Well, look who it is. Boy am I glad you decided to show up, for a minute there, I wasn't sure if we were gonna to make it. Don't worry, I ain't about to start thankin' you, I know you're no fan of gratitude; you're more of a fan of humility, a man of war that takes the result of his job as a reward. I've seen your work, from before the bombs, when your government made you do all those horrible things, and I saw you fight your way free after you woke up trapped in that ice box, what should have been your end, but you don't place by deaths rules, no sir.
Ah, I know what you're thinkin', kid. I know how I sound… but it's the chems. They give ole' Mama Murphy the sight. Been that way for as long as I can remember. Before you go on and start your doubting, there's something you need to hear. It's about your friend, the woman in blue, I know you came lookin' and only found a group of broken settlers, but you need to keep goin', because she's still out there, and she's loosin' hope.
Don't worry, kid, she's alright. But you need to find her, and you need to tell her, that she needs to keep goin' too, because what she's lookin' for is still out there, and he's… longing. She's going to find him, I'm sure about that. But there… there's a danger, I see… a shadow, a black winged angel casting a… darkness over her, a leader of the dead and they… they see her.
You need to hurry kid, there's something coming for her and she won't be where she is for much longer. Take Dogmeat, he'll stick by you, show you where to go, he's…assigned. Hah, I can't see who or what told him so, a stranger with a mysterious intent, but he'll fight with you now.
One more thing before you go, kid… this world, it ain't yours, but it sure feels a lot like the one you left behind,don't it? It might not look it, but you're better prepared than most to deal with what it throws at you, don't hesitate to show folks you're ready to do what it takes.
Rain bursts from the overhead clouds like the tear of a viscous wound, oily water coated and saturated by the after effects of nuclear fallout, apparent even after nature itself seemed to recover and adapt to the new environment. Irradiated condensation soaks everything to its very core, whipped horizontal by the wind and leaving exposed shelters useless to the brunt of its force. For Don, a storm of this calibre had been somewhat underestimated. He'd considered his situation, and ultimately regretted not taking Preston up on his offer to stay in Sanctuary until it passed. What kept him going, pressing through the wind and rain, the thunder clapping overhead and illuminating old decrepit buildings in his path, were the words that the old woman, Mama Murphy, had told him before his departure, somewhat comforting, entirely relieving, and ultimately cryptic.
How it was that she knew all those things about him, about Carolyn and her son, he'll never know, and maybe it's best that he doesn't. He figures he'll give her the benefit of the doubt and see what happens, because following a dog blindly through a violent lightning storm might in fact be the worst thing that could happen, unless of course he had ended up leading him right into the path of something scarier than a giant mutated lizard. As it stands, he hadn't expected to land on the doorstep of Boston's Illustrious Baseball Diamond through a series of empty wooden checkpoints lined with inoperable military turrets.
Don stands in the square before the old rusty green gate like a sopping wet puppy (next to a sopping wet dog), next to an old statue knocked clean into pieces, leaving only the formless torso behind, arms and head reduced to rubble at its feet. The rest of the figure appears entangled with the same red vines in Sanctuary, like the swollen veins of a human body. He recalls seeing it before the bombs, a player in mid-swing, and a proud vestige of baseball tradition now on display like a symbol of the broken ruins of Boston that surround it. Don shakes off growing shiver crawling up his back; he can only imagine what the city must look like during the day, because it looks a lot like a horror movie from where he stands, it's not quite dark enough to lose a partial view of everything nearby, but any light available to aid his travel is fading quickly. It won't be long before he's totally blind and unable to move around safely, the cloud coverage is making quick work of that.
This baseball diamond though, most likely the 'Diamond City' Preston mentioned, appears to be nothing but an old ruin of Boston that doesn't appear all that impressive. Aside from the turrets, which are dead, and the barricades, which are empty, anyone could pass this by without thinking much of it. In any case, the gate is closed, and it might stay that way until either the storm passes, or until the next morning, so unless there's a back door, he can't see himself getting inside any time soon, which means that Don may have to seek shelter elsewhere until then, which doesn't bode well for his well being. He'd taken the Med-X in small doses during his journey, every half hour or so in the two hours it took him to walk here until it was out, which was about twenty minutes ago, he's going to start hurting again really soon. If he doesn't have an infection now he's going to reach around and kiss the horse shoe in his ass.
At his side, sitting patiently waiting for Don to make up his mind instead of standing out in the rain like an idiot, Dogmeat stands up and shakes his coat dry, soaking Don's already drenched pant leg in the process. Don glances up and squints into the rain still showering a medium drizzle and then back to the dog incredulously, "You're fighting a losing battle there, buddy…"
Suddenly, movement from the shadows next to the road on his left catches his eye, the sound of shoes scraping in hurried footfalls increases until a woman in a red coat bursts out from the doorway of the closest wooden barrier. Sprinting across the gnarled pavement, almost tripping on the uneven concrete hidden in the dim light as she does, she slaps herself against the very speaker box Don was eyeing and presses the call button for several seconds as she pants feverishly.
If Don was unsure something was wrong the second she came into view, the look in her eyes as she spins a ghosted look over her shoulder, eyeing where she'd come from, certainly tells him otherwise. He watches from afar as she begins to mash the button desperately the second she doesn't get an answer from whoever is on the other side, emitting a long frustrated growl through her teeth, "Come on, Danny, COME ON!"
Don throws the corner of his jacket back, the one he'd pulled from his satchel to give him a bit of insulation against the storm, to bring his sidearm into reach. Upon his approach, a new kind of anticipation begins crawling up his back as he cautiously watches the blackened road she'd come from. The woman is so busy trying to get an answer out of the speaker that she doesn't even notice Don until he's standing a few feet away, and when she does she screams so loud and sudden that he almost leaps clean out of his boots, he may have shot his leg if his finger was anywhere near the trigger of his pistol.
"Jesus, buddy!" The woman snaps, "The hell do you think you're doing sneaking around?!"
Don gathers his composure and slips right back into his military persona like it were a pair of old worn leather boots, comfortably broken in and familiar, "Ma'am, calm down, I need to know what's going on."
"I'm just out for a god damn stroll in the middle of a rad storm," The woman is gripping the box with white knuckles, "What the hell do you think is going on?!"
Don hums; she's as soaked as he is, even under the grey cap on her head, her long dark hair still sticks to her cheeks in clumps, and her coat, bright red in color, hangs tattered and raw to her knees like the sleeves and the hem of her pants, boots caked in mud. His first impression is a desperate escape attempt, however, aside from the wear and tear, there's nothing to indicate that whatever she'd been running from had attacked her. He'd just like to know if he should be trying as hard as she is to get somewhere safe, the road was long and suspiciously empty from Concord, so it would be about right if something where to spring from the shadows right about now. At least he knows now that there's safety behind the gate, maybe even people that don't shoot on sight.
Suddenly, from the other end of the square, a clatter of rocks and gravel makes them both jump in a way that may as well have been an outright explosion, at his side, Dogmeat's ear perk up. The woman immediately grabs Don by the arm and pulls him around the large shielded stadium tubing, out of view of the road. Don loses his footing halfway through due to the uneven ground and unceremoniously plummets right into the green metal siding with a hard slam, his shoulder and chest erupts with new, white hot pain, but thankfully he manages to crumple behind cover.
She doesn't appear to notice him lock his jaw to choke down a moan of agony; instead she's leaning fully plastered to the metal plating, almost 45 degrees sideways to peer around the corner, Dogmeat on the other hand nudges Don's face with a wet nose. He pats the pooch to reassure him that, while he is in a lot of pain, it won't kill him, at least not yet.
"God damn ferals," The woman murmurs, "I bet McDonough planed this, just my luck."
Don recalls Preston warning him about ferals, though he had forgotten to disclose what they were exactly. Instead of asking loads of questions, however, he blows a half dry lock of hair from his brow and then gently eases up to his knees. Also peaking around the corner to stare out into the square, still empty, but suddenly there's a malicious air that descends over the area. It centers at the dark doorway of the wooden barrier directly across the way, shadows feel like their spilling out like noxious fog.
Within the doorway, a flash of movement catches his eye, the shadows appear to boil and squirm, oily and alive until it all seems to halt, the sounds around him, the last bits of wind howling through the buildings, the rain still pattering on every reachable surface, even the rapid beating of his heart. An eerie ring of silence seems to greet a single pallid limb that breaches through, a hand with long claw like fingers that reach around and grip the wood for support as a long leg appears next, suddenly funnelling through the rest of its body.
Don feels his back stiffen in horror, it looks like it may have once been a person, and in fact it looks almost identical to the bodies that Don witnessed lying in the grass outside of the Vault's platform when he and Carolyn first broke through to the surface, dozens of bodies mummified by the initial blast and left to dry in the sun. Instead of only corpses waiting for burial, this one is a walking nightmare, alive, its skin appears grafted and burned into a single mass of flesh shaped only by the bones underneath, its limbs twitching and jerking as two small milky white eyes peer around the empty square.
In seconds, another joins it, only wearing the tattered remains of clothes held together by threads and buttons as it clambers passed its partner, shuffling out into the open in curious investigation. Following it is a third, and then a fourth; soon, there are eight zombie creatures stumbling around the square. The count of Don's ammo is suddenly forefront in his mind, after managing to buy another pack of ammo from a so-called diner a few minutes passed Concord, he has twenty four shots. Dogmeat begins to growl lowly, his ears flattened to his head. Don wraps an arm under his head and pats his jowl, more so for his own comfort rather than to ease the animal.
From above, the red coated woman carefully slides back into full cover, her voice a low trembling whisper as she speaks, "Okay… um… I-I have about… maybe… thirty shots with my pipe pistol, if we…"
Don slides back just as gently, making sure not to make a sound as he does, and turns to the woman who now looks extra pale next to the color of her hair. If she's as terrified as she looks, she's not going to be much help in the firefight swiftly approaching, if these things can even be killed conventionally, "Show me."
Without argument, she empties her pockets, (and she has quite a few), into Don's hands. She has nearly the same amount of shots as he does, twenty seven 0.38 rounds, a smaller calibre, but it should do the trick, "Your gun?"
"Yeah," She murmurs, her hands shaking as she holds it out to him, "Here."
Don examines the weapon, what looks like a rusty orange revolver with a two square inch plank supporting the barrel, chamber, and receiver, totally unconventional. If this is what passes for armament in this new world, it's no wonder a point blank round to the chest didn't kill him; these pot shots might just bounce right off these things.
"Okay," Don pockets all of her 0.38 rounds and makes sure her pistol is loaded, he should have enough to take them out if his aim is true, which, considering he's being effected by a substantial amount of pain and dizziness, may be a problem, "I'm going to lure them away, the second it's clear, you take off and get to high ground and wait for morning. If this place isn't answering their doorbell, chances are they won't until it's safe to come out again."
The woman stares at him for a moment, and then suddenly wrinkles her nose, "You think I'm an idiot?"
Don blinks, and then glances up from where he's kneeling, "You've given me no reason to think so, unless you suggest we should run at them screaming and on fire, then yes, that would make you an idiot."
The corner of her mouth twitches like she's trying not to smile, "Forget it! I'm not letting you take my gun, give it back."
"Lady, I'm trying to help you," He responds plainly.
"Oh yeah, a regular opportunist," She snaps, "Just gonna to take off and sell my ammo for caps, huh?! Leave me to deal with the ferals!"
For a moment, Don just stares at her in mild disbelief, and then he grins, snorting back laughter as the color in her cheeks rises into scarlet red. The woman reaches out and slaps him on the arm, against the hidden bandage wrapped around his recent injury. Don shrinks with an astounded gasp at the swell of pain, but the second he drops his guard, she lunges at him to retrieve her weapon, barely missing as he jerks it away, "By the way, you're not fooling anyone with that macho-military-bullcrap, who the hell are you calling 'ma'am' anyways?!"
God forbid I lend a little courtesy.
Still down on his right knee as she's leaning over him to grasp at his outstretched arm, Don reaches up and braces his left forearm against her collarbone, shifting his weight as he swings his opposite leg around and sweeps her feet out from under her. She lets out a dry and startled gasp only a second before she hits the ground, Don leaps over to pin her in place, covering her mouth before she can say a word. He leans over just enough to see that the ferals haven't heard them yet, a god damn miracle considering how loud this woman is. He looks back down at her as she stares up at him with wide eyes, the shock of being turned ass over end taking an effect on her.
"Here's what's going to happen, okay?" Don explains gently, "I'm going to borrow your gun to help me lure the ferals away from the square, when they're gone; you're going to find somewhere safe to hide. Then, assuming I'm still alive after selflessly risking my life to do so, I'm going to come back and return it to you, I'll even buy you new ammo.
"Look, I know you have no reason to trust me. I get that trusting a stranger is a big nope in this brave new world, yeah, and it's nice that it's all transparent instead of hidden behind the façade of a white picket fence," Don jerks his head to the wall at their side, near whereDogmeat watches the two, head tilted in confusion, "But here's the thing, I need to get in here, because I'm following a dog who may or may not know where my friend was taken, because she was kidnapped by a group of psychotic men dressed like leather fetish survivalists and I have no idea where she is, or if she's alive," He smiles, "I've been shot twice now, and I'm in a lot of pain, so it would be nice if you didn't fight me on this, because if you do, I'll toss you to the floor faster than a Mr. Handy could wax it. Am I clear?"
Bewildered, the woman stares up at him, and then nods shakily under his grasp.
"Great," Don smiles, "I'm going to take my hand away, and when I do, you're not going make a sound, or I might not be able to make good on my threat before hell unleashes it's fucking nuclear spawn on us."
When the woman nods a second time, Don eases himself vertical. She waits until he's kneeling in the cover of the shielded piping before she makes a move to do the same, scooting back to sit up against the green wall behind her. He can see her eyeing him carefully in his peripherals, but he doesn't pay her too much mind though, as long as she stays quiet she shouldn't be trouble.
Unless of course she decides that she didn't appreciate being strong armed and bashes his head in with a brick, and judging from how Dogmeat did nothing, he might just let her do it.
Don lightly shakes his head and then peers out from the cover to see how clear the path is from where he is to the road at his twelve o'clock; it takes a few seconds of deliberation considering how close they're getting, before he stands to make a break for the archway.
He takes two; maybe three steps into the open before the sound of something large and mechanical catches his ear, a sudden hum of an engine coming to life from silence. Don comes to a startled halt as a loud switch rings in the air, every spotlight in the vicinity, including the ones from all three road barricades ignite simultaneously, blinding him with the vicious glare. Over his head, the clicking of a powered turret suddenly blips online and begins firing; Don immediately drops to the ground and covers his head with his hands, rocks and cement jutting into his stomach and chest, but his muscles are seized.
Around him he can hear the alarmed hollow shrieks of the creatures as they're assaulted, a chorus of animalistic bellowing overwhelming the sharp impact of bullets as they shower the ground, piercing concrete and flesh with an unmistakable noise, distinctive like the sound of shattered glass. Don curls his head and watches just for an instant as one of the creatures steps out from behind the wooden barrier, a turret only a few feet away turns on its axis, and within seconds the pot shots ring in the air, tearing the body apart in chunks, reducing it to a mirror image of the baseball statue before it has a chance to even hit the ground.
Within minutes, the square is totally silent, and Don still lies on the ground staring out into the mass of carnage completely in awe of the sudden intervention. He hears Dogmeat rush out and begin to sniff at Don's face, the woman tiptoes out from the cover of the pipe shielding and walks over to stand at his side while he's begin assaulted by a large wet nose.
"You dead?" She asks.
"Nope, sorry," Don coughs out, his chest throbbing a little as the rubble under his belly grinds together in his motion to get to his feet, however, the second he does, he feels a rush of sudden dizziness that clouds his vision and throws him back into a stumble.
The woman throws her arms out to catch him before he hits the ground, "Whoa, hey, hey, hey!"
"I'm good," Don finds his balance with the extra support, "I'm good, I'm fine, hooo-boy. All this excitement must be getting to me."
"Oh yeah, I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you're hotter than a grilled radroach."
"Why thank you," Don turns and grins at her.
Her cheeks go red again, "I mean you have a fever, dumbass, look at you, you look like hell!"
Don touches the back of his neck; he can't tell if he's sweating or if it's the drizzle, but he's definitely warm, and nauseous, that's not good, "Hey... I don't suppose you happen to have a doctor hiding behind that gate?"
"Yeah, but Doc Sun doesn't take too kindly to outside folks with attitude," She crosses her arms with a smarmy smirk, and Don can only return her look with a forceful grin attempting to disguise his pissed off desperation.
Before he can say anything to retort, something along the lines of, 'I was going to risk my ass trying to help you out, you massive bitch.' The large green gate, covering the entrance of the Diamond's ticket lines, suddenly begins to move on its mechanical arms and open the way through. The sound startles both of them, but it's clear almost immediately that there was no malicious intent, a dozen people begin to file through from the other side as soon as the clearance hits about two meters. A scattered crowd of men dressed in the same uniform, wearing what looks like an entire umpire outfit with the thick front padding as makeshift armour in various stages of general disrepair, their heads covered by helmets with metal weaved into the protective grate, in their hands, they're all wielding large black assault rifles.
Don blinks in astonishment; it appears the Calvary has arrived.
One of the men on the end of the crowd almost immediately spots Don and the woman standing out in the open staring at them in awe. He approaches after spotting the mess that the defences had made of the ferals, and addresses them, "You folks okay?"
The woman huffs, snapping before Don can get a word in, "Yeah, no thanks to you. Where were you guys ten minutes ago?!"
"Calm down Piper," The guard sighs, "The storm killed a generator and knocked out all the lights in the market; our outside defences went offline, the mayor ordered us inside until it could be fixed. We didn't want to risk opening the door until the cleared the area, and by the looks of things, I'm glad we did. Damn ferals always follow storms."
"Yeah, that's just fine for everyone inside, but we almost died out here!"
The man shrugs, "Well, maybe you'll think twice next time before getting caught in a storm."
"You mean I'll think twice next time before accusing the mayor of conspiring with the Institute!" She calls at him as he turns to follow the path of three more officers, "I'm not an idiot I know he did this on purpose!"
"Oh yeah, I can't wait to see tomorrow's headline," He calls back, "This just in Mayor McDonough controls the weather!"
Piper growls as he disappears with a small crowd behind one of the wooden barriers, the four of them chuckling amongst each other and taking the accusation of a serious possible threat with nonchalance. Don isn't entirely sure this mayor had any intention of actually locking her out in hopes that the weather and it's spawn would take care of her, that methodology of first degree murder has way too many variables, not even really viable to ensure her death, he must not be a very smart man, one could drop a rock from the top of a building and get better results.
However, if he fully intended to kill her that way, was her accusation of his involvement with 'the Institute' that severe? What's 'the Institute', and is it malicious enough to cause a person in power to kill those who suspected some sort of coup?
Don sighs, of course politics would survive nuclear fallout, "Hey, If you're open to suggestions about an article title, I, personally, am a fan of, The Mayor's McDonough't now, or even, He's McDonough't this time!"
Piper winds back and slaps Don across the face.