No Good Deed

I was surprised at how close this scientist person was to New Reno because after almost a whole day of walking, Paul told me it wasn't much further. The sky got dark, and even though we were miles away from New Reno, the flat desert showed faint lights in the west. The desert was dark and nearly devoid of life, but a mile further to the east was a lone light in a sea of black. That was our destination.

We approached the light until we could make out the features of a faintly illuminated shack. The little wooden structure sat in the middle of the desert with two lanterns on the porch and another dim light shining through a window. We stood only feet away from the porch and the wind whistled by while a tiny rustling noise was heard inside the place.

Paul said loudly into the darkness, "You shouldn't keep lights on if you're on the run!"

I held my pistol ready for anything while Paul calmly stood there with his rifle still slung across his back. The rustling noise stopped, and the wind died. The door creaked open and the metallic barrel of a 12gauge poked out through the dim cabin light. I was ready to potentially embrace some buckshot when Paul said;

"Salvatores sent some fellas to kill you."

The voice behind the gun spoke loud but curious, "Who the hell are the Salvatores!?"

Paul responded while I was ready to engage or protect us from the paranoid man, "You are the defecting scientist, right?"

The voice shook, still concealed by the door, "Don't know what you're talking about?"

Paul called the bluff and said, "Oh? Sorry to bother you sir. We were sent to protect some tech man from New Reno gangsters and some 'Enclave' fellers?"

Paul started to walk away, and I joined him when the door swung open behind us. We turned around to see a shadowy man and a woman standing nervously in the doorway. The man's voice shook, still aiming his shotgun at us and asked, "You guys legit? Who the hell are you anyway?"

We turned back and Paul said calmly with his hands raised in surrender, "Some very bad people want you dead, and we're here to get you some place safe."

The man paused for a moment and asked, "Who you working for?"

Paul said, "I can't tell you that, but my people need you alive, and I'm your best shot… Won't be long before those New Reno gangs send someone to kill you all if we could find you this easily."

The voice asked, "Where you wanna take us?"

"East, be ready to leave when I knock at dawn." He paused again and added, "Unless you want to get killed?"

Paul and I camped under the stars next to the house. I didn't get a good look at the owners of the place, but they took Paul's advice and turned out those lanterns immediately after the conversation ended. Sitting on my sleeping bag and exhausted from the day, I tried to ask Paul some questions, but he simply said, "Talking time is later, can't betray any of our operations until we get them to safety."

With that, I passed out for the few hours of needed sleep. I was nudged awake by Paul standing over me. Still bobbing in and out of sleep, I heard the detective take a hit of Jet as he said, "Take a hit, it'll keep you up."

We had another two-day trek to the supposed safehouse. I hadn't gone this far into the wasteland since the caravan trip and essentially Needed drugs to carry on. It wasn't long before the drugs took over and I was alert and ready to move out, with my mind in the familiar middle ground of alert, euphoric, and numb. Under the disappearing moon and glimmer of dawn, I saw the people we were escorting. They looked like simple everyday wastelanders. The man was older and bald, probably in his late 40s, and the woman stood a ragged mess with a face that could've been very pretty under better circumstances. Then there were two children. A boy and a girl no older than 10 or 12 wore wasteland rags, had dirty faces, and nervous inconsolable expressions. The family loaded a bunch of their belongings in a hand cart and followed the detective and I east.

The hours passed and I wanted to ask so many questions. Paul walked determined into the desert staying silent as well. Every now and then, Paul would scan the surroundings and land an intense gaze on the people we were protecting. I could tell that he had many questions of his own. Paul laid it all out simply when we stopped for a rest; no questions until we reached the safety of the bunker. The two of us could easily pass as hired guns if shit ever hit the fan, so it was best that we knew very little about who these people were exactly. The wife walked up to Paul as we moved, pleading for answers about what was happening.

Paul just said, "No questions until we reach the safehouse" or ignored her completely.

The woman eventually gave up and fell back to ask me the same questions, hoping I would be more compliant. I repeated the same line until she fell back to her family in defeat even though the questions burned inside me. Every thirty minutes or so, Paul would pull a little notebook out of his pocket to write something down and continue leading on.

I thought a lot about those kids during the walk. They looked exhausted and worn down from living in the wasteland. It became apparent that the family wasn't used to living out in the wastes and I began to wonder why that was. I wondered what the scientist studied, and I especially wondered how they were linked to the Salvatores, or even this supposed "Enclave." Then I thought about the Salvatore's mission they put Paul up to. Was Paul and his Salvatore goon squad supposed to kill the kids too? If that was the case, I knew it was best that the kids were safe with us, at least in the time being.

Night soon fell and we made a fireless camp. I didn't pack any food because I didn't expect the carjacking to take me all the way out here. Paul was more than prepared though, and we ate some old canned food while the family ate their scraps under the moonlight. Fireless nights in the open desert were near freezing. The family was scared, confused, cold, and completely dependent on two strangers who came out of the desert promising safety without explanation.

I lightly packed my bag for the car job but remembered I always kept an extra jacket in there. I unfolded the thing and approached the family bundled together under a thin blanket beneath the starlight. I laid the jacket over the two kids and gave a sympathetic smile. I knew what it was like to be young and cold in the middle of the wasteland. At least the kids had their parents with them. The mother thanked me, asked if I had kids of my own, and tried one last time to get a few answers. I remained silent.

Laying back down on my sleeping bag, Paul stood up and approached the family. He said, "We head out at dawn again, we been making good time so we should reach the safehouse by midday."

I took the cue, wondered if that was true, and went to sleep.

I learned at a very young age even with my likely cannibalistic family that things almost never go smoothly. "According to plan" is not something that happens in the world we live in. Whether it be stumbling upon the corpses of rich slavers, running from cannibals, stumbling across ghosts, getting enslaved in a mine, or losing friends to old robots at a pre-war military base, something always gets screwed up. I sometimes find it funny how surprised I am when something good or honorable gets absolutely annihilated in the cruel wastes. I didn't know anything about these people I was helping protect, but I knew in my heart that what I was doing was a good thing. Like I said before, nothing like that lasts, and here's what happened.