Mellow breaths brushed against Vincent's neck. An arm draped over his shoulder, following the bend of his own arm while his hand balled up in the ranger's palm. One of those new moments he never wanted to end.
Then the beeps resumed.
He squinted around the room. And there it was, pushed up against the curve of windows and accompanied by tall shelves stuffed with old-world books and knick-knacks. The terminal's screen cast a green hue on that corner of the suite. A terminal he hadn't paid much attention to when they first arrived—being non-responsive and whatnot. Sitting down in the stiff chair, he suddenly had a hunch to its purpose. A vague string of numbers and letters jumbled together ran across the screen. All but one line, the last one, the only coherent message in the virtual nonsense.
"Report to the penthouse immediately." Signed by Mr. House.
A shiver rattled him when he stepped off the elevator and into the House's lair. Strangely undisturbed. Dust all but where Vincent leaned on the catwalk rails or the shelves he snagged a book or two from just to flip through and breathe their wise scent. Of course, the securitrons had no need to use anything the luxury room offered, but House… Was the man of flesh and blood as he claimed? A recluse, no doubt. The eccentric type that idolized a long-gone era. Hidden somewhere in the penthouse and only came out once Vincent left, or so he imagined.
The mysterious man's portrait waited patiently for Vincent frozen on the screen, interrupted by an occasional refreshing flicker. "Your trip to Fortification Hill will have to be delayed."
"Why's that?"
"Remember those suspicious transmissions I believe were originating from Benny's suite in the Tops?"
"We didn't get to look into it before we had to leave."
"I have detected them again," House said. "Whoever is trying to access my network is doing so in such a painfully obvious manner I cannot ignore."
Vincent clenched his jaw. He let Benny live and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass as things usually do. Although, House didn't specify what to do with Benny… Not even a hint at offing him. No, House just wanted the chip. "Stop whoever is attempting to brute force my network, but also eliminate future possibilities as well this time."
By the time Vincent returned to the suite, Lawrence was awake and fighting with the belt around his hips. "We're not going to the Fort yet," Vincent said. "I have to go back to the Tops first."
"What?"
"House thinks Benny was trying to break into his network again." Vincent descended the stairs. Rushed boots slapped every steely perch until he landed on the carpet. "And we left him alive, so I rather not get in trouble, y'know?"
"Is that really a good idea after we assaulted the guy?" Lawrence inquired, pulling on a fresh shirt before joining a few mismatched buttons. "Also, kinda scorched the place a bit," Lawrence noted with a squint back to the previous day. Vincent paused. He stared at the holster set on the sofa; his gun tucked in its bed. Lawrence had a point, but Benny was a loose end that needed to be tied up. By a bullet preferably. "I did also steal his gun. That's a whole 'nother level of insultin' a man…"
The Tops, despite a fire scare the previous day, was still open and busy as ever. Waltzing through those doors, Vincent expected to be scooped up by a gaggle of suits and shaken down like the vicious arsonist he was. But the music went on uninterrupted and tourists and casino suits alike waded around the odd pair. Still Vincent shoved nervous hands in his pockets. The bulge of the Dillinger hidden in his vest reminded him there was plenty of time for things to go south. However, the key ring jingling in his pocket was more pleasant to listen to.
Benny's suite somehow looked and smelled just as Vincent expected. A bachelor pad. Cheap musk permeated the suite, accosting the nose, burning off eyelashes, and snatching any sense of smell for the next hour—more of a mugging than a perfume. Framed pin-up girls covered the walls from floor to ceiling. A hundred eyes as smiles all staring down on whatever the creep did in his apartment. Vincent shuddered.
Lawrence advanced to the bedroom pistol first. Vincent quickly followed after and away from too many eyes.
Vacant. Bedsheets mangled. Drawers ajar. Emptied of the most needed items. Unwanted clothes strewn about. Nothing tasteful as they'd come to expect. Then Lawrence spotted the cabinet. Oddly positioned. Carpet brushed against the grain followed one wood foot. Fingerprints washed away the dusty veneer on a side panel.
"Look at this," Lawrence whispered. He pressed to the wall, pushing the cabinet out with ease. A draft blew through his hair and dried his eyes. Lawrence blinked. He stared at the cut out. Large enough for a man to walk through. His pistol led the way in and Vincent followed him inside. The narrow hall opened up into a room.
And two strangers looming over copious amounts of parts littered on a bench. A dead terminal stared at the slaughtered securitron slouched in the corner. Its electrical insides exposed. Utility arms once covered by articulate plastic housing now stripped of their laser mechanisms revealed the bony armatures beneath.
"How convenient."
A stranger stared at the two. He stood stiffly with his companion, as if he were a mannequin advertising that drab brown suit hanging on a slight frame. Waxy skinned and expressionless. Beneath the brim of a matching hat, hollow of eyes fixed their acute stare on Vincent.
The hammer cock drew the strangers' attention to Lawrence. The stranger's companion paused tearing apart a terminal. "I am not here to fight. I was going to look for you once we finished here."
"Let's not forget introductions," Lawrence suggested.
"I am Vulpes Inculta," he said, never breaking a stoic façade and empty voice. "The best of Caesar's Frumentarii."
"What does Caesar want with him?" Lawrence demanded before Vincent could. Cold eyes returned to the ranger and something peeked through the mask.
Vincent's hairs stood on end. Pins and needles rushed his limbs. Then his stomach plummeted. The type he learned to trust his gut around.
"He admires your accomplishments thus far. Take this. It will allow you safe passage through our lands." Pallid hands presented the mark. A large coin bearing what he Caesar's silhouette hung on a chain overflowing in the gifter's palm. "My Lord requires your presence at his camp, at Fortification Hill."
"I don't like repeating myself," Lawrence spat.
"Go to Fortification Hill and you will see."
"The securitron is deactivated," the other said.
Vuples Inculta stopped next to Vincent. "It may also interest you; we have the man you came here looking for as well."
Vincent crept forward. Arm stiffened to an angle while his clammy grip kept a rigid aim on the stranger. His free hand snatched the mark.
"We will be leaving now."
"I know you spies see everything," Lawrence called before they could exit the room. He lowered his pistol. "You know I'm a ranger. I'll follow my friend here into danger."
"I know what you are." Vulpes Inculta halted at the cut out. Slowly, he turned around and held a stare with Lawrence. "But are you brave enough to approach the Fort? I'm sure making Caesar laugh will improve your chances of survival."
Once the spy left, Vincent rushed to the terminal. Blank. Wiped. Inoperable. Nothing he could salvage. Well, maybe not on the surface.
"Looks like I, at least, won't get crucified on the way," Lawrence pondered. He joined the boy at the desk while keeping an eye out on the hall
Vincent pried the terminal apart with what tools lay around. Clearly a workshop for whatever underhanded games Benny was playing. No expense spared from the looks of it.
"Benny was trying to get in House's network for a reason," Vincent said. "I think they were trying to destroy whatever he was working on."
"Why do you think that is?" Lawrence inquired as he watched Vincent work. Piece by piece. Precise hands, practiced a thousand times over under the guidance of the old man in the salvage yard back home peeled away layers of plastic skin. The delicate inner workings exposed. Pristine and preserved under yellowing plastic.
"If he knew about what was under the Fort," Vincent whispered. He twisted around, glancing at the doorway for eavesdropping ears. "Then it explains why Benny wanted the chip."
Lawrence whistled. "Cuttin' out the middleman."
"He could have taken control of Vegas if he had the chip."
The hum of the Mr. House's computers was lost to the senses once one became accustomed to it. The securitrons had their own buzz about them as well. A subtle reminder of their existence. They stood out of the way on the strip, blending into the gray walls easily ignored. They watched. Waited patiently for the rare moment when they wheeled into the masses and barked synthetic warnings. Vincent eyed them as he waited before the big boss. Each wore the same screen. A cartoonish face. Black and white. Identical gruffy, frowning police-officers found in old-world comics.
"Was your task successful?"
"Yes." Vincent held up the gutted terminal's memory storage. "From what I gather, Benny was probably planning to double cross you."
"I miscalculated Benny's ambition and ruthlessness."
"I was also formally invited to the Fort."
"That does not surprise me," House said. "The Legion has spies everywhere. However, this gives you an excuse to go. I don't doubt Caesar knows of the vault below the weather monitoring station, but without the chip he cannot open it. I can also further deduce he sees this as an opportunity to eliminate me."
"Hold on." Vincent set the terminal memory aside before starting a pace to coax his thoughts. "If he finds out about those securitrons—"
"You will have an army to escort you safely out of his territory should it come to that," House stated. "I have no doubt he will take the chip from you, but Caesar is more interested in hurting me to seize New Vegas. Exploit that. Which shouldn't be too difficult. He is not particularly gifted in intellectual faculties."
Morning light came in through a dramatic entrance on a clear, sunny day. Contrarian to a frightening task Vincent would set out on. One he rather not have to do, or at least convince the ranger next to him to stay out of. Lawrence was unshaken. Stubborn, but Vincent expected that by now. Unafraid as they walked towards a pit of vipers. The heavy sack stuffed with supplies weighed the boy down more than he was used to. One of many new burdens he counted on the long hike. According to Lawrence, they could reach Fortification Hill in two days. Straight to the rendezvous point on the Colorado. From there, Caesar's men would row them up the river, and walk them to the other side of Hoover Dam. So long as nothing kept them. The Nevada wilderness takes no prisoners, but the Legion takes slaves.
Retracing steps down the 582 echoed Vincent's fears. Sun bleached stones marked graves dug days prior. Graves that could have been theirs. But he had to ignore them. If he wanted to be a real man, to get anywhere in life, there was no room for fear.
"What do you suppose Caesar wants with me?"
Lawrence plucked the cigarette from his lips. His attention fixed on the horizon under a squint. "Don't know. Might have something to do with why they abducted Benny. I don't doubt it's for something that serves his conquest."
Only noon and they'd barely covered any ground. Somewhere between Henderson and Boulder City, where the nowhere met the nothing of the desert. Nothing to make you feel safe. Nothing to eat. Nothing to drink. And a hell of a place to die.
Yet, there was something about that nowhere-junction that put Lawrence on edge. The groans of the old trains as the wind rattled their bones. Their cars gutted long ago. Salvaged by whoever passed through and left to rust and rot away under the sun. Chips of eroded paint mixed in with compacted soil hardy weeds cracked through. Alongside the railroad junction were three highways. Junk littered the precipice of what remained of the ancient crossroads. Parts, fenders, bumpers, and just about everything that you can find in those old-world machines corroded into obscurity.
Lawrence stopped. He stretched an arm across Vincent and brought him to a halt as well.
Wind funneled between rail cars. Howling, whirling, and twisting up dust devils in its wake. Rusted hinges squealed. Metal doors moaned, grating against their frames and rattling like feral ghouls lost in the wastes. Gravel crunched beneath boots as Lawrence started for one of the cars. He whipped out his pistol. Vincent followed suit. Lawrence leaned to the verdigris doors.
"Sounds like someone's inside," he whispered.
Vincent scanned the rust-yard. A sudden duck peered beneath the rail car. "Nobody else around." Lawrence gestured to the train car and Vincent's iron sights set on the doors. Lawrence pulled the latch. Rust shrieked in his ears. Then he yanked it opened.
The sun poured in. Legs kicked back despite nowhere to go. Gags muffled fearful breaths. 10 of them stuffed inside the sweat box. Young women and girls, each staring wide-eyed at the two men. Reddened faces and dark circles captured in the whites of fearful eyes. Lawrence lowered his pistol. Temples flashed when he sighed.
Whips zipped between the two. Bullets echoed off metal walls, pitting weak iron and spitting up sand with every missed shot.
"Get up there!" Lawrence shoved Vincent to the doors. The boy jumped up with ease. Lawrence followed close behind. Another bullet zoomed by as he clutched the searing metal frame. He winced at the sudden shock in his leg.
"Come on out!" A scratching voice ricocheted between train cars. "I'll cut you a deal! Any girl you'd like. Discounted."
Lawrence peeked outside. There was never just one. Traffickers roamed in gangs. Heavily armed. Minds rotted by chems. Dangerously unstable. Fire ignited Lawrence's nerves. He hissed and pressed a hand to the source. Wet.
"Lawrence!" Vincent crawled to him, grimacing at the sight. Red stained faded denim. Splotches seeped into the creases of his hand pressing down on a leaky hole. "How–how bad?"
"I've had worse," he grunted through a thinly veiled scoff. The ranger reached for the nearest woman's gag, "How many?"
"Three left us," she whispered through a shaky voice.
"Plan? At all?" Lawrence groaned, pained and sour-faced.
An empathetic sting jolted Vincent's own thigh. A quick pat assured he wasn't hit. Deep breaths came in triplets. Vincent steadied his hands as he muttered to himself. Brows tightened and jaw clenched when he stared at the scorched ground far below him. A hand clutched the gritty frame. Rusted poked back, flaking and clinging to clammy hands. Slowly and quietly, he leaned around the corner. His other hand occupied by his gun.
Gravel crunched. Somewhere to the left. Too close. Vincent held his breath and waited. Scrapes paused. Waited. Then picked up again. Faster. A blot jumped in Vincent's sights. Fingers reacted quicker than a thought. The shots and the blot fell into focus on the ground.
"One dead."
Lawrence exhaled. His heavy growl echoed in the car as he pulled himself towards Vincent. The boy glanced to the ranger's hand. Red seeped between Lawrence's fingers and hushed curses. He propped himself against the wall while his free hand searched a sack of their supplies. Vincent watched the bullet gouge deeper in his mind's eye. Desperate faces surrounded him. The ranger wounded. Who knows how many more hostiles were out there?
Nerves pushed Vincent forward.
"Back the fuck off or I will kill every one of your merchandise in here!" Vincent screamed. Roars scraped his throat. Vibrations lingered in his nose. Nostrils flared, huffing deep breaths like a bull standing on a charge.
Silence met his bluff.
But Vincent wasn't convinced. He fell to a squat. Arms raised and steadied his aim. Sights angled to the car across from them. A skipping ring bounced down the corridor. "One down!"
"Wait, wait!" The voice returned. "Let's not do anything rash."
"We know you're hit, so don't do nothing stupid either." Another voice. They weren't together. Not even close.
"They think there's only one of us."
"Right now, there is," Vincent corrected. He studied the railcar again for. If everyone was going to get out alive, he needed to get outside. Some way other than the front door to certain death. Something useful. Eyes trailed up the walls. The roof. Something convenient.
Like a hatch.
A glowing square stared back at him.
"Lawrence, can you give me a boost up?" The ranger followed Vincent's eyes up to the roof. He maneuvered to the boy without hesitation. "Just stay down. You don't need to stand."
"Don't think I can if I wanted."
"I'm going to get up on the roof and try to take them out from above."
Lawrence steadied himself sitting up while Vincent stood on his shoulders. He pushed up the hatch, it's creak lost in the decaying skeletons' groans. He pulled himself up. Forearms refused to meet his shoulders. Now wasn't the time to be weak. Not with these stakes. There was no other option. His stomach tensed as he swayed freely. Strained groans pulled him through the pain of scant muscles he never knew he had. The last image of Lawrence's agonized and sweat-slicked face stuck in his mind.
A wheeze marked his accomplishment. Staying low, Vincent started towards the closer voice. Silver patches in rusted skin glared back at him. Distorted waves lifted on the roof. Burning steel bit soft flesh, but nothing compared to what Lawrence was going through. The ranger who had so graciously walked him across a wasteland now depended on him. Lawrence hadn't let Vincent down and Vincent determined the record stayed even.
He stopped at the end of the car. Staring down the gap between steel boxes, Vincent spotted a shadow. Nervous and sputtering. Impatient for his target. The stranger leaned around the car. Arms stretched out and ended in a silvery revolver. Vincent carefully leaned over the edge. The stranger retreated to false cover. Iron sights locked on the man and Vincent hoped his aim wouldn't fail.
His trigger finger felt no resistance. The blast silenced the desert for a second. A puff of smoke escaped the barrel like a soul leaving the body. A heavy plop on the ground confirmed his kill. Pulling himself back on the roof, Vincent took to a crouch and trekked back to the hatch.
A stray blast froze him solid.
Lawrence.
Vincent abandoned his squat for a flying run. Eyes fixed to the open hatch in the distance. Closer. Closer. He prayed he wasn't too late. He dipped inside, hands clung to the hatch opening then released for a steady landing.
The ranger laid on his stomach. Gun pointed out towards the car's opening, muzzle steaming. Lawrence peered over his shoulder as the boy sighed in relief. But it wasn't time for rest just yet. Looking out again from the frame, eerie creaks and moans of weathered armatures filled the silence. A soft landing planted boots on gravel-laden tracks. He went low once more and waddled under iron bellies. No boots other than his own. For now. Vincent flung his head back to the tops of the cars. Nothing up top either.
"Looks clear," Vincent declared.
"Good job!" Lawrence's growl withered to a hushed whine. "I already radioed for help."
Vincent pulled himself back into the car. "When do you think they'll get here?" He searched his satchel for the old pocketknife he'd debated he would ever use. First, he pulled away their gags before cutting away the rope binding hands and feet.
"We got an hour."
"Are you gonna be ok until then?" Worried eyes glanced back and forth to the ranger and the next unfortunate soul waiting to be freed. Hands no longer trembled, but a fretful heart refused to settle under sympathetic duress.
"I found the tourniquet," Lawrence said, splaying a hand on the tightly wound rag on his thigh. "There's a patrol and a few rangers coming to sort this mess out."
"Are you all locals?" Vincent inquired. "What happened?" His voice echoed back to him. A good majority just nodded their heads or gave quiet affirmations.
"We were on the strip when they came for us," she said. The same girl he first saw when they opened the doors. Wide-eyed bewilderment remained, but the initial fear of the two strangers had worn off. She coddled a younger girl next to her. "We're from the NCR."
Over half their water supply depleted after everyone got a drink. Food rations gone. Solace from the heat came in unpredictable breezes. Sometime after two, that promised patrol showed up. Rangers in tow as well. Vincent's mission inevitably delayed but a moment to pause and breathe wasn't all bad. The hike to Camp Golf wasn't a long one, except for Lawrence. The base sat on Lake Las Vegas, surrounded by dilapidated ruins of a hidden oasis not far from the city. In a former life, another resort or casino now claimed by the New California Republic. Overgrown grass sprawled rolling hills. Closing in on the water-front base, tall grass vanished. Cleared away to make room for the maze of tents. Watchtowers scanned the wilds. Hidden in their shade, observant soldiers and rangers. Following the rangers, the rescued group made their way to the medical tents.
Dark bags dragged down heavy lids over glassy eyes. At least the painkillers kicked in. Vincent pulled a stool to Lawrence's bedside. "Look at me telling you not to get shot," Lawrence chuckled. "Guess I should take my own advice?"
Vincent smiled, wide and beaming, glad to see his friend returning to his typical self. "I still got a one-up on you though," he brushed back the hair over his scar.
"I won't even try to top you there."
Vincent leaned to the man. A whisper hung on brazen lips, "I like the idea of you—"
"Ahem." The doctor cleared his throat. The two glanced at him. The look on his face described a man who was unfazed by anything. Vincent quickly returned to his seat. Timid eyes avoided the doctor directly. "Are you doing alright?"
"A lot better than I came in."
"Good," he agreed. "You need to sit still for a while. No bone or arterial damage, just a nasty graze. You'll survive, ranger." The doctor set the clipboard stuffed with a thick layer of paper under his arm. Mangled and folded corners made the stack look bigger than it was. An almost unnoticeable red spot colored the top page. "However—" A scolding tone took over his neutral bedside manner. "You need to rest. You're supposed to be staying away from ranger duties."
"I wasn't on assignment."
"You should be back at home or staying on the strip being a good little civilian for a bit." The doctor shook his head. "I'll leave you to rest," he added, pushing a pair of glasses with a last peep to Vincent. "Don't go wandering off."
A scowl soured Lawrence's expression. He stuck out his tongue at the doctor's back. Vincent clasped Lawrence's hand while the other stroked the man's forearm, evening out every strand of black hair. Lawrence wouldn't be coming. He didn't want to bring Lawrence there anyway. Now he had an excuse. The ranger grumbled something, pulling Vincent out of his own thoughts. "I've had worse."
"Knowing you, I don't doubt it," Vincent laughed.
In the early hours of the morning, the desert was beautiful. Serene and cool in the twilight hours when life emerged from underground. But mornings were anything but peaceful for him. If it wasn't a perturbed imagination attempting to foresee his future, it was the nightmares. They began after his near-death. Vague memories in between unconsciousness while trapped in a coma. Always the same event unfolding, with little deviation. Vying for breath, but only the dirt filled his lungs. The choking. The fear. The panic.
Just as those dreams toiled on, so did he. Every step he took made turning around one step more difficult. This wouldn't be a dream he could wake up from. One more step on thirsty soil secured that. And if he were to die? Vincent paused. That word. That concept resounded in his head lately. Like an air-raid alarm, echoing across barren wastelands and deserts to warn of impending doom.
Death.
At least he tried. He tried to the best of his ability and didn't back down. He knew he did all he could. By the time he reached the alcove Lawrence described, the sun cast its light across the Colorado river. Sparkling like the blanket of night and nearly as blinding as the neon lights of Vegas. Just as the old town of Nelson had been commandeered by the Legion, so did the landing down the hill. A scowl refused to let the Legion soldiers see through him. Beyond them were simple boats. Four loaded with sacks of supplies, primitive weapons, and sparse ammunition cases to power their scourge.
The chain about his neck glinted as it danced on his vest. He imagined it was the only reason they didn't attack on sight. "Caesar requested my presence at the Fort," he stated, a tone he practiced on the way. One that wouldn't shake or let them know how terrified he was. A little deeper when he tensed his abdomen. He pulled off the chain, holding it up so none could mistake its significance. "Take me there."