Its All A Kick In The Head

I didn't have far to walk, just over a bump in the land and around an old, crumbling road maintenance building. I left my bag and moonshine at the base of a boulder and climbed up it with a little effort. Crouching down, my knees ached and I grimaced; nah, no old age here.

I pulled my binoculars up from where they thumped against my chest and peered out at the camp, seeing to Gangers sitting at a rickety table playing cards. A moment later, I spotted my bike. She was leaning up against an r.v. minus the wheels and looked pretty good still, save for the hollow socket where my headlight should be. I jumped when dirty grey cloth blocked my view and pulled back for a moment. As my eyes settled, I adjusted the scopes and found the culprit.

That had to be Barton. He wore a grunt outfit, common on new members of the NCR. Even if he weren't wearing that, the service rifle leaning against my bike gave him away.

He set two beers down in front of the Gangers and opened his own, taking a thick swallow that dribbled down his chin. I pulled the binoculars from around my neck and hopped down from the boulder, shoving them into my bag before I curled my fingers around Nezi and began to stalk toward the end of the old trash rig they were hold up against.

My boots smacked softly against the pavement as I bolted over the highway, sliding down the small slope into a shallow puddle of radiation and muck. I slipped Nezi from her holster and moved around the tail gate, peeking around to the table.

And I locked eyes with one of the Gangers.

"Oh shit," he spat, snatching up his 10mm and firing sloppy rounds at me.

I ducked back behind the trailer, hearing two bullets ping against the metal and one more bullet bite the dust, literally. My eyes widened as a bundle of three sticks of dynamite bounced in the dirt at my feet and I chanced it. I leapt out into full view, firing three rounds out of Nezi until I slid in the muck behind the r.v., right into a powder charge.

"Oh c'mon," I whined, shoving Nezi into her holster as a loud explosion went off behind me.

I pulled my trench knife out of its place against my ribs and clambered up the ramp to my left, the powder charge beeping faster and faster. As it went off, I stumbled but managed to kick off the top of the r.v. I leapt down and slammed my knife into the right shoulder of a Ganger with almost white hair. He screamed as I landed, falling to my knees and dragging the blade down with my weight. It sliced and cracked through what it could, finally breaking free near the third or fourth rib.

I jerked the knife out and whipped around to the next available target, finding Barton with his rifle pointed at me. It belched but I ducked, my heart pounding in my ears as the bullets sprayed overhead. Lady Luck was on my side because his gun jammed a moment later and I sprung forward. My knife sunk it his thigh but as he fell, I had to pull it out so he didn't take me rolling down the hill with him.

I watched him scream and hold his thigh but was more focused on the footsteps approaching me. I reached down and grabbed the muzzle of Barton's service rifle, swinging it around and slamming it into the Gangers head. It crunched and collapsed, the bone jamming into the gun and leaving me unable to pull it out without some force. I didn't want the gun, so I left it and grabbed the pistol from where his hands had dropped it.

I shrugged down the hill towards Barton, flicking blood from my knife before sliding it into its sheath. I crouched down beside him and he stared up at me in horror, I could only tsk.

"Real stupid kid," he groaned. "I may not support the NCR one hundred percent but abandonment is no way to go and disgraceful. As an army man maself, I have to dissaprove."

He barked out a strangled laugh. "You have no idea," he spat. "No idea what's going on in this place. You just don't understand. Caesar's Legion is going to burn you all."

He began to laugh but I didn't care. I pressed the gun against the side of his head, labeled it a mercy shot and told him to "Shut up," before pulling the trigger.

I hadn't been to Primm in weeks.

The nickname was Little Vegas or something along those lines and even after the war, it lived up to its reputation. Two casinos usually hosted at least a hundred or so people, residents included, and both smelt like mothballs. There was the Vikki & Vance, a classic that I still favored even after two hundred years. And then there was the Bison Steve, big and mostly for looks. Where, before the war, the place had gleamed and glowed in rustic colors with a ball room that hosted weddings regularly, the place now lay half empty with blood stains in the carpets.

Most of which were just cause by Deputy Beagle and yours truly.

"Think that was all of em," Beagle's revolver shook in his hand.

I glanced over at him from reloading Nezi, thanks to the dead convict at my feet, and nodded. "Yeah, I think so," I holstered Nezi and looked around, adjusting my duster. "Guess we should get outta here. NCR will clean up the mess."

Beagle holstered his revolver and walked beside me as we crossed the ballroom. "Think they'll really help?"

I nodded. "Yeah, no faith in the NCR?"

"I don' know," he shrugged as we pushed through the double doors, joints creaking. "Seem like they can barely hold their own around here. I mean, there were about fifteen convicts in there and we killed them all. Just the two of us. There are six men over there."

I sighed and hopped up onto the sidewalk, eyeing my bike in the distance; guess I would have to wait at the Outpost to have her light fixed, and her tires needed some air. Fuck me.

"Well, I think once we have their occupation established things'll get better," Beagle snorted. "Don' give me that crap," I ran a hand over the chipped seat of my bike." Look, I got request forms for some Major Knight at the Outpost. He's supposed to be the caring sort so we'll see. Have some faith."

As I kicked the bike to life, Beagle jumped. "I don't have faith in anyone," he all but screamed over the rumbling.

I just shook my head and pushed off towards the ramp leading down to the highway. One good thing about the apocalypse? No traffic, no looking in case I get run over. Blessing and a curse because it makes me realize how empty the world really is now. Over here at least. In the Capitol Wasteland -

I ground my teeth and shook my head, weaving over the median to avoid the heavy craters on the left side of the highway. As the road smoothed, I tried to remember my task. Primm needed law and it was either NCR or PG's and. . .considering I slaughtered two of their members and a new recruit, I don't think I could waltz in there looking for that old lawman. Just needed to drop off these request forms, crash in a bunk for the night and I was on my way again.

As I crested over the old Highway Patrol station, I saw thick, black trails of smoke curling over the dust storms over the race track. I quirked my brow but made a note to worry about it later. The sun was getting low and I had no lights.

The climb up the hill to the Outpost was rough, thats one hell of an incline. Weaving between abandoned cars and two semi's, my bike almost growled at me. I sighed when the boots of the NCR statues loomed over me, immediately hitting the brakes and letting the engine die. I pocketed my keys and grabbed the handle bars, walking towards the Brahmin pens - my destination the half ass built shed near the far West side of the lot. Scraggler merchants flopped around on the ground, mostly looking drunk but their guards were sober. There were four caravans scattered about, each as agitated as the next. The Brahmin were unsaddled and I found that odd. They must have been stuck here for some time.

Inside the shed was a bike similiar to mine, only painted black with a rough spray job of the NCR bear on the back. A shelf to my right was graced with freshly polished tools and antique parts, the back wall of the shed home to several generators and a radio that belted out Big Iron like it was its duty.

"Alexander, you son of a bitch."

I looked over my shoulder and grinned. "Kilborn," he took my hand in an overly firm grip, giving it one shake before passing me to turn off the radio. "Been awhile since I saw you."

He chuckled and squatted down to sit on a stool near the bike, reaching under the seat to fiddle with something. "Been ten years, ya old coot," I chuckled. "Nice ta see you finally got you a ride, can't believe you walked for two hundred years."

"I've had other vehicles here and there," I watched him for a moment. "The bikes actually why I'm here - well, and I need to deliver some papers," I leaned the bike on its iffy kickstand. "But the bikes more important."

Kilborn nodded and adjusted the seat a little, looking unconvinced of something. "Well what seems ta be the problem?"

"Raiders shot out the light and the tires need to be filled some more, may need some cells to keep her going but I think she could make it up to Vegas on what she has."

Kilborn finally looked up at me, greasy fingers stilling in a stained cloth. "Vegas? Why would you wanna go there?"

I hesitated then sighed, removing my hat and gesturing to the bullet wound. "Got shot by one of the hotel owners," I eased my hat back on my head and shrugged. "Gonna go have a little chat."

Kilborn snorted. "Yeah sure, a chat," he walked over to my bike, crouching down to examine the damage to my light. "Just go do your business. This may take awhile."

"Got all the time in the world," I turned to walk away but reached for my flask instead. "Gonna be here til morning so take yer time, lad."

I left him chuckling and crossed the lot to the main office building of the Outpost. Inside was a breath of fresh air, cold air conditoning rattling in three windows and it was nearly empty. One man stood behind the counter looking bored out of his mind so I figured he was the Major I was looking for. Well, the beret gave him away too.

He perked up just a little as I approached. "Caravan, citizen, pilgrim, or. . .?"

I paused, papers in hand. "Uh, Courier, I guess."

He opened a dark red journal in front of him and wrote down Courier, the date and the time before snapping it shut. "Just need something for the log book," he slid the journal back into a cavity behind him, turning back around. " Keeping tabs on traffic through the Outpost. . .although mostly just in these days."

Well thats great, why was he telling me this again? I opened my mouth to speak but he kept going.

"If you're looking for the commanding Officer, he's in the back. Although. . .he's got a lot of his plate, so if you speak to him. . .keep it short. Also, if you need any gear checked, we can get you up and running again. . ..once you fill out the work orders and sign for the parts of course."

He was reminding me why I was generally agitated with the NCR and tried to avoid them when I could. But I served before the Great War - though if you ask me, there was nothing great about it -and I know he's just doing his job. Still, I wish he'd shut up.

"So," he faked a smile. "What can I help you with?"

Finally. I set the forms out in front of him and his face creased in seriousness, eyes scanning over handwritten details. "Primm is in dire need of some real law," and Beagle just wasn't cutting it.

Knight shuffled the papers. "I'd like to help," he straightened the papers out. "But we can't spare anymore have to maintain a minimum headcount here, orders from the West."

I groaned, wracking my brain for anything to just get this over with. "Having Primm - and the trade route," ah, there go the little wheels turning in his head. "under NCR control would help back West."

He rubbed his chin in thought. "I see the wisdom in that," I know. "I'll radio up to have additional support sent to Primm as soon as possible."

I grinned and smacked the table. "Alright then," I paused, considering what I heard him mention earlier. "There a way to make caps around here?"

Knight tucked away the forms under his desk and pointed towards the back. "Talk to the commanding officer. Ranger Jackson."

I bobbed my head. "I thank ya kindly."

I roamed down the hallway, trying to rack my brain for a rough estimate on Kilborn fixing my bike. It wouldn't exactly be cheap, but I just needed a little extra. I found a ranger sitting in the back, lounging on a couch and listening to Mr. New Vegas. He looked up when I entered the room, tilting his hat up with his thumb.

"Whatcha need, stranger," he tilted back the bottle in his hand.

"Heard you may have a way for me to make some extra caps."

He quirked a brow but I couldn't see his eyes through his glasses. "I may be able to procure you some kind of reward."

"Great," something seemed off about how he said that. "Whats the job?"

He hummed a little bit and wiped his mustache, setting the bottle down near his feet. "I nedd to get the caravans moving again, that means clearing the path North. There's too much crawling up the asphalt to allow it," now that he mentioned it, I did see an unusual amount of ants crawling around.

I shrugged. "Sounds like a deal."

He stood and shook my hand. "Thanks, I appreciate it. But why don't you wait til light to go after em."

I chuckled. "Hey, no arguments here. There a place where I can get some food?"

"Sure, the bunkhouse. The building out to the right."

I nodded. "Well that's where I'll be. Anything else needs done - just come tell me."

Jackson nodded. "Will do."

After getting my things from the bike, I mosied on over to the bunkhouse, being greeted by the smell of grilled mantis legs and cigarette smoke. There were several stools occupied around the long bar and the dark skinned woman behind it was playing a hand of Caravan against two others which I found nearly impossible to win.

I found a stool empty near a woman in leather and a cowboy hat. She was hunched over a bottle of whiskey and was muttering something under her breath, but I didn't care enough to catch it. I dropped my back, with moonshine, onto my feet and ordered a whiskey as well, with iguana bits.

My eyes flickered over to the woman one more time, but that seemed good enough because she scowled and snapped at me. "Lookin for trouble?"

I hesitated. "No. . .only looking around."

"Well keep those eyes up and turnin'" she grabbed her whiskey. "Or I'll set em spinnin," I like this girl. "Ain't got no time for gawkers. Or someone lookin' for somethin I ain't sellin'."

I looked down when I heard a plate clatter in front of me and grinned at the jerky like morsels in front of me. "Thanks," I slid twenty caps over the counter and cracked open my whiskey before turning back to this stranger; she still looked agitated. "How about a drink?"

She actually chuckled, but only a little. "How about a drink? You mean how about a couple."

I nodded and raised my whiskey. "Cheers to that."

She clinked our bottle together and watched me chew before speaking again. "What brings a ghoul to the Outpost?"

I shrugged. "Gettin' my bike fixed, doin' an errand for some caps."

"How many?"

I smirked and took a quick swig of my whiskey. "You want in already? We haven't even spoke through one bottle yet."

She chuckled. "Ain't got time for that. Need somethin' to pass the time. Not like we're gonna run away together."

I chuckle. "Fair enough," I ripped through another chunk of meat. "Ya really want the deats?"

"For half."

"For fourty caps."

She groaned. "Deal."

I both love and loathe my trench knife.

Had it most my life, always the last resort and always helped me out of those sticky situations. One razor sharp edge, slices easily through cloth and skin like butter. One side serated to hold for close combat, add more damage to damage.

But right now, it was most definitely not helping.

"A little assistance over here!"

"I'm a little busy maself, woman," I spat out, trying in vain to pull my trench knife from the ant soldiers face.

Despite having drove the knife down to the hilt in its shell, the damn ant was still trying to get its massive mandibles on me. I kept one hand firmly wrapped around the knife and the other hand pushed back flat against rough shell, both trying to keep it away from me and trying to add counter pressure to pull out this blasted knife!

Cass screamed, but not in pain just anger. She twisted her empty shotgun around and began to slam the butt of it into the soldiers face. The ant squealed and flailed its head around, a hair line fracture cracking up to its right antenna. She slammed it down again and the crack splintered in different directions. The ant squealed again and swung its massive head to the right, knocking her in the side and making her stumble then fall.

"Son of a -" I returned my main focus to the ant I was fighting and jerked back on the knife again.

The ants bulbous eyes crinkled like they were dry and it let out this weird noise, like a mixture between a gurgle and a growl. Its mandibles cracked together loudly and I had to curve back to miss being crushed between the razor edges. I raised my right leg and slammed it into the ants face, caving in its right eye. It jerked its head back and my eyes widened as I went flying over the monstrosities body. I groaned as I rolled on the concrete, blinking slowly as I looked up and saw the ant screaming, its feelers spassing around the hilt of my knife.

"Die!"

I watched in mild amusement and mild pain as Cass came charging in, shotgun raised above her head. The stock must have been built by the Gods because I can't tell ya how many times the beat it against the ants skull. Thirty. . .maybe fourty five times? No, longer because before too long she was just hitting the road and the ants head was a big pile of mush.

I pushed myself to my feet, groaning as I placed my thumbs against the small of my back and arched. I looked around for my hat while Cass continued to pummel ant goo and found it upside down a few feet away. I scooped it up and saw a teeny tiny ant worker scuttling away towards the Ivanpah Race Track, no doubt to tattle on us. I chuckled and stuffed my hat on my head, walking back towards Cass.

"Down girl," I grabbed her right arm, making her look at me in a crazy way.

She looked back down and grimaced, holding a gross shotgun up. "Great," she muttered. "I'm not cleaning this."

I chuckled and reached down with a dusty rag, dangling my trench knife in front of me. "Yeah. . .guess we can crash at the Outpost and make one of the lackess clean em up."

Cass grinned. "Now that sounds like a plan," she gave her gun a nasty look. "Guess I'll carry it back to Primm," she shouldered it. "Maybe they'll have something for me to wrap it up in."

I shrugged. "I'm sure Nash has something," I wrapped up my knife. "But hey - we killed those bastards and now we get our reward."

Cass looked around, observing the several dead ants and grinned at me. I grinned back and we both arched our hand up, resulting in a loud and. . .pretty painful slap.

"Ah cocklickin' cunt sniffin'," Cass dropped her shotgun and did a weird little dance, cradling her hand.

I stared at my own palm, feeling that tingling but I was a ghoul. Too many layers of dead skin to actually feel the full force of the pain. "Aw c'mon, lass it wasn' that bad."

She glared at me. "Shut up!"

I chuckled. "Wanna try it again?"

"Fuck you, Alex!"

"If you insist."

Yeah...Cass and Alex are gonna be fun partners.