's OK. He acted. He lifted his hand, took aim and shot the first butcher in the face. Two shots, the Butcher's face had coin sized holes in the cheek and one in the forehead, his blood and brain matter leaking on the ground. Butcher #1 was dead, and Butcher #2 dropped his meat cleaver and raised his hands.

Ron stared coldly, his clear eyes wide, his breathing heavy. It seemed the meal pick up had been canceled. Damn and Charlyn was looking forward to a lunch. She raised the shotgun and pumped, the shell had loaded into the chamber and ready to be fired.

The second Butcher whimpered; his body shivering. She looked at the carved up child and was resolved. "Waste 'em." She said softly and she and Ron fired into the Butcher .12ga buckshot and 9mm Luger FMJ hit their mark and the man's body danced. They both had executed an unarmed man, but Charlyn figured she could get over it. Looking at the boy on the slab that was being carved up like a thanksgiving Turkey, she decided it was time to move on. The scent of meat and flesh began to nauseate Charlyn and Ron.

"I don't think I'm hungry anymore." Ron said coldly, finally holstering his fire arm. Charlyn had reached and picked up her spent shell. It could be reloaded and reused.

Both of them left the Cold Oasis Inn, taking the Butcher's exit. What they saw was a large rubbish bin that was filled with refuse and perhaps the black bags had parts of the human body that couldn't be used. She didn't dare indulge her curiosity. She had seen enough.

An hour later…

After all the damage had been done, Oasis Inn was in shell shock. Tenants locked themselves in their rooms, those with arms waited for the next wave, others stood numbly with the plunger or knife in hand. None of the tenants even imagined that the Clerks robbed their guests. True there was the occasional, 'this tenant died in his sleep or disappeared'. And no one questioned it. It had been part of the strange times that made up the wastelands. But two strangers had showed that evil. A cracked commando and a mad violinist. Yes, strange times indeed. Perhaps the Sleeper would awake and come on the back of riding a death claw and ask for the water chip.

Five clerks out of seven had died today. The two survivors Otis and Tony began to drag the bodies and lick their own wounds. Tony was busy rubbing his head which thundered after that brown bitch whacked him across the noggin with her shotgun. Well, he'd think twice before jumping guests. True they had been picking off strangers and drifters and it had been a lucrative enterprise for the last ten or so odd years. The occasional poisoning, strangling… or claim they were attacked when the clerks went to change the bed spread for the guests. Strange times, but these two didn't buy it. And no one would ever guess most of the people ended up as morning and evening supper.

Otis had what looked like third degree scalding burns from the water and a purple mark on his throat. Yes, Tony was pissed royally.

He had the bodies cleared and piled. The clerks had been stripped of goods and money. He even stole Fred's gold watch; saving Tony the time and effort of slitting the Fred's throat and taking it. Alas, tough times indeed.

Tony walked behind the Main Desk and took a bottle of aspirin (extra strength). This was a bad day, and he just didn't know how it could ever get worse. And As if things couldn't get any worse, seven Atomic Work Union Men and lady came in, stepping through the door and surveying the damage. He knew them by the tattoos between the forefinger and thumb.

If things weren't bad, I have those fuckin' hard cases on my back, he thought with thinly disguised contempt. He dropped the tablet under his tongue and savored the bitterness as it dissolved.

"Can I help you, folks?" Tony asked mildly, his face feeling a size bigger from the hit.

The cross eyed woman led the pack and came forward. Her trench coat dragging behind her like a cape of royalty. At her side was the red haired Bobby Depape. She spoke, that same little chipmunk voice that nearly drove Bobby and the late McGurry to tears. "Have you seen two people… mayhap strangers, Tony?" The voice said in a low squeak.

"Strangers…. Oh sure, we got plenty strangers, Regulator. We're all strangers till we know each other's names." Tony replied, almost seeming to mock her.

The next thing he felt was the second part of his face light up. And now he need not concern himself with his left part, because now the whole face felt equal in swelling proportion.

"Don't you be the smarty ass wit' me, Tony… I know what you fuckers do up here, and you lucky ol' Gill allows it. Now, I am gonna ask you again, and don't you dare be trigger with me, less you wanna play ol' Russian Dice." Her crossed eyes blazed like blue diamonds and the barrel of her revolver was now coated in his blood. Her left hand had grabbed his throat in a tiger grip and he was choking, as she pinched harder on his windpipe. "Now, we'll begin again, my cully, and you will answer me… So… did… you see a brown skinned girl and a man wearing a red bandana?"

"Yes," he choked, and Tony began with the basic details and told them everything.

The Atomic Workers Union Representatives had gathered the facts and went fourth. They would track this Violinist that killed Albert and the faggot that killed Jonny and McGurry.