CHAPTER 26
Incoming.
Through alleyways of brick buildings that were strewn with dumpsters, piles of debris and trash- with aisles sometimes boarded up or barricaded with makeshift roadblocks- they had trekked through Boston City, and they had sought out their target quickly and expediently.
When they found it, gunshots rang out for nearly thirty minutes, coupled with screams and hollers- they obliterated the one thing that stood before them in effort of hampering their mission.
"I found a live one, sir!" Hancock called over to Sanford's position- his buzzsaw still whirring a mist of red about it from fresh blood. The robot peered over a pile of wooden boards with his own ocu-lense.
"RRAGH!" Sanford cried- wrenching a Raider woman's corpse from the girth of a forearm-length machete he had taken up during the long fight. The body slid away and clambered onto the dirt, still, with a gash in her gut that ran all the way through.
Breathing heavily- Sanford wiped some of his dead foe's blood off his forehead, and sighed with a heave of his shoulders- peering over a path of dead towards Hancock, who was waving his claw for him to come over.
"...What is it?" Sanford snorted, stepping through the twisting, piled limbs of the Raiders he and Han' had caught out in the open.
They'd gotten the jump on the thugs- opened fire with both submachine gun and Plasma gun at a big gathering of them in the center of the aisle lot- killed half the gang before the others could hide and shoot back.
In contrast to the bleakness of spilled crimson below, the sky was surprisingly blue and clear between the rectangular roofs of the city- giving off a cool breeze that whispered over shingles and concrete tops of the varying apartments and businesses that lay as blasted shells.
Quiet had taken over quite quickly once the last of the gang he and Hancock had tracked for the past two days, had fallen- and now that the crazed marauders were all gone, Sanford and Hancock started to look around for what they had come for.
Settlers in an organic farm, called Winchester's- had established a small community for themselves, and they had been attacked by Raiders who carted off a handful of people to sell off to slavers in the south.
Sanford and Hancock trekked across half the Commonwealth to reach them in the center of the city- it was a mighty relief and satisfaction to shoot and slash every single one of the murdering pieces of shit dead at this rate.
Yet as Hancock grasped the boards with his claw, and slid them away one by one- that feeling of relief, the feeling- 'Ha! I killed all of them! I'm cleaning the gene-pool!' -that got Sanford all amped up about who and what he was- it all drained away when he saw what he saw.
The settlers said that around six people had been taken- but all Sanford saw here, were two.
There was a young boy- he couldn't have been older than fourteen- and in his arms was this terrified little girl, no older than five.
They were both in rags, and they had multiple bags under their eyes and grime matting their faces- which were both so dark in filth, that the whites around their pupils contrasted greatly with everything overall.
The boy had speckled crimson matted on his face- and Sanford realized it to be blood.
Hancock- up until this moment in time, which, would stick with both of them- hadn't adjusted his code, his- 'Emotions' -or the programming that made his amalgamation of them- to suit situations like this. So naturally, the following happened.
"How ya' doin' little cadets?! You wanna' help ole' Hancock the Commi' whacker, blow open some faces?"
The children were visibly shaking the louder and louder Hancock got- and for the first time in their relationship as friends and fellow fighters- Sanford looked at his robot deathly, and grit his teeth.
"Hancock, STOP."
"-Don't gimme' that crap, monkey-man! I just found me two perfect MIN-SPIES! They'll infiltrate the Communist facilities through the dog-doors and the like-!"
"Hancock, shut the fuck up." Sanford growled lowly to keep them from hearing. "I said shut the fuck up NOW."
"...Aye... Sir..." Hancock levitated backwards- stunned.
Kneeling down to the boy, Sanford put effort into laying the bloodied blade he had been holding somewhere behind him- slowly- so the boy wouldn't catch on- and he smiled as best he could.
"Hey, little man." He greeted. "My name's Sanford, and the big metal goofball is named Hancock. We're here to bring you home, your parents are worried sick and they miss you."
The girl started making this awful, awful little whimpering sound and it broke Sanford's heart- she buried her head in the boy's raggedy shirt and started crying.
Maybe mentioning ma' and pa' wasn't such a good idea- the boy looked at him, and, instead of an expression of anger or fear- he just looked... Lost, and in space, even. Sanford saw that the dried blood on his face wasn't his- and he looked about the girl to confirm it wasn't hers either.
"Are either of you hurt?"
The boy just shook his head slowly, keeping arms over the girl.
"...Is she your sister?"
He shook his head.
"...A friend, then?"
Nothing.
"Do you know where they put the other people they took with you?"
Nothing. The girl went silent.
Leaning back, Sanford cupped his mouth with a tightly-clenching hand, and looked about the alleyway- putting his ankles in front of the children for some attempt at blocking the array of dead Raiders behind him from their eyes.
He looked back at Hancock who had all three ocu-lenses turned to him expectantly.
"Han', are you picking up any lifesigns of human beings? Anywhere in here?"
"...No." Hancock gave his simplest answer that day- he'd never given one like it ever since.
"...Oh God," Sanford muttered into his palm- he glanced down and saw the boy raising his hand from the girl- he pointed at a big, brick building- the one that sported the wall they hid under the wood on. Sanford gazed at the building before him- and he saw a wooden green door next to a blackened, cracked storewindow a few feet away. "Oh God."
Reaching behind him- he picked up the machete and kept it behind his back- nodding at Hancock.
"Stay out here with them, Han'- don't let them follow me."
"Aye, sir." Hancock floated closer- and Sanford turned towards the door- where he swallowed dryly.
Clasping the door handle after a step of adjacency- Sanford turned it, and it creaked with a rattling pattern- the door eased open, and the darker shade of the building's insides disgorged into the bright day that was allowed in the alley pass.
Glancing inside, Sanford swallowed again- and his boots echoed against a tiled floor as he entered.
This was once a barber shop or some related grooming business- the floor was black and white tiled, there were three swivel chairs messed and ragged before a wall with a large, rectangular counter and mirror.
Garbage was strewn everywhere- and he was gifted a smell that he knew all too well.
He prayed for something he knew was going to be there, to NOT be there- and he traveled over to another door towards the rear of the lobby of the establishment- it was another wooden green door- chipped, matted.
He opened it with a creak of wood- and in this big empty room, there was nothing but a coupling of shelves that were gathered on the other side of the chamber- and on them were a series of power tools.
Sanford's vision was briefly locked to that- but then the overpowering stench hit him like a brick wall- and he looked down and gasped.
There were four bodies- they were all full grown, younger adults- three men, a woman- the Raiders looked like they God-damned flayed them- as they weren't even recognizable anymore. Sanford's jaw dropped- and he stepped out of the room with a curse.
"-Jesus Christ," He grunted. "Jesus fucking Christ-"
-Then, he almost stepped on the little girl- because she was standing right there, in the doorway- eyes thankfully unadjusted to the dark.
He gasped again and scooped her up in his arms- the machete clattering away onto the tiled floor.
"YOU GET AWAY FROM THAT DOOR, RIGHT NOW!" He barked. "Come with me- come on, sweetie, come with me. DON'T LOOK."
He put his glove over her eyes- and he was back outside in an instant- looking about angrily for Hancock.
"Stay right here," He mumbled to her, putting her down lightly, and seeing the boy still crouched where he was against the wall. "Where'd the robot go, little man?"
The boy pointed a quivering finger to behind Sanford- he wheeled around, and saw Hancock levitating there- and with his buzzsaw raised, and leveled with the grimy, dirty throat of a man Sanford knew to be a member of the very gang they butchered.
He breathed heavily- he was garbed in his undershirt and boxers- there was a poorly kept brown mohawk on his shaven head, and a nasty beard was beginning to sprout all over his jawline- he had these buggy eyes that darted everywhere, and he breathed heavily through his nose- his arms and hands were raised.
"...I ain't done shit, man... Tell ya' thang' here to ease it..." He snuffled.
Sanford felt his lip jumping with a disturbed twitch- his fingers were flexing.
He looked down at the man's undershirt- and it was clearly matted with spattered, dried blood.
...He did it.
"Hancock, where did you find him?" Sanford sounded monotone.
"They had the fucker in a closet next door," Hancock snapped. "Heard the lock ringing."
"Give him to me."
"Can't we just SHOOT him, sir-?!"
"I SAID GIVE HIM THE FUCK TO ME!"
Sanford grabbed the man by his shoulders- and Hancock could only sit there, floating, watching his friend shuffle the fearful prick towards the doorway of the shop he had just exited.
"GET THEM AWAY FROM THE DOOR!" He belted- and then, he grabbed the knob, and slammed the green entry shut with a slam of wood.
Reapplying a grip on the highwayman's shoulders- he felt the goon try to slip away- and for a moment there were squeaking boots against the tiled floor, grunts of effort- Sanford brought the man down on a single knee, and planted his fist into his forehead.
PWUGH!
-He did it loud enough that the hollow impact echoed throughout the store.
PWM
PWM
PWM
Sanford hit him until he grew still- he dragged the Raider towards the green, inner doorway- and he heaved him onto the floor with a ragged collapse.
The reeling man fell on his back- hands wrapped over his head- eyes wide, bugged.
"LOOK AT THIS!" Sanford cried- pointing to the horror right over the man's head in the middle of the room. "YOU DID THIS?!"
"...They was' gonna' do us in..."
"YOU FUCKING CHOPPED THEM UP!"
"...Gotta' keep in control... Keep in control, man-! D-Don't you see? They'z watchin'! The eyes! They all have eyes, man! They watch EVERYTHING!"
"Sick little, twisted, FUCK."
Sanford stepped out of the doorframe- he grabbed up the machete.
"You like chopping people up, huh? Is that what you fuckin' get off on, huh? CHOPPING PEOPLE UP?!"
"Iz' the EYES, man!"
"I'll show you an eye, you little bitch..." Sanford fell on a single knee- and he grabbed the hem of the man's boxer shorts. "You little, little, BITCH."
He pulled them down- sliding them between the man's buttocks and the floor- and he grimaced at the organ that came to view- the Raider kicking.
Sanford sneered- he aimed the sharp side appropriately, let the target partially drape over the grimy blade- before he jerked his arm upwards- and the squelch of wet flesh coupled then with the man's shriek.
"AAAAGAGGHHH!" He howled like a woman- it was such a feminine cry, that Sanford almost didn't carry through with the finality for the sake of that noise.
He wiped a fleck of blood that hit his cheek with his wrist- bent down again- and shoved away the Raider's flailing knees to line the machete up vertically with his stomach.
"TORTURING PIECE OF SHIT!"
-Flesh started to peel, the man kept screaming.
-It was almost ten minutes later that Hancock was still floating outside- waiting for Sanford to reemerge from the shop.
The children didn't even react when Sanford flew out of the door, breathing heavily- sweating up a storm, and covered in blood from the chest down. The machete he held was still dripping when he tossed it away- and gestured for Hancock.
The screaming inside, had long stopped.
"Go ahead of me, take them home, I'll catch up."
"...You do know it's a several mile walk, Sanny'?"
"Do as I say."
"...Sir." Hancock looked down at the two kids. "Let's go, privates."
Sanford was leaned up against the side of a wall as he watched the three vanish around the bend of a corner up ahead.
Hancock would spend the next two days getting those children back to the farming community in one piece- and Sanford never showed up behind him- he went back to the Gas Station, and he slept for two days straight, and didn't leave the bed.
Sanford almost hoped that nightmares of that intoxicated, sick freak would replace the ones of the nuclear blast he had been experiencing half his life- he was disappointed, too see that they only stood alongside the first nightmares.
Hancock knew what he did- he never talked about it, he never mentioned it- and for years after it happened, the incident in the barber shop was an unspoken terror that he and Han' had run into and experienced.
It was horrible. Horrible, horrible, HORRIBLE.
Sanford cut that man up- and he had never admitted it to anyone, not even Hancock, even though Hancock knew.
It was a part of the past, a part of all the things that Sanford had seen and done- that Sanford wished had never happened.
A nightmare, in reality.
...And the skeleton lying on the floor of the boxcar, brought that out to him. A skeleton, on the floor of a train car- Sanford just saw it, and, the whole memory just flooded back.
It horrified him.
Sanford had the first boot of his suit on the three step stilt that lead into the interior of a large boxcar that had been for a long decoupled locomotive- and outside were the hills of clear terrain for miles- and he and Deathclaw stood on a path of train tracks.
Running down the spine of a raised, rounded bump in the land- like a giant millipede- it stood out from the empty province surrounding them- and in the daylight, gray sky, it was easily seeable the bulky, Power Armor suit leaning in through the side panel of the car.
He and her had happened across the tracks, and this was the only boxcar that was present, he had wanted to look inside- and the thing was empty, save for a pile of mismatched bones on the wooden floor.
Sanford angled his helmet down at it- and when he found this memory, it glued itself to the inside of his skull and it wouldn't leave.
He almost felt like crying.
"...Monsieur'? Are you okay?" The accented voice behind him- snapped him from the memory.
Glancing over his pauldron, to back outside- he saw the Deathclaw carefully looking down for a second to step over a trailing bolt of metal from the railroad track- before looking back to him and frowning in concern.
Sanford's eye twitched, and he slowly worked an answer.
"Yeah... I'm fine."
"What's in that car?"
"...Not a thing. Empty."
Sanford reached for the large, iron handle on the sliding panel's edge- and it creaked shut with a final, rusty slap of steel.
He stepped down with a few whining servos- nodded at the empty tracks down behind where she faced.
"We're still walking?"
"That we are."
"Alright, let's go." He stepped past her with rumbling falls into the dirt- she stood rooted, and had an eye-ridge raised to the boxcar that he had so hurriedly detached from at her asking.
She wanted to look inside- but when he called her for a second time, she turned around and swiftly followed him to trot beside the extending tracks. They passed a dented, and scorched hide of a tanker car that had partially derailed.
Keeping a quick survey of it in her sights- she noticed him being awfully quiet.
"Are you sure you're fine, Sanford?"
"I'm good, let's get those Super Mutants."
"...Okay."
"...So how are you feeling today?" Sanford changed the subject after a pause- letting his arms swing lazily at his hips as he walked.
"Bien'."
"Good?"
"Mmhm."
"That's good."
"Have you traveled these railroad tracks before?"
"A few times. Me and Han' used them as a landmark- we'd follow them down to a certain point and branch off from there. How about you?"
"They're too open, exposed- I always stayed off tracks and roads."
"Well you've traveled from as far south as D.C. right?"
"Yes."
"Have you found great concentrations of people, like, BETWEEN those two places? I know there's a lot of folks in D.C., the Commonwealth, Virginia and Maryland..."
"No. I came across not even wildlife through half of the trip, actually," She said. "The place once called 'New York'-?"
"Yeah?"
"It's a barren crater- a great valley, and before I entered it I was terrified of it."
"Why's that? The radiation wouldn't affect you."
"No, but my clan had always told stories of weird, strange things there."
"You had members of your pack that traveled through the ruins of New York? And, YOU traveled through them?"
"So I was informed- and yes, I had to, it was quicker."
"The only thing we have here is the Glowing Sea... I know that's just a section of the fringes of that cesspool. There was nothing left from the start?"
"I passed through the city of Baltimore- after that it was dead, everything was dead, in these big valleys strewn with pieces of buildings and metal skeletons... It was an eerie place." She recounted. "I traveled for weeks- terrible, et lent'."
"Would you want to talk about it?"
"It's not a traumatic thing for me, so, I suppose... I didn't know tales from the middle of nowhere interested you."
"Well... It is interesting- no one really knows what's down there. I know Manhattan and most of southern New York is gone... But if what you're saying is true, then, Connecticut and Philadelphia and Jersey and Pennsylvania... They're all gone too."
"...Did you ever go to any of those places before the bombs fell, monsieur'?"
"I went on a trip to Manhattan once with my father, and I went again with both my parents for a 'Night on the town'- as my old man put it, hmmph," Sanford smiled sadly. "My old man."
"...Sanford," She blinked. "I was thinking- it might not be impossible to assume your parents are still alive, surviving somewhere. You said their prisons were empty? Did you ever think that, maybe they got out before you?"
"...I always wanted to make myself believe it, but... But why would they leave me? And why would they not seek me out after all this time if they had left me for whatever reason?"
"...I don't know."
"Neither do I."
"...I thought I'd just, suggest it, Sanford. Do with it what you will."
"It's fine, and I hope you're right."
"...The wastes of New York,"
"Yes! Don't leave me hangin' Ms. Angrypants, this is exciting!" Sanford laughed- and he laughed harder when a rock rebounded off his helmet with a hollow CLUNG -like noise. "Story time!"
"Stop that." She grinned.
"So you were saying?"
"What I saw?"
"You know, besides miles and miles of clear land, rubble?"
"Baltimore is very similar to your Glowing Sea- except, it's the entire city that is held in a toxic cloud, and Maryland is exposed to radiation storms like Boston. When I got past the city I started to notice that there was nothing... Not even the mutated scavengers were there.
The sky was green and broiling, dark, and there was a thick fog of sickly yellow and green. I couldn't hear anything besides the sound of my feet hitting the dirt, and a tiny breeze... I could feel the radiation that would have killed a human in seconds from where I was standing.
The land dipped three times for these huge valleys I came across- they were massive, and small oceans of radioactive material centered each one, sometimes I couldn't tell I was entering one of the giant valleys until I saw the center in the backdrop.
I was able to go around their centers whenever I came to them- it took me a long time, but I passed through the Glow Sea intact, I earned myself some scars, some experience' de' combat.
That was years ago... Here I am, monsieur'."
"And the Enclave chased you that whole time?"
"Non', non'," She waved a claw. "They wouldn't chase me again until I was in the Commonwealth for a few months- they weren't going to risk soldiers to try and track me through the ruins of New York- not even these powered frames you apes wear can save you from the radiation there."
"Yeah, well... Apes or not, you gotta' admit these suits are good."
"Mm."
"So the Enclave can just fly over that, and we're stuck on the ground," Sanford sighed. "Perfect."
"I've always figured out a way to do the impossible, Sanford," She looked at him with a toothy grin. "I never thought I'd meet someone who did the same. I'm not worried."
"...That's a strong thing to say," He met her gaze. "I appreciate the confidence."
Amid their walk, Sanford laughed with her for a second, and he watched the Deathclaw look back down at her feet meekly- it was crazy... She wasn't human, and she acted a lot like she WAS.
It had been around a week by this point- and the day/night interaction had made them something of a complete opposite from when her hand had been stuck in the gut of his armor. It was fascinating- he became used to the slightly taller, reptilian creature that had called him friend- and he got used to her smiling, and laughing, and speaking French.
It was the world's most awkward companionship- and Sanford didn't care, because it was so good to have another person with him, someone besides Han'.
He watched the extending tracks that branched out for miles in the distance- he briefly reattached himself to what he had mapped in his head- and he decided that it wouldn't be long before they came across a specific landmark he had in mind.
The Super Mutant camp was positioned right near an old trainyard- Sanford just knew it- because he and Han' had mapped out areas very close to this one in the past. That urban development, and the hills around it- he and Hancock had gone past them.
That meant that this railroad track was the closest he and his friend had gotten to making a direct route- unintentionally, of course -to the Super Mutants.
Sanford wanted payback- he was hoping they'd reach the camp at night, so they could jump the unsuspecting mutants.
Only time would give him that acceptance or declination.
"...Do you hear that, monsieur'?"
"...Do I hear what?"
"THAT." She blinked and looked upwards. Sanford looked straight ahead and followed.
crk crk crk crk crk-
-There was something metal. It was big, and it was creaking- like a wheel, or a crank.
Sanford heard his helmet giving him some kind of recognition scan alarm- he broke his eyes from the view ahead, and he blink activated a rune that was giving him confirmations of human life signs nearby.
That, and something really, really big was moving with them- and by them, there had to be thirty or more heartbeats.
"Oh crap." Sanford muttered- he looked back out over the tracks and adjacent clear land ahead- and he saw movement.
There were heads rising over a dip in the landscape- and they had... Hats on. Peculiar hats.
Sanford squinted- and the Deathclaw narrowed her eyes- and with those hats these people had dulled greatcoats, and they wielded large, two-handed rifle weapons over their chests.
...Even from the greater distance, Sanford could see who they were.
"Minutemen," He sighed. "Not good."
"Let's get off the tracks," She suggested. "Go off to the flank."
"They'll see us," Sanford grunted, he turned around and looked at the messed tanker car they had just walked past before. "Get behind the train car."
"Are you sure?"
"They're marching- they won't stop if they don't see anything- GO."
She scrambled backwards- and within seconds of him jogging over to the car, he just saw her tail finish following her behind the blackened metal of the tanker- and he crouched with a whir of servos behind the wheeled flatbed.
Gripping the side of the car, he compressed himself as close to the earth as possible, his suit purring- he looked over and saw her practically lying on her chest, and she was gazing from between two of the big, rusty wheels to view the clear land by the track's side.
They both hunkered and waited silently.
Soon the pattern of marching boots, idle mumbling- the creaking of a large object that echoed for miles across the landscape became louder and louder- the first row of six or eight guys- dressed in colonial styled overcoats with tricorne hats over their heads.
They had bulky weapons that looked like strange incarnations of rifles- each one a little different- they were Laser Muskets, and while slow to fire, they packed an unbelievable punch. The men and women stalked maybe fifteen feet by the side of the tracks- they were close enough that Sanford could make out facial expressions.
The Minutemen in the front had twenty or more behind them- and they were armed with all kinds of rapid fire weapons, and one of them was dressed in a dark blue coat with a feather in the hat- he carried a sword that was pulsating a ghostly blue in one hand and a bronze-looking pistol in the other.
The infantry started to work their way towards the leftwards edge of his and her visions- they were nearing the boxcar they had walked by only a few minutes ago.
Then, when Sanford was preparing to break his cover- another small cluster of Minutemen appeared on the other side of the car- and behind them was a team of robots- Protectron models, that had been painted blue and white with star patterns on their rusty hides.
Heavy modifications had been made to their torso chassis- they were bulkier than normal, and large tow cables were held in mechanical winches that were bolted and protruding from their large back plates just behind their dome heads.
The lines were tethered to two hooks on either side of a beastly looking gun- it was a gun so big, that it dwarfed a normal sedan automobile.
It had a wooden and scrap frame- like a catapult would, almost- it had four iron wheels that, ironically, looked like they had come from a train car long ago, and were fitted with hastily-applied tires.
The gun was of United States Army origin- Sanford knew the model as a howitzer, probably a 75' millimeter- they were outdated by the time of the Great War. The barrel was protruded upwards- and the gun's metal mounting was intricately bolted and built into the wood/scrap skeleton housing it.
The Minutemen towed with them an artillery piece- something they were feared for in the Commonwealth- and the wheels creaked and rattled up a storm, the ground actually vibrated beneath their feet, and small pebbles were falling off the rim of the flatbed of the tanker car they hid behind.
Sanford shook his head in amazement- and they watched the rumbling war machine gradually start to inch away towards the boxcar and the group of infantry that had long passed it.
In a few more minutes, the rumbling was faint- the squeaks hollow sounding again, and distant.
Sanford uncurled away from behind the train car with grinds of servos and crunches of metal- he gazed over the corner of the flatbed, and saw two more guys that were trailing behind the big gun finally vanish with their backs turned on the other side of the big boxcar down there.
He looked back at the Deathclaw and saw her eyeing the area the Minutemen went with caution- she stood from the ground, and rolled her scaled shoulders.
"...That was... Close?"
"Not as close or bad as it could've been," Sanford admitted. "I couldn't let them see you, they'd try to shoot you."
"And you, if you stood in the way, I'd think..."
"There are a lot of people that need a bullet in this place," Sanford stepped past her. "The militia aren't one of them."
"What was that large thing they were towing with the robots, monsieur'?"
"Artillery."
"...That still exists?"
"I haven't heard of another group in the Commonwealth who has it too," He nodded. "The Minutemen have power for it. We just have to be careful."
"Yes, Sanford."
"...I hope they don't find Han'."
"Why?"
"Han' would probably try to command them as their- 'Capitalist Commander' -or some shit... One time we ran into a group of Minutemen and Hancock pissed all of them off by claiming they should obey him, because he was George S. Patton."
"...Wasn't that a great general?"
"Yep. And I would've bettered the world by never relenting that knowledge to ole' Han'."
"Noted."
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