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Author's Note:
I know I said updates would likely be every other week but I just couldn't stop writing here the last few days. Editing is a total pain the ass though, I hate being my own editor. Reading through and fixing things so they flow a little better is one thing but proofreading is tedious.
We're going to hit some action in this chapter, finally. I hope I haven't bored all the readers to death on the way but maybe this will sate some of you looking for that combat. I had planned to cover the whole battle of Concord in this chapter but I realized how long it was getting so I hit a decent stopping point I think.
I've noticed I've been added as an alert for some folks so I thank you! However I'm still waiting to see some reviews. It helps grow my characters and better my writing chops, even if it's just to tell me I'm hitting the mark. Don't be shy!
-Wolf
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Baptized by Fallout
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Chapter Three
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Sanctuary Hills had shrunk to a distant speck in the time Jon had been walking. He was already working up a sweat much to his embarrassment. The weight of his gear paled in comparison to full battle rattle. His last deployment ended ten months before this shit. Jon guessed he was getting soft with his transition to civilian life.
It was a decision he hadn't made for himself, he'd made it for his family. Every time he deployed Maggie became twisted with worry. She wouldn't eat, couldn't sleep, just living in a perpetual knot of concern. Scared that one evening there would be a knock at the door and a sharply dressed squad of servicemen would be on the other side to offer her their condolences for her loss. Jon never told her just how many times that fear narrowly became a reality.
Rotations home were always the same. She'd jump in his arms and they'd kiss feverishly, become embarrassed they were acting like a couple of horny teens and amscray home. Jon grinned ear to ear thinking about how they wouldn't even make it out of the living room. His grin melted away, a more somber look taking its place as he remembered what he'd never feel again.
It still didn't feel real, but it was. His soul continued to ache, having been sundered as he ambled down the road.
It was in those moments, after their fervor, Jon would lay there in bed caught somewhere between sleep and heaven. Maggie would run her fingers through his sandy hair, reveling in all the little touches she was denied by geography. She'd find his latest scars, and she would ask Jon about them. The handful of times he ever lied to her, was to spare her the truth. He'd feel guilty about it afterward, but he felt it was better than saying "Hey babe, that's just a bayonet I took in the rib" or "Oh that? Just shrapnel from a grenade".
Deep down, she always knew he was full of shit. Still, she never asked him to quit. She knew he had this sense like he was protecting her, protecting the people that were important to him...
...then Maggie got pregnant.
They'd been trying for awhile, then magically one morning the stick turned positive. Jon imagined it was the same bubbly excitement all married couples feel at their first positive, but it changed something in Maggie. Jon leaving the army became a point of contention between the two. She was tired of always fearing the worst when he deployed, and with a baby in the picture her fears had magnified. She didn't want to be a widow AND a single mother. She didn't want to raise a child that would always wonder about the father that wasn't there.
Jon stared at the Red Rocket gas station, the very same one he frequented before radioactive monsters were a thing.
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Their Corvega Blitz ground to a halt in front of the pump. It was a breezy April day, so Jon had rolled the windows down as they left the driveway. Maggie had an appointment with her obstetrician to check on the kiddo growing inside her.
Maggie hadn't said a word, she was still mad. They'd had another fight that morning over Jon turning in his papers and leaving the service. They were both being stubborn.
He stuck the pump in the tank, holding the handle until it latched, and began fueling on its own. Jon leaned back against the rear of the vehicle, hands in his pockets while he waited.
"...good job," he chided himself.
He didn't like things being like this, this wasn't them. There were so many reasons he didn't want to quit. Jon fought now mostly for her, he wanted to make sure the States stayed the free nation it was for her. That it'd stay the kind of place he'd want to raise a child. He fought for the rest of his family, friends. To make sure they all had the same opportunities he wanted for her. He fought for the guys beside him in the trench, on patrol. Every name was another reason in and of itself for him to wear that uniform, to get on the plane and head back to the front.
In an odd sense, he also supposed his pride as a soldier was another reason. He had a small lock box in his desk where he kept his ribbons and medals when they weren't on his dress blues. Each one told a story. Years of service to Uncle Sam, missions he'd been involved with or lead, lives he'd saved...lives he'd taken.
He looked absentmindedly at the pump, watching the numbers tick by. Jon shifted his stare towards the front of the Corvega. He could see Maggie's reflection in the passenger mirror, her pursed lips as she tried to ignore her husband's gaze. She could only resist for so long before their eyes locked in the mirror. He could see sorrow there, hurt. She regarded him for a few seconds more before turning away.
These arguments had been going for a couple months now. Jon still watched his wife, musing. She was everything he ever wanted, his love, his heart. He was torn, he was a serviceman but...now he was also a family man.
The pump clicked, signaling it was done. He paid the bill, and leaned down into the open window of the Blitz.
"Hey..." His brown orbs drinking in her obvious irritation.
Maggie huffed, "What."
"Baby, are you really gonna give me the silent treatment all the way to Boston?"
"Yes, and you can put the puppy dog eyes away," she glared at him, before turning straight forward again.
"Come on Maggie, talk to me," Jon pleaded.
"There's nothing to TALK about Jon, you don't wanna listen," Maggie crossed her arms with a frown.
"You know I rotate out again in a few weeks, I don't want this between us babe. Look-"
It was the wrong thing to say.
"NO! You look Jon! We're married! We're expecting! This…is a FAMILY now! OUR FAMILY! I've sat through enough deployments, wringing my fucking hands day after day! You come home with new scars every time, and tell me they're nothing! Meanwhile I just picture HOW! Or WHAT!" tears had begun to well under her eyes.
Definitely…the wrong fucking…thing.
"I!...LOVE!...YOU! Not the ARMY! They don't sit up night after night when you're away worried about you! I DO!...but it's like you love the war more than your WIFE! I'm tired Jon! I'M TIRED!...AND I SWEAR TO GOD JONATHAN WALKER, IF I RAISE THIS BABY ALONE...I WILL NEVER!...FORGIVE YOU!" She glared at him, her eyes now puffy and red.
Time seemed to crawl while he listened to her tirade…Jon had an epiphany. A moment of clarity he'd been too stupid to experience until now. He could see it.
The future that would find him if he didn't listen to her now. He could see a time where Maggie wouldn't be able to bear the strain of worry and fear any longer. The time where he would come back to an empty house, with a note on the kitchen counter. A neatly sealed envelope explaining how much she loved him, but how her heart couldn't take it anymore. He felt a future heavy with heartbreak…and he shuddered inwardly.
If he didn't make the right choice, he'd lose her. Lose his family.
He ripped open the passenger door making her recoil. Jon dropped to his knees and snatched her closest hand with his. Maggie's smooth, soft skin a stark contrast to his calloused, rugged touch, "Alright, alright!" He blurted while he looked up at her. She sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her other hand, "Alright what?"
"You win, this is my last deployment, I swear. I'll put my papers in while I'm there, and when I rotate back Command can put me on permanent duty while I process out,"
Maggie looked away staring blankly, sighing, "Why not now?"
"It's too close baby, you know the unit needs me...it'll give Command time to find another sergeant to take over the platoon. I promise, last one and you'll never worry about it again," Jon rubbed his thumbs over her wrist, leaning forward to kiss her knuckles.
Her features softened as her fury relented...that was his girl. She hung a foot out the open door as she twisted towards Jon pulling her hand from his, cupping his face. Jon could feel Maggie directing him upwards.
They locked eyes, he could see the faint glimmer of relief in her baby blues.
"Fine..." she traced his cheek with her thumb.
"...but remember...you promised me," she whispered as she kissed him.
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Jon tore himself from the shadows of the past, explosions and gunfire sounded from the direction of Concord again. He jogged towards the hill by the station, seeking a vantage point. Concord was a small town, you could just about see from one end to the other. Jon dropped his pack, wrenching from one of the pockets a pair of binoculars Benny had spared for him.
They weren't military grade, just some cheap department store knock offs but as Jon was beginning to find: beggars can't be choosers. They gave him enough magnification to make out the little dust up going on in town. Figures moved about the street with no real coordination, their main focus seeming to be a lone figure atop the Museum of Freedom.
Jon remembered the hokey animatronics fondly, they made a cute date night once upon a time. A red laser arced from the rooftop with a kind of trumpeting sound. Jon watched one of the aggressor's head pop like a melon, their body crumpling on the pavement.
"Shit, good shot," he thought aloud.
For the life of him he couldn't place what the stranger atop the museum was using. The mystery weapon trumpeted a few more times, red ribbons lancing out popping more heads. The figures in the street took cover now, still blasting while they tried to worm closer to the steps.
Jon strapped his googles over his eyes and slid down the hill, kicking up a dust cloud as he hustled toward the town. His heart thudded heavily, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The familiar high of combat washed over Jon.
Defunct cars dotted the streets, amidst all kinds of barricades and rubble. Jon stuck to the shadows and alley ways as he worked to cover ground, planning to bring up the rear. Rounds still echoed up ahead so he knew where the threat was. The attackers were focused on pressing their assault, they wouldn't be expecting a surprise attack from the rear.
Jon stuck his head around the corner, the guy on the roof had dropped more attackers. As he eyed the rooftop the stranger ducked again, Jon guessed to reload. He looked at the backs of the screaming ground force, they were garbed in rags, buckles and all kinds of trash looking armor. Jon surmised they were raiders, like Benny had described. Giving some of these guys a dirt nap probably wouldn't hurt anyone's feelings.
Jon slid in behind one of the barricades, angling his rifle over the top. He picked the raider closest to him. Sighting in, he fired off a controlled pair at the base of their neck.
Aim small, miss small.
His target collapsed, writhing in their final moment. Like he'd calculated, his shots were just more noise among the swathe of lead they were slinging at the rooftop and thus ignored. Jon surveyed the street through his scope...five more targets. He drew a bead on the next one, tucked in behind a stack of sandbags reloading. Jon squeezed the trigger lightly, just to where its tension felt the tightest. He followed through. Just as he'd fired the raider jumped up. Jon had been aiming for their side, to perforate the lungs. Instead he'd hit them just below the kidney.
"Aaghh! BEHIND US!" they screamed, flipping forward over their cover.
Jon dipped down, he heard rounds pepper his hiding spot. He started crawling for a new vantage point. His element of surprise was blown but at least he'd swayed the odds closer to his favor.
"How'd the fuck they get behind us!?"
"I don't fucking know!"
"Fucking SCAVS!"
"Kill'em!"
As if on cue, his trumpeting ally fired off another deadly shot. A raider screamed, Jon had made it to the edge of his barricade. Three of the raiders focused on the rooftop trying to keep the marksman in cover, that left Jon the remainder.
He poked his head up, the raider spotted him immediately and began tossing heat his way. Jon dropped low again, listening to the bullets fly overhead. He raised his rifle overhead, barrel about approximate to where he'd seen the raider last and blind fired. The rounds over his head stopped. Jon stopped shooting and rolled from behind cover. The raider was sighting in again, he acted quickly dumping his remaining mag, the rounds boring into the rogue. He sputtered blood into his mask, crumpling where he stood. Jon let go of his rifle, pressing up off the earth as he dashed for the corner nearest him. The weapon sling drug his weapon with him. He crashed against the side of the building, instinctively taking hold of the rifle to reload.
Boots echoed around the corner and he pulled the sawed off from its holster, not enough time to finish loading a fresh magazine. The first raider rounded the corner, zero regard for cover. Laser fire pierced their right thigh, the joint exploding into hunks of tissue and bone as they toppled over their severed leg with a bloodcurdling scream in front of him. Jon held fast watching the gory display. The raider howled, flailing against the pavement in shock. The second followed, half to kill Jon, half to find cover from the marksman.
BOOM!
The shotgun thundered, buckshot shredding the raider at near point-blank range. They fell limp over top their compatriot, the other raider having quickly expired from shock. Jon pressed up to the corner gazing out as boots slapped pavement heading the opposite direction.
The remaining men he saw were trying to beat feet down the side street. Another trumpeting call, another tumbling body, and a smoking hole in the torso. The last raider doubled his stride, Jon dropped the shotgun and worked to finish his reload. He racked the bolt and was trying to line up a shot but he was too late, the raider disappeared behind the hardware store across the street.
"Fuck,"
He scooped his dropped weapon up and ran, busting around the corner of the hardware store. The raider was gone, disappeared amongst the myriad of crumbling ruins.
"HEY!" a high voice rang out.
Jon spun around.
"A bunch got inside, if you're up for it grab that laser musket down there and give me a hand!" the figure hastily shouted as they vanished over the building's edge.
Jon approached the museum steps, shotgun in hand. Another man lay dead there, blood pooling beneath him. He was dressed old timey…colonial like. Even had a tricorn hat on the pavement next to him. Laser musket? Jon wondered if he meant the strange rifle that joined the dead man in his rest. It was the oddest gun he'd ever seen...in the sense it had a crank, but it definitely looked like a musket.
"I ain't got time for that," he said as he bounded up the steps. The double doors had been blown off their hinges. Jon stepped into the cool shadows, he heard yelling and jeers that had been contained within the confines of the walls. Light poured through the open skylights above though the foyer he stood in was decidedly dark. Jon stuck to the side of the room, hiding in the dark edges as he moved up.
"You gotta come out sometime shitbags!"
"I'm gonna skull fuck that chink bitch before we kill her!"
Various vulgarities reverberated off the high walls. Jon craned his head upwards, he could see most of the top floors. More raiders were crowded around one side, he needed to work his way to higher ground. He scanned for possibilities. Large security gates barred the way forward, never mind what a tactical folly that would be. His eyes settled on an archway on the side opposite him.
He moved stealthily towards the open space on the other side of the foyer trying to remember the layout. Jon held his shotgun in front of him as he entered into the hallway curving off towards an open room. Breaching the threshold, he could make out the shadows of exhibits around him due to the brightly lit stage in the rear of the room. He tiptoed by one of the first exhibits when lights flickered on and colonial era music LOUDLY sounded.
Shit, the animatronics still worked after all this?
"Hey! You guys hear that?!"
"Well fuck me..." Jon whispered.
"Go check it out!"
Jon heard the echoes of feet running across wood overhead. He wasn't good enough distinguish how many persons, he just knew it was at least a couple. He hurried to the end of the room, more exhibits blared to life as he passed. He could see the stairs headed to the second floor, Jon cut through an exhibit and hid underneath them. He moved his shotgun to his support hand and drew the 10mm from his hip. Footfalls came to a standstill above him.
"It's just the dummies," one of the raiders said.
"Let's just check it out, sides, fuckface and the others ain't come in yet,"
"Yeah whatever, ain't like these pussies doing much. I don't get why Jared wants the old bitch. C'mon, I left the explosives by the stairs. We can blow the door and be done with this shit,"
"Probably fucking around outside while we do all the fucking work. That'd be just like Gristle, the fuck,"
The wooden steps creaked and thumped. Jon watched their boots as they descended. He kept his weapons trained forwards, waiting. The raiders reached the bottom of the steps. One stood there, a machete clenched in his fist. The other kept walking toward some construction barricades across from the stage. Jon noticed an orange crated marked explosives next to a duffel bag. The raider knelt down, flipping the lid to the crate.
"String up some frags, we'll be fucking that Asian chick before we know it," he looked back towards his cohort making a vagface gesture, the other raider chuckled. Jon pursed his lips, yeah, he was doing the world a huge favor. He moved his shotgun a little more to the left, the light must have glinted off the barrel because the man stopped his obscene gesture and looked directly at him.
"Hey! What the f-"
He never finished that sentence because the pellets made hamburger out of his face. He fell back, gurgling.
"Guys! GUYS!" the remaining raider yelled as he charged.
Jon pushed out from behind the stairs and started firing with the 10mm. The thug took a number of shots but still came at him with a full swing. Jon knocked the machete to the side with his shotgun, and whacked the bridge of the guy's nose with his pistol. Blood spurted and the raider staggered back, clamping his free hand over it, wheezing. Jon fired two more shots, point blank this time into his skull. The would-be rapist sunk to the floor.
More frantic feet rushed over head at the sounds of gunfire.
"FAN OUT! FIND THEM!"
He stooped over the explosives box as he holstered the shotgun. He didn't have time to reload it, the rest of the war party would be on him soon. Quarters were tight, the rifle would be awkward and the 10mm might not be enough There was a hodgepodge of munitions in the box, dynamite, all kinds of grenades. Jon grabbed a couple frags, stuffing one into his cargo pocket and bounded up the stairs.
He reached the top and found another corner stretching into a long hall. He hugged it peering around the edge. Jon could hear the other raiders barreling down the next set of stairs at the opposite end. He bit down on the grenade pin, yanking it free with his teeth. The first of them scrabbled down in an excited rush, waving some bladed tool. Jon rolled his parting gift down the planks and tucked back around the corner. The raider saw the rolling bauble and skid to a halt falling flat on his ass. Two more rounded the stairs as the raider flipped over frantically trying crawl away.
BOOM!
The grenade detonated, a rush of dust and plaster shot past Jon. He couldn't hear the raiders scream over the blast. He counted to five and slid out from behind cover, he counted two shredded bodies in the hall. The third laid out against the wall, having been the closest to the stairs. They drew ragged breathes, shrapnel having ripped through their torso.
"Fu...ck...you" the raider rasped, trying to raise their pipe gun.
Jon's pistol flashed twice, the bullets lodging in the dying raider's chest. The pipe gun fell, Jon moved forward, knocking it away...just in case.
"Shit! Anyone alive down there?"
The grenade had partially splintered the wood door opposite the stairs. Keeping a wary eye on his back, Jon peeked through the busted door.
The loudmouth grew impatient with the silence, "I don't know if you think you're some big fucking hero! The rest of our guys are just outside! They're gonna wonder what the fuck is taking to so long and come look'in! COME OUT! I'll make it quick!"
Jon eyed him in silence, some mohawked meathead. He tried to figure out how many were left with his limited vision. They'd been too crowded to get an accurate count. He'd already downed five, there couldn't be but so many raiders left.
He ignored the cacophony of threats and false promises. Jon dropped his pack and yanked the spool of wire out. He'd had an idea.
Jon worked feverishly before they got the nerve to rush again. Using the wire, he secured the other grenade to the door, and used the rest of it to make a lead to pull the pin. He started up the stairs, the line pulling taut before it fell slack and the grenade dropped back against the door. He cleared the stairs and pressed up against the wall, waiting.
BOOM!
With any luck that had demolished the rest of the door.
"THERE! FIRE!" he heard the loudmouth bellow.
Jon heard the wood splintering below his floor. He was trying to count how many weapons but it was hard to say, they were using all the same shit. He definitely heard the roar of a shotgun. Maybe three goons left?
He made it about halfway down the new hallway when they stopped firing again.
"Frankie! Mack! Go see if we got the fucker!"
"You ain't the fucking boss Grinder! You go check!"
They'd started arguing amongst themselves. Christ this was a fucking cakewalk. Yeah, these guys were fucking dangerous scum, but they were stupid. No tactics, trash gear, just numbers. Grant it, superior numbers could overwhelm even the most seasoned fighter but that didn't seem a concern today.
The door at the end of the hall was wide open. He'd made the top floor, there were no more stairs. Jon made a tactical reload and holstered his pistol. Taking up his rifle, he sliced the pie as he stepped into the doorway. They were still screaming back and forth at one another, bickering. Jon could see the female raider, "Frankie" on the opposite floor. The meathead, Grinder stood on the ruined center stair case, just a level down. Someone had taken large chunks of where the floor had collapsed and arranged them to make some kind of planks reaching to where he stood. He couldn't see the third raider, but he could hear them. Sounded like it was coming from the bottom floor. Shrugging, he'd worry about him later.
"Aight! Aight! Ain't no fuck'in shooting, we ain't heard shit more. Fuckwad is probably dead!"
Keep thinking that Jon laughed to himself. He zeroed in on Meathead and let loose, catching him in the throat.
"SHIT!" Frankie cried.
Jon turned his rifle on her, boring into her torso until she collapsed. That just left the last guy.
"FUCK! FUCK!"
He heard the frantic scattering of debris and boards as the last raider was trying to flee. Jon edged out, seeing if he could get a shot on him. The metal security gates that separated this side of the museum from the foyer barred his escape. The raider slammed against the gates trying to force them open in futility. A chain had been run through the bars, secured with a lock.
"C'mon man, shit!"
Jon steadied his rifle, scope focused on the raider's back. The shots lashed out striking their mark. He thudded against the gate, and fell to the floor. Jon watched for a few moments, making sure the last of the raiders were attending the great bonfire down below before he turned towards the corner he'd seen them crowding. It was a solid steel door. They'd chewed the wood frame and wall around it up with bullets, but the door had held protecting whoever wait inside. Jon was a little unsure how to proceed.
He ran his hand down the door...and rapped his knuckles in a fairly recognizable rhythm. He heard a male laugh on the other side of the door, "Holy shit, was that "shave and a haircut"? I like this guy already."
"Shut up Sturges, you out there, what's your name?"
It was the guy that'd been shooting from museum roof outside.
"Jon... you all can come out now, everybody's dead,"
"I appreciate that Jon, it's been a hard night, hard day. If I let you in... there's not gonna be any funny business is there?" the voice inquired.
Jon wanted to be a little more sarcastic but he thought better of it, "I just killed a bunch of people trying to kill you, so...no?"
There was a pause, Jon heard a heavy lock slam back and the metal door creaked open. A dark-skinned man pushed the door open the rest of the way, "Fair enough," he said.
Jon entered, it was the museum office by the looks of it. A guy sat on the edge of a desk, wearing overalls. He had very "Fonzie" kind of style going on with his hair, technical googles hung loosely around his neck.
"That's Sturges. Mama Murphy in the chair. Marcy and Jun Long over yonder."
His eyes raked over the room, a shriveled old woman occupied the only arm chair in the room, obviously Mama Murphy. Her hands sat folded over in her lap. In the far corner, an Asian woman regarded him scornfully, Marcy, or "Asian bitch" as the raiders so named her. Jon guessed her husband, Jun, sat on the floor against a filing cabinet offering only a weak wave.
"What the fuck are you doing letting this guy in here Preston! He shows up in the middle of a raider attack and just because he plugs a couple of'em you throw the door wide open?!" Marcy ranted, throwing her hands up.
"Marcy, I know things've been rough but I don't need this right now. We still got problems and this guy just stuck his neck out for us," the man identified as Preston pointed his finger at her.
She huffed, recoiling into the corner to grumble.
The dark-skinned man turned back to Jon, extending his hand, "Sorry about that, they just lost their son. Name's Preston, Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen."
"Jon, Jon Walker," Jon replied, shaking his hand. He seemed a capable fighter, despite the outfit.
"Preston, I wish you'd give that Minutemen stuff a break. There ain't no Minutemen anymore or ain't you forgot about Quincy?" Sturges said from behind them.
"I might be the last, but we aren't dead,"
"What are the Minutemen?" Jon asked.
"What are the...what are the Minutemen? Fella, you been living under a rock?" Sturges returned.
"Let's pretend I have," Jon replied sarcastically.
"The Minutemen are…were a militia group inspired by prewar history. The idea was people that needed help could get it at a minute's notice," Preston paused, "Are you from outside the Commonwealth?"
"Yes and no," Jon replied.
"Well...where are you from?"
Jon sighed, "Would you believe I was cryogenically frozen in a vault for 200 years and just woke up?"
"2-200 years," Preston stuttered, eyes going wide.
"That's what I said,"
Sturges whistled, "That's a pretty tall tale, but not the craziest thing I've heard," the engineer added.
"Look, I don't care if you lot believe me. I came out here because while I was down there. some bald asshole with a scar like this," Jon drew his finger along his face, mimicking the scar he'd seen, "This asshole came in, shot my wife dead and stole my son. I came to ask if anyone had seen a man like that, toting a baby,"
"Oh my god, that's terrible," Preston said shocked.
"Yeah...no shit," Jon feigned surprise, he tapped his boot, looking down at his feet.
"Honestly we just got here. The people that could have told you something died in the firefight last night. These bunch," he referenced the room, "I brought from Quincy, from down south. We've been working our way north here for a while. We used to be thirty some odd people…now we're five."
A dead end…fantastic.
Preston continued, "We tried Lexington after Quincy, found out the hard way about all the ferals. Lost a lot of good people running from that death trap, but that's where we picked up these damn raiders. Their leader, he wants Mama Murphy for some reason,"
"It's cause Mama Murphy has visions, she's why we didn't bite the big one last night. She used to be something of a legend when she was younger, and I guess word is still out there," Sturges commented.
"Visions…" the sole survivor deadpanned.
"It's real kid, you get me some jet…or something, I might can get you something but I need the chems to do it,"
"Mama Murphy NO! That junk is killing you!" Preston scolded.
"Oh Preston, enough…I'm already an old bag. I've lived my life, besides…the sight's brought us this far. We're so close to sanctuary!" the old woman scooted around in her chair, bracing herself on the arm closest to Jon.
"Nobody asked you to take that trash, you just did it. I'm not letting you get another drop," Preston slammed his musket butt on the floor.
Mama Murphy grumbled, "Hush Preston, what's done is done," she jabbed a finger towards Jon, "You…I've seen you…I knew you were coming probably before you even knew. The sight doesn't lie kid. You help us out, I'll see what the sight can tell me," she promised.
"That's something I'd expect a junkie to say…and besides, I already helped you guys out. All the raiders are dead, except for this one that managed to hightail it,"
Mamma Murphy "hmphed", "I don't think Maggie would appreciate you being so rude to your elders, kid,"
"How do you know that name…" Jon's tone got serious, he took a step towards her.
Sturges jumped between them, hands up, "Easy man, she's just an old lady."
"It's okay Sturges, he's just raw, that's all," Mama Murphy soothed.
Jon huffed, staring the shorter man down. He felt a hand on his shoulder, Preston.
He peered around the side of Sturges' head, "How do you know that name?" he asked again, sternly.
"The sight told me…said you'd take a little convincing…" the seer paused.
Sturges could see Jon working it out in his head, "Look man, Mama Murphy has been with us for a long time down there at Quincy. She's predicted a lot, I know it's a crazy but believe me, it's all come true one way or another. I wasn't saying I didn't believe you earlier, after living with Mama Murphy, let's just say my mind is a bit more open than most,"
Preston spoke up, "And we're not done with the raiders. You and I killed around half their guys. The rest have been hiding out in the hills, we're under siege. Their lieutenant is this big goon named Gristle. They aren't going to be happy about their crew."
Jon had felt a pit in his stomach when Mama Murphy mentioned Maggie's name. Everything about this world was fucking nuts. Mutant monsters, murderous bands of wasteland barbarians, fortune telling old ladies…
Now he'd willingly worked himself into the same boat as these people.
"If it's numbers like earlier, it could be a bit tricky but not impossible. They're dumb, they don't use tactics, works to our advantage," Jon said, turning back to face Preston.
"I can't risk leaving these people alone, if I go down they have no one but I hate the idea of letting you fight our battle alone,"
"I get the sense your weapon isn't the greatest in an evolving combat situation either," Jon observed, eyeing Preston's laser musket.
"This baby packs a wallop at a range, but I have to crank it after every shot so yeah, it isn't ideal in a rush but I can give overhead support AND Sturges has a great idea,"
"And what's that?" Jon asked.
"You wanna tell the man, Sturges?"
"Alright, so check this out," Sturges motioned, "While he was on the roof, Preston eyeballed a crashed vertibird with a mounted minigun but that ain't it. A whole suit of cherry, T-45 power armor,"
"…I'm sensing a BUT…"
"Yeah, well, there's two. It needs a fusion core,"
"Which I'm guessing no one has…"
"Eh, yeah. I guess that'd be an accurate assumption BUT, there IS a fusion generator downstairs with one. It'll dim the lights around here, but it'll get that armor running. Then you could tear the gun right off that bird and bring it to them damn raiders,"
"…I like it."
"Thought you might," Sturges smiled.
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It'd been simple enough retrieving the fusion core from the generator. Took a little finagling, but Jon picked the lock on the security gate protecting the generator with a couple bobby pins and a screwdriver. He left his pack and rifle with Sturges, Preston was coming to offer ranged support. There would only so much room inside the suit. Besides, if this worked, who the hell was going to use a combat rifle over a minigun?
The pair went out to the roof through the stairway access from the office. Sure enough, a crashed bird lay settled on the roof. Centuries of exposure to the elements marred its hull. The power armor faced away from them, an immovable sentry staring off into the wastes.
"Don't start shooting until I get down there," Jon told Preston.
The minuteman nodded. Jon slipped low, crawling over towards the edge. He just wanted an accurate head count for the brawl. Preston had begun scaling a utility ladder to reach his nest. They heard yelling below in the street.
"Boss! There's someone on the roof!"
Wood splintered in his face as gunshots rang out. Jon kicked sideways and rolled away from the edge. Some of the goons had climbed up to roof of the hardware store on the corner. It wasn't as tall as the museum, so a simple retreat sufficed to get him out of harm's way.
"So much for the count," he sighed.
Jon waited for the hail of the gunfire to subside. He didn't want to chance getting caught by a ricochet.
"YOU THE FUCKING WASTE WALKER THAT FUCKED UP MY BOYS?"
The voice was loud, gravelly.
"You the clown they call "Gristle"?" he called back.
"LOOK AT THE NUTS ON THIS GUY! I TELL YA WHAT SHITSTAIN, BRING ME THE OLD BAT AND I WON'T MAKE IT HURT TOO MUCH WHEN I RIP YOUR JUNK OFF AND FEED IT TO YOU!"
"As titillating an offer as that is I'm gonna have to pass, thanks. I like my dick where it is!"
"WE GOT THE PLACE SURROUNDED! AIN'T NONE OF YA'LL MEATBAGS GOING ANYWHERE! WE'LL SEE HOW YA'LL ARE AFTER YOU RUN OUTTA FOOD!"
"Anyone tell you guys that you talk too much?"
"I'LL SEE HOW MUCH YOU TALK AFTER I CUT YOUR THROAT!"
"Standby!"
"THE FUCK YOU JUST SAY?"
Jon crawled back towards the power armor and took to his feet. He pulled the fusion core out of his cargo pocket and popped it into into the release valve. He gave it a customary tap to ensure a solid connection.
"HEY! SKINK! WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING?"
"I don't know boss! I can't see! Got a fucking plane in the way!" a nameless raider called back.
Jon gripped the turn valve, grunting. It was a little rough he thought, as Jon put more of his body weight into it. Slowly, it started to turn over. Jon kept going until he heard the gears lock in place and stepped back. The suit hissed, peeling open like a metallic cocoon. A familiar excitement began to flood his veins. He always loved patrolling in power armor, Jon felt like a superhero every time.
He climbed into the suit, situating himself. He slid his head into the open helmet, already he saw the HUD processing its startup protocols. Jon reached into the arms feeling for the articulation controls. The armor hissed as it sealed around him, the turn valve clanking in reassurance as it locked.
Jon took a few steps forward, joints and gears whirred and whined but nothing was grinding. He made a couple fists, checking the responsiveness of the hands. No stutters. Satisfied, he approached the crashed bird and gripped the mounted gun and pulled. It groaned under his amplified strength. Jon gave it one final jerk and ripped the weapon free effortlessly, the vertibird jolting at the sudden motion. The HUD scanned the minigun, calculating down to round how many shots the weapon held based on weight. A full drum…juicy.
"I don't know what he's doing but something's mov'in around up there!"
Jon smirked inside the armor, having just had a brilliant idea to get this rodeo started. He held the minigun in one hand and started pushing against the vertibird with the other. It offered resistance at first, but he started gaining traction. The metal bird started to screech and scrape as he pushed it towards the edge.
"HOLY SHIT!" and similar cries echoed in the street below.
"RUN!" they yelled as the weight of the backend finally kicked in and drug the defunct flying machine over the edge.
They were too busy scrambling to avoid being crushed to keep looking up here. The vertibird crashed into the street below and exploded billowing fire and smoke. The rising column provided excellent cover, obscuring Jon from view. Targeting assist was the standard modification on military issue power armor. His visor highlighted the unsavory bunch below in red, even through the smoke. Jon gazed over the roof of the hardware store, there were two guys perched up there. He aimed the minigun and spun up, the barrels thundered as 5mm rounds ripped through the air. They never stood a chance, Jon cut a swath right through them. The plume of smoke from the fire below started wafting west. The stunned raiders below could now see the hell that awaited them.
"He's got fucking power armor!"
"ANYBODY RUNS AND I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU MYSELF!" Gristle roared.
A hail of gunfire pelted Jon. Nothing these dumb shits were carrying was big enough to pierce his now armored hide. He peered over the edge of the building, all the while bullets bounced and pinged off his exterior. Jon stepped off the roof into a freefall.
God how he missed this…not the fighting, the falling. The momentary weightlessness as the ground rose up to meet him. The asphalt cracked and flaked underneath the armor as Jon crashed down, the suit's shocks absorbing the kinetic energy without fail.
He was off, the ground seemed to quake with every step. Jon held down the trigger, the barrel of the death machine spun up spitting hot lead. He sprayed the barricades, making mince meat of any raiders that were too dumb to get down. Preston's laser musket thundered overhead. Their numbers were dwindling quickly.
He strode past the barricades, sending controlled bursts of death from side to side, Preston keeping pace with fire support.
Jon felt several repeated strikes about the outside of his helmet, tilting his head with the force of the blows. Ringing strikes rained down his back while Jon whirled about. Preston either missed a raider or thought him little threat to Jon, the opportunistic scrapper had run up behind him with a sledgehammer.
"SHOOT THE FUCKING CORE!"
It was the first intelligent order Gristle had given, bullets assaulted Jon's exposed rear with vigor. Red lasers arced overhead, dissuading some of the onslaught. Jon lurched forward, capturing his assailant's right foot with his left. The raider howled, the small bones of his foot being crushed under Jon's armored boot. He lashed out with his support side in a vicious uppercut. The raider's head snapped back with a violent crack, his neck broken as he fell.
Jon hurriedly turned back to the remaining forces to protect his weak spot. He had quite easily pushed them back down the street with Preston's help, their numbers meaning nothing against the superior force of power armor. Jon noticed teams of raiders running from opposite alleyways hauling crates of explosives between them.
…that could be a problem.
One team stayed low, slipping into the dark of the general store on the corner. Too late to get them, another team dove behind a barricade. The last pair took cover behind a rusted-out truck at the edge of the street. Jon made a split-second decision, leveling the minigun at the truck he aimed about where the core would be and spun up. The barrels glowed red, metal screaming as he bore into the truck.
KSH-BOOOOOM!
The truck exploded with a rolling shockwave, trigging secondary explosions from the munitions carried by the raiders. Jon envisioned the enemy combatants as stains on the pavement. Grenades scattered the ground near him, thrown from behind the barricade and upper floor of the shop.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Blast after blast staggered Jon. He sank to a knee, concussed. Jon squinted beneath his helmet, trying to clear his rolling vision. Audible alarms blared, warning of possible integrity loss if he kept taking hits like this.
"KEEP IT UP! I WANT HIS FUCKING TONGUE!"
He heard the remaining raiders jeer loudly. A red stream silenced them as they dropped low, continuing to fire from their positions. Something rumbled beneath the street, raider gunfire slowed as their confusion rose. They looked about, the road creaked and groaned. A section of asphalt in the intersection cracked and crumbled, jets of steam seeped through…
CrEaaaa-AacKkkkk!
The slab sunk into the earth, a giant column of vaporized water billowed up. There came a large, audible scratching sound from within the confines of the cloud…followed by a throaty chortle.
Jon's blood ran a little cold as he thought back to last night, before the night terror. Back to Benny's number one rule about surviving the waste:
Expect the unexpected.
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