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Mrs. Bossanova walked down the path, whistling merrily, before making a noise like a sleepy brahmin as she stretched her arms. Sarah giggled, relieved the old lady was up and moving again. An army of robots trailed behind them, jostling to keep up amongst an indignant chorus of "Excuse me!" from the boxy, red Mr. Handies as they bounced off each other.
The journey up to Star Control had been a tense, meandering ordeal. Forced to abandon the track, Sarah navigated the dark, twisting halls of the maintenance corridors, timing every movement to slip past the patrolling robots without detection. There were a few close calls, including one moment where she'd dangled over a railing to avoid detection, and then almost been unable to pull herself to safety, but eventually she made it. The cool night breeze tickled her skin, and Sarah crept towards Star Control, wondering how on earth she was supposed to fix the robots.
As it turned out, it was incredibly easy. The star pieces slotted into place with no effort, and when Sarah accessed the computer, she found the command to make the robots good again. She watched from the computer hub as the robots deactivated, then came back to life, cleaning up trash, greeting skeletons, and humming merrily. Sarah approached them and they agreed to follow, offering her Nuka Cola as they bobbed alongside her to the Nuka Galaxy.
The thought that Mrs. Bossanova might be dead crossed Sarah's mind, but she pushed it away. She couldn't dwell on it now. The old lady was too tough to die.
Her belief was rewarded in the form of Mrs. Bossanova's shocked expression as Sarah descended down the Nuka Galaxy supported by a gaggle of cheerful Mr. Handies. Mrs. Bossanova stared, mouth hanging open for a good three seconds before bursting into laughter, and then clutching her side and groaning.
They'd spent the last few days recuperating in the vault exhibit, where Mrs. Bossanova pointed out the warm, fuzzy feeling Sarah felt when she'd entered the first time was not from awe, but low, persistent levels of radiation.
It hadn't been a bad few days, basking in the familiar pleasant glow, surrounded by Old World wonder. She'd had nightmares the first night and woken to an aching shoulder, but upon seeing Mrs. Bossanova was still alive, snoring gently in corner, Sarah settled quickly again. The Mr. Handies even made her late night snacks, which she decided to keep as her own little secret.
But eventually Sarah grew restless as it dragged on, her thoughts constantly drifting back to Nuka Town, the traders, and Oswald. The decision to leave Nuka Town again had been rash, but Sarah didn't regret it—had she stayed, she'd still be stuck there, doing chores and getting hit. At least out here she had some freedom.
But something wasn't right about Oswald. Sarah couldn't put her finger on exactly what, but her gut told her there was something wrong. He'd acted like he really cared about her, and then left without saying goodbye. Maybe he thought she was dead? Or maybe she'd made him so angry by breaking her promise, Oswald wanted nothing more to do with her. This last thought twisted her stomach in fear and regret—she would never know the truth.
When Mrs. Bossanova decided it was time to go, Sarah was eager to follow, desperate for a distraction. Doing things made the bad thoughts disappear.
"Is there any point taking you back to the brothel?" Mrs. Bossanova asked as they strolled through the park grounds together, the Mr. Handies bumping into each other behind them become more irate with every passing second.
"No," Sarah replied cheerfully, grinning up at Mrs. Bossanova.
The old lady grinned back. "I thought not." The smile faded a little as she glanced towards Dry Rock Gulch in the distance. "Judging by what I've encountered so far, the Gulch is going to be dangerous. Whatever happens, you need to stick by my side and listen to me. Understood?"
Sarah nodded.
"And if I tell you to hide or run, you'll do that?"
"Yes. I promise."
The smile returned. "Good."
Mrs. Bossanova grew tense as they drew closer to Dry Rock Gulch, her hand rested on her sword. Even the Mr. Handies fell silent, the only noise the slight dings of metal as they bumped into each other. Sarah held her breath as Mrs. Bossanova's pace slowed, each step a pause. The air hung heavy with anticipation, the dry dust whipping around an empty—
Sarah screamed as something large burst from the ground. Mrs. Bossanova shoved Sarah behind her as she drew her sword in a slashing motion, and blood exploded everywhere. The dirt trembled and shifted, and suddenly large, worm-like creatures were erupting from the earth and lunging straight for them.
"Run!" Mrs. Bossanova yelled.
But even as Sarah backed away, she was buffeted forward again by a stampede of Mr. Handies to cries of, "For Queen and Country!" and "Have at thee!"
Mrs. Bossanova was at her side in an instant, pulling her back without taking her eyes off the monsters. But the Mr. Handies made quick work of the worms, and settled back down to their pleasant demeanours instantly, despite being covered in gore and bits of meat—an effect that made Sarah feel sick.
"Scout the rest of the area," Mrs. Bossanova said, gripping Sarah's hand tight. "Locate all hostiles and kill them."
"Right away, madam!" the Mr. Handies chanted, before bobbing off through the main gate, their saws and weaponised Nuka Cola jets at the ready.
Mrs. Bossanova pressed a hand to Sarah's chest, shooting her a look that plainly said 'Stay there,' and for once Sarah was in no mood to disobey. Mrs. Bossanova had shielded her from the worst of the blood when the thing exploded, but some of it still got on her. Her skin puckered where it was drying, and bile prickled her throat.
Mrs. Bossanova crept forward, kneeling down next to one of the creatures. It was long and a fleshy pink colour, with sharp spines protruding out of its disgusting body. The only other distinguishing feature was its mouth, its four jaws opening out into a cross shape. Sarah shivered as Mrs. Bossanova turned the creature over, a frown on her face.
"What is it?" Sarah called to her.
Mrs. Bossanova shook her head. "No idea. Never seen them before. But they look nasty." She glanced at Sarah and gave a shrug. "We can call them bloodworms for now, unless someone tells us otherwise."
Sarah nodded, trying not to look at the red-soaked sand. The name fit.
Mrs. Bossanova blinked. "No objections? Gage would have kicked up a fuss."
"Gage is stupid."
The old lady laughed so hard she nearly fell over onto the bloodworm. Eventually she wiped her eyes and grinned. "You're such a pleasure, Sarah. I hope you know that."
Sarah felt her cheeks grow hot. Mrs. Bossanova didn't speak again, turning to the winding path leading into Dry Rock Gulch, waiting. Sarah passed the time staring through the gates, eyeing the towering, rectangular orange rocks stretching high above the grey perimeter walls. After about ten minutes, a lone Mr. Handy ambled over, humming to himself.
"The area is secure, madam!" he exclaimed jovially, bobbing up and down as he drew near. "A fierce fight to be sure, but we bested them in the end!"
"Where are the others?" Mrs. Bossanova asked, standing up and stretching. "Are you the only one…?"
"Oh, no no no! My colleagues have taken the liberty of patrolling the Gulch, should any hidden nasties remain." He laughed brightly. "Highly unlikely, but one cannot be too certain. No indeed!"
"Very good. Thank you." Mrs. Bossanova beckoned for Sarah to follow, while the Mr. Handy revolved excitedly on the spot—"Oh you are most welcome, madam!"—and Sarah obeyed. As they reached the gates, she saw a sign she'd missed before, which daubed a warning in what she hoped was red paint.
'DANGER! BLOODWORMS!'
She and Mrs. Bossanova glanced at each other, and they burst into a fit of giggles together as they crossed over the threshold into Dry Rock Gulch.
The first thing that greeted them was a protectron wearing a funny hat with a wide brim. The memory of the RobCo arena was fresh in Sarah's mind, and she instinctively shrunk away, pressing herself into Mrs. Bossanova. The old lady laid her hand on Sarah's shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Howdy, partners! Welcome to Dryrockgulch," the robot said, squishing the name of the place untidily into one word, "where it's always high noon!" The rest of its speech was slow and disjointed, almost painfully frustrating to follow. The robot continued on. "Hope y'all are having a good day here at Nukaworld." Again, it rushed the name. "Ready to saddle up and ride into the old Wild West?"
Sarah was only half listening to its strange ramblings. Behind it was what intrigued her most, something she'd never seen before, even in her comic books: a long, dusty street lined with little wooden houses and shops. Mannequins dressed in the same funny hats; buttoned shirts with sleeveless jackets over the top in a white colour with black splodges all over it; pointy leather boots with spikey metal things at the heels.
"Cowboys," Mrs. Bossanova said, answering Sarah's unspoken question. "This is the Wild West."
"The Wild West?"
"A time long before the war, when people first crossed the ocean and came to America. This is how they lived," she said, indicating the little wooden buildings, "and this is how they dressed." She nodded to the mannequins.
"Oh." The buildings didn't look too different to the shelters people built in the wasteland—maybe a bit neater. But the clothes were weird. Sarah looked at the black hat on one of the nearest mannequins.
Mrs. Bossanova followed Sarah's gaze, smiled, and strolled over, retrieving the hat. She came back and dropped it on Sarah's head with a soft flump. It fell over her eyes, but a few seconds adjustment and she could see again.
She grinned widely up at Mrs. Bossanova. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Well, partners," the robot barrelled on in its painfully slow voice, "you ready for a rootin', tootin' time here at Dryrockgulch?"
Sarah began to giggle. She glanced up at Mrs. Bossanova. "Can we?"
Mrs. Bossanova hesitated, twisting her mouth to the side. Then she sighed, rolled her eyes, and smiled. "Sure."
"Well, partner, if you're interested in lending a hand, I could use a new deputy," the robot crackled on. "What do you say?"
"Yes!" shouted Sarah with a little bounce on the spot, causing her hat to fall over her eyes again.
Even the strewn remains of bloodworms, ants, and other horrible giant insects couldn't spoil the fun. She scurried from each and every little wooden building, eyes wide with wonder, Mrs. Bossanova jogging to keep up. Her first stop was the saloon, where Doc Phosphate gave her drinks to hand out to his friends. She couldn't quite understand why Doc Phosphate was friends with skeletons rather than the other robots, but she left the Nuka Colas with them on their little tables anyway, before skipping back to claim her reward.
It turned out to be part of a secret code for a safe that held the key to 'Mad Mulligan's Mine.' Sarah hoped the ride would be less scary than the Nuka Galaxy, but judging how the track snaked all the way through Dry Rock Gulch, it was probably just as bad. Still, she was curious to see it anyway, and pushed on to the next robot.
One-Eyed Ike reminded her of Gage, even though he didn't actually have any eyes at all. He was mean and grumpy, and greeted them by offering to shoot them for a prize. A quick-draw duel, he called it.
Mrs. Bossanova sighed as Ike passed her a distinct looking gun: tarnished grey metal with a worn wooden handle. "It had to be bullets," she muttered, glancing longingly at her sword, before following Ike into the street, turning her back to him, and walking three paces away.
"Draw!"
Mrs. Bossanova whipped around and fired. Clouds of dust puffed up at Ike's feet as her rounds hit the dirt. Cursing, she darted forward as Ike slowly took aim, and shot him at close range. The bullet pinged off his metal body, lodging into the wall of a nearby store. Sarah laughed herself silly, but calmed down when Ike handed over the second part of the safe combination. Mrs. Bossanova pocketed the gun.
Finally, they reached what looked like the enclosure at the marketplace—the same one Buttercup the brahmin lived in. She wondered how the old brahmin was doing, and whether anyone else was feeding her, or if the free trader who owned her was even still in the marketplace.
Sarah approached the last robot, eager for her task.
"Oh thank goodness, it's the new deputy," the robot said slowly and jerkily. "You gotta help me. My herd of Giddyup Buttercups have all fled the pokey! You gotta track 'em down and bring 'em back to my corral."
Sarah's imagination went into overdrive, picturing herds of oversized, bright yellow horses capering all around Nuka World. For a moment she was back in the metro tunnels with Mr. Glass, feeding feral ghouls Fancy Lad snack cakes, excited by the land of toys he was describing.
The memory was bittersweet. Sarah bit her lip, remembering the old Giddyup Buttercup Mr. Glass repaired for her. That had been at the Slog, not long after Mr. Danse and Miss Quinn helped put down all the supermutants who took her father. He'd approached her cautiously, the toy held out in his arms.
Bella, she'd called her.
The robot directed her over to the drinks stands, and Sarah obeyed, scanning the area for a sign of yellow paint, Mrs. Bossanova at her heels. But while her eyes searched for this new toy, her mind dwelled on the old one.
Bella. With a little dent on her nose from when Sarah caught her on Mr. Glass' workshop door. Flaking paint on her tail—that one was Wiseman's fault: he'd knocked her into the tarberry pond while Sarah had been helping Dierdre, and jumped straight in to retrieve her. And a piece missing off Bella's ear, when Sarah accidentally dropped her down a flight of stairs going into the metro. Mr. Glass never told her off for her carelessness, though. He insisted the accidents gave Bella 'character'—made her unique. Sarah loved him for that.
And then Sarah spotted a Giddyup Buttercup poking out of a nearby trash can.
The blood froze in her veins as she stared at the bent, yellow legs sticking out, scratched and dirty. Mr. Glass' face flashed before her eyes, laced with pain, the word, "Go," dripping from his bloodstained lips. They were in the Gauntlet, and Sarah clutched Bella to her chest, heart racing with terror. His clothes were so red, and the screams of the raiders could be heard from above, waiting for them. He was pushing her through a tiny gap in the fence, where he could not follow. And somehow, in the mess, Bella was left behind.
A bump returned her to the present, and Sarah realised with a start she'd backed away sharply into Mrs. Bossanova.
Mrs. Bossanova frowned down at her. "Is everything alright?"
"Fine," Sarah murmured, her cheeks hot as she avoided the old lady's searching gaze. Thoughts were whirling around her head, Mr. Glass' eyes pressing into her skull, as panic flickered in the base of her stomach. When Mrs. Bossanova tried to lay a hand on her shoulder, Sarah shrugged her off. "I'm fine," she repeated, still not looking at her. She didn't want her to see how silly she was being.
"Sarah, what's—?"
But Sarah had already marched off, her bottom lip trembling. The last gift Mr. Glass ever gave her, and she left her behind. She could feel his gentle hands holding her as she hugged him goodbye, before forcing her to freedom. But maybe this toy was Bella. Maybe someone found Bella and brought her here to be with the others. Maybe—
Sarah wrenched the horse from the trash. No dented nose. No chipped ear. No flaking paint. The disappointment crushed her to her knees, and she sat in the dirt, the twisted old piece of yellow junk lying dead on her lap.
"Sarah!"
Mrs. Bossanova was at her side in an instant. "What's the matter? Are you hurt? Sick?" She crouched down next to her, lightly brushing Sarah's forehead with her fingers. "What do you need?"
Sarah shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. It was all too much. She missed so many people. Oswald, before she broke her promise to him. Mr. Glass and his kindly nature. Wiseman, and the way he'd protected her, no matter what. Her father, even when he'd been unable to look at her without grimacing. And her mother, who'd left her behind.
"Sarah." Mrs. Bossanova tucked her fingers under Sarah's chin and carefully lifted her head up. "Please tell me what's wrong."
Sarah shrugged, a lump in her throat. The thing she feared bubbled to her lips, until she could no longer contain it. "No one wants me."
And then she was in Mrs. Bossanova's arms, her body shaking with the force of her sobs as she clung to the old lady's poncho. Mrs. Bossanova gripped her tight, and Sarah felt a vague memory shift in her head. She was back at the settlement. Before the attack. Before the change. She was whole; her dad smiled and her mom laughed, and they both loved her so very, very much.
"You are wanted," Mrs. Bossanova said softly, whispering into her ears as she rocked Sarah in a fierce embrace. "You are wanted. Stay with me. I'll look after you."
Sarah believed her, even as her collar pushed into her neck.
"Tell me what happened," said Mrs. Bossanova, handing Sarah a mug of warm milk. The sun was still high in the sky, but Mrs. Bossanova had set up a little campfire to heat the drink, while the Mr. Handies continued their patrol, searching for the safe. Where Mrs. Bossanova got the milk from, Sarah had no idea, but she wasn't about to pass it up.
"Dunno," she replied with a shrug, before taking a sip. "I was only little."
Mrs. Bossanova's brow furrowed. "You're still...little."
Sarah glanced up, deeply offended. "I'm not! I'm way bigger now!" True, she wasn't as big as other kids her age, but she'd outgrown at least three sets of shoes since she joined the Slog.
The familiar look of confusion flickered over the old lady's face, and Sarah resisted rolling her eyes. Everyone made such a big deal out of this, but in her mind, it wasn't. So what if she got through more shoes than Wiseman could ever find for her? She liked going barefoot sometimes anyway.
"Sarah," Mrs. Bossanova said, frowning deeply now, "ghouls don't age."
Sarah blew bubbles in her milk before sipping it again, liking the frothy texture. "Well, Wiseman said I do." As far as she was concerned, if Wiseman said something, the matter was settled.
A beat of silence. And then—
"Explain."
"Like I said, I dunno," she replied with a shrug, her voice slightly muffled by the mug. She blew some more bubbles, drank, and then paused. Mrs. Bossanova was staring at her. Sarah stared back, setting the mug down. "I was in a settlement. It got bombed. I ended up like this."
"But if you're growing—"
"Wiseman said…" Sarah hesitated, trying to remember exactly what Wiseman had said. "I heard him talking with my dad one night. He said because I'd gotten...less." Sarah frowned. "That I wasn't the same as a normal ghoul."
"Less...what? Radiation?"
"I think so. I'd snuck off to try and steal some of Old Josie's mutfruits from her patch outside of town. So when it all happened…" Sarah shivered, remembering the flash of white light and the feeling of fire as her body melted. "My dad said it took ages for all the bits to fall off." She indicated to her nose and ears. "But for him it happened straight away."
"So," Mrs. Bossanova said slowly, "what you're saying is, because you got less radiation than your father, you took longer to turn into a ghoul, and you're still aging because of it?"
Sarah made a non-commital noise as she shrugged. "Something like that. Doesn't make a difference to me—I'm still treated like a ghoul. Was a while before anyone noticed my clothes were getting small."
"What did your mom think about all of this?"
"Take a guess," Sarah said fiercely, picking up her mug and clutching it tightly to her chest. "She left. Never came back. She hates me."
Mrs. Bossanova's eyes grew wide and sympathetic. "She won't hate—"
"Then why did she leave?" Sarah snapped, jerking her head up to scowl at Mrs. Bossanova. "If she didn't hate me, why did she go?"
Mrs. Bossanova opened her mouth, apparently thought better of it, and closed it again.
Sarah settled, feeling agitated. The old memories hurt deep in ways she couldn't explain, far beyond the physical pain of her transformation. The absence of her mother was like a wound that wouldn't fully heal, aching with every movement, every catch of the wind or splash of water. Sometimes she could forget it, maybe for a day or two. But then she would slip up and it would reopen, weeping and sore.
Mrs. Bossanova shifted where she sat, staring at Sarah with an irritatingly intense wonder. "Why didn't you mention it before?"
Sarah met her eye. "Because of the way you're looking at me."
Mrs. Bossanova flushed red but nodded. "Sorry."
Sarah stared into the little campfire, watching the flames flicker while smoke drifted lazily up from the dancing tendrils. "People leave me, or I leave them," she said dully. Mr. Glass' whispered pleas mingled with Oswald's screams for her to come back. "I don't blame Oswald for going." The admission felt like a knife to the heart. "He wanted me to stay, but I went, even though I promised. I'd be mad too."
Mrs. Bossanova stared at her, stricken. She wore the expression of someone weighing a heavy decision, licking her lips in apprehension as she tapped her fingers anxiously against her leg. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep, shuddering breath, and said, "Look, about Os—"
"Madam!" boomed a Mr. Handy, thrusting something under Mrs. Bossanova's nose cavity, "I have found the key!"
Mrs. Bossanova blinked, the unspoken statement teetering on her lips. She glanced from Sarah to the Mr. Handy, and lost her nerve, closing her mouth. Sarah wanted to ask what she'd been about to say, feeling uneasy again. It was about Oswald obviously, but what?
Before Sarah could press the issue, Mrs. Bossanova took the key from the robot with a smile and a nod, and slowly got to her feet. "Finish up, Sarah. Time to clear out the mine."