Get up.
Lily's eyes flew open at the sound of her sister's voice.
"Red?" she croaked, head swiveling wildly. "Rachel?"
She isn't here.
The smell was still there; the stagnant river was as pungent as ever. The pain? Of course it was still there, only slightly relieved by a few hours of rest. But her sister wasn't anywhere to be seen, and neither was the supermutant or the woman in the blue jumpsuit.
Lily was still trying to figure out what had been real and what had been cooked up by her feverish brain over the last few hours. The supermutant had definitely been real; her reeking pants and throbbing leg confirmed it. She was also fairly certain that the woman had been real, although her memory of her was a lot fuzzier. She remembered large brown eyes drilling into her, a nose turned upwards in contempt, and a voice that oozed malice.
And she saved my life.
That was the part that she was still trying to wrap her head around. Had she really ordered a Supermutant to let her go? The fact that she was alive seemed to suggest as much. The Stimpak? Her hand flew to her chest, trying to find the spot where she'd slammed the needle through her skin.
Hopeless. With all the other cuts, bruises, slashes and scratches that were crying for medical attention, there was no way she'd be able to isolate the tiny puncture-point. But she must have received some treatment; she distinctly remembered the sound of bones cracking and splintering in that creature's monstrous grip…
Her heart began hammering away in her chest, and her mouth suddenly went dry. Water. The vault woman had thrown her a can of water. She scrambled towards the trash heap, searching for the white container among the pile of red-orange metal. There. Greedy hands wrapped around the white plastic, bringing it up to her parched lips…
Empty. She wanted to cry, but her dehydrated body didn't have the water to spare. Half-heartedly, she looked around for the Mutfruit. It was by far her least favorite fruit in the Commonwealth, and when she spotted the moldy, shriveled-up purple thing tucked away under a pile of human bones, she decided she wasn't particularly hungry.
She needed something to distract her from her painfully dry throat; her thoughts drifted back to the woman. General of the Minutemen? She'd seen a lot of absurd things in the past few hours, but that had to be the most bizarre. A vault dweller without a Pip-Boy, claiming to be the General of a long-dead faction. It really did sound like a dream.
Speaking of Pip-Boys…Her heart sank as she realized that hers was nowhere to be found. Was she wearing it when the Supermutant found her? No doubt that woman was looking for a Pip-Boy to complete her vault dweller outfit. Maybe she'd taken it? Or maybe whoever had thrown her out here to die had been smart enough to take it off of her.
Whatever. What mattered now is that it was gone. At the very least, she could be thankful that whoever had stolen it was also clever enough to undo the straps. Most scavengers would have just made off with her whole arm. A Pip-Boy could be worth a thousand caps or thirty, depending on who you sold it to; that alone made it worth the effort of hacking through flesh and bone.
She didn't even bother searching for her rucksack; what sort of idiot would leave her that but take her Pip-Boy? She carried enough .44 ammo in there to satisfy an entire gunner squad. Years of careful hoarding, just to make sure she'd never end up in the situation she was in now. Gone, just like that. She smiled drily.
So this is how it feels to be robbed.
Her thoughts turned to her last piece of missing equipment, by far the most important of the three. Her heart leapt when she spotted the black and gray metal nestled in between ancient, rusted machine parts and discarded metal scraps. Her revolver.
Somehow, the weapon had escaped the eye of her assailant and the woman in blue. She popped open the cylinder with practiced ease. Six bullets. Her hand tightened around the worn grip. If only she'd had her gun when that mutant had appeared.
Her fists clenched with fury at the thought of unleashing six contemptuous shots into its ugly face.
Never again. She promised, tucking the revolver into the holster at her hip.
It was late into the evening by the time Lily was in any condition to move. She'd tried to wash out the rancid taste of vomit in her mouth with some water from the river. It worked about as well as bringing a Bloodbug home to kill a Molerat; that is to say, not very well at all. Now her mouth tasted like vomit and dead fish. Another classic blend of Commonwealth flavors.
Still, the murky, fetid river water had quenched her thirst for the time being. As an added bonus, the noxious liquid had scared her appetite away completely. The lingering after effect of the Stimpak helped dull her pain as she shakily got to her feet.
That weight in her hips was still there, forcing her into an awkward, plunging gait that left her feeling dizzy and off-balance. She didn't have the time to wonder why the Stimpak hadn't relieved the pressure in her hip or to fret over the numbness slowly creeping up her lower back. Darkness was rapidly chasing away the last traces of blue in the sky, and she was determined to get as far away from the vault dweller and her pet before nightfall.
The Sun, it would seem, didn't have any problem abandoning her; a few measly rays of light were all she had to guide herself down the nearest road. Without her Pip-Boy's light to help her, she was essentially blind in the dark. Not that she'd be able to put up much of a fight, even if she could see her enemies. Any ferals wandering the streets tonight would find themselves treated to the easiest meal they'd ever seen. Forget the ferals, a particularly determined Molerat pup wouldn't have a hard time toppling her over and making off with a finger or two.
She stumbled on a rock, a jolt of pain shooting up her leg and forcing a pained gasp from her lips. Killed by a rock. She grinned through gritted teeth; what a perfect ending to her perfectly unremarkable life.
If the Commonwealth really wanted to kill her, it was taking its own sweet time getting to it. Sometimes, she could have sworn she'd heard a feral sniffing the air behind her. More than once, she thought she could make out the furious buzzing of tiny wings; a Bloatfly, beelining towards her. But nothing ever materialized out of the thick cloud of darkness. Mostly she walked in silence, listening to the sound of her own ragged breathing.
After nearly an hour of painful existence, a small, two-story house emerged by the roadside. Lily practically crawled up the porch steps, batting aside the ancient, wooden door. Was that a mattress on the floor or a rug? Stupid question. She thought, mid-collapse.
It made no difference now.