2
Before she realised what she was doing, Patience began moving towards the collection of huts. Valrie made a half-hearted attempt to stop her, but she shrugged away the outstretched hand.
Slipping between rocks, shallow dips and low hills of the landscape, she circled around to the rear of ramshackle buildings. She felt no fear, no excitement. She didn't even know why she was doing this. All she knew was the urgent sense of impending violence that she felt upon seeing the armed woman outside the huts.
She couldn't explain it. The woman Valrie had mentioned, Sierra, meant nothing to her. She even considered that these 'raiders' were only visiting the woman, but something told her different. Something, somewhere deep in her fractured memory, told her that this was a bad situation and she found herself moving towards danger. It almost felt like she had no control in her actions.
With cautious steps, she closed the distance between herself and the female raider. She could see the raider, now, dressed in battered brown leather clothing. A strapless top, hugging her breasts, with one shoulder pad of the same leather. Tight pants, studded with small spikes on the thighs and a hip holster with some kind of revolver attached to a loose slung belt. On her head, the raider wore a kind of helmet with attached googles and two antenna-like protuberances on top. The raider looked odd, to say the least. She also carried an assault rifle, held pointing upwards on her shoulder.
Patience waited for the raider to turn her back, in her lazy pacing, and moved. Silent, crouching, she stepped up to the woman's back. Before the raider knew she was there, Patience threw her arm around the raider's throat, clenching her tight against her own chest, linking her hand with her other arm and laying that arm's hand on the back of the raider's head. She pushed with that hand and pulled with her other arm, choking the raider in silence.
She kept the hold tight until long after the raider stopped kicking and struggling. Hands that scrambled, clutched and scratched against the arm at her throat began to lose strength, falling to the side. The body fell limp and heavy and still Patience held the raider locked in the choke, giving the raider no chance to recover. No chance to live.
When she felt certain the raider was dead, Patience lowered the body to the ground, dragging the body to the side of the hut, out of sight.
She moved, then, to the door of the hut the female raider had been guarding. She made no sound and even she found that surprising. With care, she laid her head against the door and listened.
"Come on, Sierra! I know you got caps! I know it!" A male voice and sounds of things tossed around. A radio and music playing in the background. "I'm a nice guy. I don't like hurting ladies. Unless they deserve it. Tell me where the caps are and we'll leave. No-one gets their pretty face smashed in, okay?"
"I don't have any." A female voice, now. Mumbling. Soft. "I spent my last caps yesterday."
"Now that's a lie. That's bullshit." The sound of glass breaking against a wall followed by a short scream and a whimper. "Now I gotta hurt you to make a point."
That sense of danger told Patience she had to move and she had to move now. Without thinking, she pulled her sidearm from its holster and, pointing the weapon with one hand, she yanked open the door with the other. She stepped through the door, sweeping the muzzle of the gun until she latched on to the face of the man whose voice she had heard.
He was quick. As soon as the door opened, he pulled the woman, Sierra, close and tight, covering himself with her body, using her as a shield and pointing a gun from under Sierra's arm. Patience was quick, too. Without thinking, she switched the gun to her left hand, crouched and covered most of her body with the door and wall. She didn't even know if she could shoot, let alone left-handed.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" The raider was clever, able to hide much of the normal targets on his body by the frame of Sierra. "Friend of sweet Sierra, or someone out to steal my action? How'd you get past Baby-Doll?"
"The woman outside? Leather armour, weird fucking hat?" Patience kept her pistol aimed, unblinking. "She's dead. I choked the shit out of her."
"Damn. That's a crying fucking shame." He didn't sound the least bit upset. "It seems to me, we have ourselves an impasse. Now, I know I'm going to shoot you if you don't let me leave. You and pretty little Sierra here. Sure, I could get dinged, but I reckon I'll get you worse than you get me. So, it stands to reason that we both get out of this alive and without any hurtful injuries, am I right?"
"Wrong." Her unblinking eyes used the raider's monologue to seek out a viable target. His mistake came when Sierra shifted the tiniest amount to the left, exposing his knee.
Her first shot rang out, filling the cabin with the supersonic clap of the bullet and the explosive concussion of the gunpowder, ringing her ears. The bullet tore through the raider's kneecap and out the other side, carrying along blood, bone and flesh to splatter and hit the wall behind.
His knee destroyed, the raider collapsed to the right, losing his grip upon Sierra, reaching out with his gun hand to arrest his fall and exposing his chest and head.
Somehow, in the blink of an eye, Patience had risen, stepped through the door, swapped the gun back into her right hand and had fired two more bullets. The first slammed into the raider's chest, sending a gout of blood splashing against the wall. The second penetrated the raider's eye, burying itself deep into his skull, obliterating his brain.
Before his body even hit the floor, Patience had grabbed Sierra, pushing the shocked woman behind her, guiding her to the door, all without taking her eye from her opponent for even a fraction of a second. She continued pointing the gun at the dead raider until she felt satisfied that he was, indeed, dead.
In a movement that seemed well oiled and practiced, she straightened to her full height and replaced her weapon to its holster.
"Jebus aitch Christ!" It was Valrie's shocked voice that she heard.
"You mean Jesus." It was an automatic correction. It didn't even seem as if she was doing the talking.
"That's what I said, Jebus." Valrie stepped into Patience's line of vision and it was like a spell had broken. Patience shook her head. "You're a god damned one woman killing machine. God damn!"
Patience looked down at the body of the raider. Three precise shots, hitting three exact targets. It would seem that she did, indeed, know how to shoot. She only wished she knew how she knew.
Sierra sat on her bed in the single room shack, not seeming upset. Only numb and distant. Patience didn't know if the woman was in shock, or if this was how she acted in normal circumstances. It was certain that the blood on the walls and the dead body of the raider didn't seem to affect her one way or the other.
Patience looked around the shack, filled to brimming with Nuka-Cola merchandise of all kinds. Two different bottle dispensers, advertising sheets, various shapes of bottles, empty and full, scattered on shelves, cupboards and tables. Even a giant, human sized, bottle listing sideways in a corner.
Valrie had disappeared out of the shack, muttering something about not wasting anything, leaving only Patience and Sierra in an uncomfortable silence. Patience stood in the centre of the room, examining the memorabilia and avoiding looking at the dead body. She considered dragging it outside as Valrie returned, her hands full with the clothing and weapons of the female raider.
"Now, let's have a look here." She dropped everything where she stood apart from the strapless leather top, and held it up against Patience's chest. "That should fit."
She thrust the top onto Patience's chest and bent over to pick up the matching leather pants. Patience caught the top before it fell to the floor and looked at it, bemused. Valrie then held the pants against Patience's legs, cocking her head to the side, raising an eyebrow.
"What are you doing?" She held up the strapless top and smelled it. The smell of leather and sweat wafted under her nose. "Did you just leave the raider naked?"
"Damn right. She's not going to need any of it." Valrie seemed satisfied with the pants. "Strip."
"Here?" Patience looked towards Sierra, but the woman showed no signs of caring.
"Where else? We made a deal. I get that jumpsuit when we find you new clothes. Here's the clothes. Strip." Valrie adjusted her helmet, but didn't look away.
Patience had to admit, a deal was a deal. Tugging at the zipper, she started shrugging out of the jumpsuit. She struggled getting the sleeve over the Pip-Boy, but the material stretched enough to tug over it and then returned to its natural shape as the sleeve slipped off. Likewise, she pulled the legs over her boots, then remembered she'd have to take off the boots to pull on the tight leather pants.
The leather raider ensemble felt a little snug, but, apart from that, fitted quite well. The pants were a little too long, but she tucked them into her boots after putting them back on. From one of her many pockets, Valrie pulled out a pair of scissors, snipping the straps from her bra, tossing the pieces onto a nearby table.
"There. You won't stand out so much now and I got me a shiny jumpsuit." She picked up the jumpsuit, turning it from front to back, and clicked her tongue. "Now, I'm no expert, but isn't there supposed to be a number on the back? Of the Vault you came from? I never noticed before. That'll knock some caps off the price, dammit."
Patience shrugged. She had no idea if a number should be there or not. Instead, she crouched down and began examining the other things Valrie had brought in. The revolver was nothing special, a snub .38. Useful, but not the best of weapons. The assault rifle was different. 5.56, crude construction, metal folding stock. She'd almost consider it homemade, but for a faded serial number etched into it. She popped the magazine, checked the ammo and pressed it back into the slot. She found a couple of spare mags in a belt pouch and clicked the RoF switch to 'semi'. There weren't enough rounds for full auto.
"How far to Megaton from here?" She stood up, attaching the belt, and ammo pouch, around her waist, alongside the belt that held her weapon and holster.
"Hold your damned horses!" Valrie had crouched in front of Sierra, holding the other woman's hand. "It's getting dark, anyways. We're best holding out here til the morning."
"Alright. I'll take the raider outside." She reached down and grabbed the collar of the dead man. She found it a surprise that she lifted him with such ease, holding the rifle in the other hand.
It was, indeed, getting dark. Without the usual fog of street lights making the immediate air hazy, she could see stars popping into view as the sun's light faded beyond the horizon. She didn't, in truth, remember the street lights. It was more of a memory of a memory. The sight of a galaxy of stars appearing in the sky was downright beautiful, she thought.
Dumping the raider's body next to his naked, also dead, companion, she crouched down and searched the man. She found a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, still working, and lit one, sucking in the bitter smoke as she rifled through the man's clothes. She found a bag of bottle caps in a tie bag and tossed them aside. Behind his back, she found a sharp knife in a sheath and transferred it to the rear of her belt. Two empty ammo pouches on his belt soon became detached and added to her own belt.
She was about to leave the body when she noticed a strap, attached to his belt, looping over his shoulder. It seemed to only be there for show, but it gave her an idea. She unfastened the strap, tugging it from beneath him, and tied the strap to a 'D' loop on the rifle.
Slipping the strap over her head and shoulder, she practiced with the attachment. Hefting the rifle, aiming, palming it down, slipping her hand down to her sidearm, pulling it up to bear, replacing it, lifting the rifle again. It seemed that she had been well drilled. Every movement simple, bare, fluid. Had she been a soldier?
She checked the safety again before reentering the shack. That had been, she hesitated to count, one of several times she had done that. She was nervous. Wired. She didn't know why. All she could think was that she didn't feel alone out here. That eyes in the waste were watching. Many pairs of eyes.
She shivered, pulling open the door, allowing light from inside to cascade outwards. Valrie was right. Bad things came out in the night.
"Hey you! Yeah, you!
I have an important message just for you.
You, that huddle around your radios, holding back the dark.
You, passing by catching this message on your way somewhere else.
You, hoping the music will lull you to that deep, deep sleep and the dreams where everything is better.
This message is for you all.
You're doing great.
The water may be flowing. The Enclave may be reeling in chaos. The slavers may have been crushed. But there is still danger out there. There are still obstacles to be breached. Still people to be stopped and people to be saved. The Good Fight still needs fighting.
But you, yeah, you, you're doing great.
This is Three Dog wishing you a good, safe night and the sweetest of dreams."
She found Valrie pottering about in the hut, searching for something. The other woman, Sierra, still sat on the bed, staring into space. The radio played in the background, a musical accompaniment to the starkness of the coming night. Patience regarded Sierra for a second before shrugging the makeshift lanyard from around her neck and placing the rifle on a nearby table.
"Sierra. You've got a million bottles of Nuka-Cola and not one damned bottle of alcohol." Valrie shifted things around, lifting faded advertising sheets and complimentary tote bags. "Or am I missing something."
"Under the counter, by the door." It was a mumbled response. "Fermented Nuka-hol I made for Ronald. He's gone now."
Patience sat in a chair, repaired with strips from a Nuka-Cola packing crate, watching the exchange. She didn't mind waiting until the morning. The eerie feeling from outside still remained and she didn't relish travelling outdoors at night until she knew of what the dangers consisted. Having no memory, or, at least, little memory that she could make sense of, frustrated her, but staying alive took far greater precedence.
Valrie found the Nuka-Hol bottles, collected three branded Nuka-Cola shot glasses and poured drinks for the three of them. Sierra was the first to drink, knocking the alcohol back without hesitation. Valrie lifted an eyebrow and refilled the glass.
"Sierra, honey, why are you still out here alone?" A drink and a refill and Valrie sat beside Sierra on the bed. "You're going to get yourself killed. Why not up and move to Megaton, where it's safe?"
"Ronald could come back. He protected me. He's a good friend." Sierra seemed to look straight through Valrie. "He headed off to find bottles of Quantum for me. He's only a little delayed. He'll come back soon."
Patience raised a questioning eyebrow to Valrie who returned an almost imperceptible shake of the head. She had no idea what had happened to this woman, but it seemed, whatever it was had affected her more than a little. Something more than the raider attack. She wondered if this 'Ronald' meant more to her than only as a friend, but, at the end of the day, it didn't matter that much. Valrie was right. Living here, alone, was a recipe for disaster.
"Oh, I almost forgot, Sierra. I have something for you." Valrie rummaged inside her coat, filing through her many pockets, no doubt, and pulled out two bottles. They appeared similar to all the other Nuka-Cola bottles, but these two had a faint, luminescent blue glow to them. "Nuka-Cola Quantum. I scavenged them from a place down south, right before I found our new friend here."
"Oh. They're lovely. Ronald left to find some of these for me, you know?" There seemed no excitement in her words, but Sierra clutched the bottles to her chest like newborn babies. "Did you know the first recipe for Nuka-Cola Quantum involved a different isotope to give it its unique, patented and highly carcinogenic glow? They changed the isotope to one that was far less unhealthy."
"That's interesting, honey. Now, why don't you lay your head down, get some sleep, and you can give us the grand tour in the morning? What do you say?" With great care and gentleness, Valrie eased Sierra to a lying position on the bed, pulling a threadbare blanket over her, tucking it under her chin. She still clung to the two bottles.
"That will be fun. Ronald might be back by the morning too. We can eat some of my Nuka-Cola brownies together." Sierra's words quietened and drifted into silence. She fell asleep in seconds.
Patience took out the pack of cigarettes, lit one and offered the pack to Valrie. Her new companion slumped into the only other chair in the shack, taking a cigarette and drawing in a big lungful of smoke as Patience lit it for her. She turned, picked up the bottle of Nuka-Hol from beside the bed and refilled their shot glasses.
"This Ronald? Dead?" Patience kept her voice low, not wanting to further disturb the sleeping Sierra. Valrie nodded in silence, slamming back the shot and filling the glass again. "How long?"
"Long time. Months." Valrie lifted the shot glass swilling the contents with gentle easy swishes. "I've been coming back, hoping she'd recover, become more like she was, but I can't see it happening. All I can do is try to get her to move somewhere safe."
"Seems he was more than a friend to her." Patience sipped at the Nuka-Hol, followed by a draw on her cigarette, letting the smoke cascade down her throat, chasing the drink. "If she doesn't get out of here, or find someone else to protect her, she's going to die. Those raiders knew her, they came here because they knew she was alone."
"You think I don't know that?" Valrie gave Patience an annoyed look. She didn't like the cold, matter-of-fact way that Patience had talked.
They heard a bump and a scrape against the outside of the shack's walls. Patience had the assault rifle in her hand before she realised she was reacting, sweeping the muzzle around in all directions. There came several more bumps, several more scrapes and Patience tracked the noises with the rifle.
"You might as well relax. That shit'll be happening all night. It's just scavengers." Valrie threw her cigarette butt on the floor and crushed it cold with her boot.
"How do you know?" She didn't drop the rifle straight away.
"The real bad ones don't knock." The older woman saluted with the shot glass and winked before downing the contents.