Ch.2 The Wasteland shuffle
Killing was just part of the job, the fun part. Mike came out of cover with a wolfish grin after the all clear had been called by Chevron. He was joined in the road quickly as three others moved out of hiding, all of them hefting wicked looking weapons. The boss wiped his chubby face with a handkerchief and turned to look back at the smoking ruin of the explosive trap Mike himself had built for him. Mike loved explosion... a lot.
The contract was so easy Mike had been suspicious of the weirdly high payoff listed. All it stated was "Guns wanted. battle ready for protection of contractor and elimination of target. Payment in full after contract completion." After a few moments of mulling it over they had accepted and were off. It really had turned out to be easy. Mike never expected his target to be dumb enough to get himself killed by the damn bomb before he could even get a chance to shoot at him. It disappointed him a little when he thought about it. But caps were caps, and he loved caps... a lot.
"Gentlemen," Chevron slurred at his hired guns in that strange accent of Mike had never been able to place. "As much fun as it is to be sweating myself to death out in this hell hole, I'm afraid I have business elsewhere." The way he said my annoyed Mike to no end, may'self? "Make sure our friend is well and truly bereft of life," Chevron continued with a lazy wave back at the broken doorway they stood across the street from. "Then you will find your pay at the agreed location, with a nice bonus for your explosive expertise." He added. The mercs grinned stupidly at the compliment and the promise of more caps, Mike included.
Not wasting any time Chevron departed with a tired looking brahmin carrying two wriggling burlap bags. Mike frowned at the two moving shapes, sounding like something was struggling inside them.
"Aint my problem," He muttered after a moment. His fellow mercs waited for his sign to move on, having informally made him the leader of their small band a few years ago, after he had killed the original boss of course. Instead of an order Mike simply nodded his head toward the building their target had landed in. They all put on blood thirsty smiles and marched off to the building. They got about five steps before the merc he called called Boomboom fell to the ground, the top half of her head removed in a shower of red mist and bone fragments.
"Holy shit!" Mike gasped, diving back into the cover of an over turned car on the side of the road. Another merc fell dead with a thunderous bang before Mike could even trace where the first shot had come from. In the distance a head poked out over a high cliff ledge, the tell tale shine of a gun barrel helping Mike mark his position from behind the car. Even from as far away as he was Mike could tell it was a pistol the attacker was using, which made him on hell of a shot.
"Boss?" Cal shouted uncertainly from one of the houses ahead of Mike.
"The cliff!" He shouted, sticking his rifle over the lip of the car and spraying fire at the distant cliff. Suddenly a chunk of the rusted metal beside Mike's head exploded deafeningly. What the hell? Pure instinct taking over now Mike rolled out into the road, pulling his rifle forward to face the enemy that had gotten behind him somehow.
"You we'll need later," The scruffy looking made informed him, the barrel of a nice looking assault rifle now resting firmly against Mike's sweating forehead. How had he gotten so close? The man was dressed like an old style cowboy, hat included. "You get to live," The bearded cowboy growled.
"Gee thanks," Mike stuttered dumbly. The man answered with a blow to the head from the assault rifle's stock. Mike was out before he hit the ground.
-()-
Billy and Simms watched the meeting from the safety of the cliff. They lay prone on the sun baked rocks and watched Chris speaking with the fat man. Though neither of them could even guess what they were talking about Billy could at least get a better view of the scene through the scope of his magnum. They had been talking for a while before the fat one brought a large bag out from one of the skeletal houses and set it down in the road.
"Any sign of the kids?" Simms asked in a whisper. That had been the first thing he had searched for when they had chosen that spot, but Springvale held far too many nooks and crannies for it to be that easy.
"Nah, but I think Carrington's in for some trouble," Billy pointed a finger tentatively toward a small pile of scrap metal further down the road from where Carrington and the other one stood. Simms nodded grimly, a gun barrel was poking out of the pile and both could see the very top of the sniper's head from behind his hiding spot. He probably wasn't the only sniper, knowing the way ambushes usually worked. "Should we help him out?" Billy asked, looking from his gun for the first time sense they had gotten there.
"Might not need any," Simms responded coolly. "Never know, might just be for security." It was true, during his time in the wastes Billy had served as a body guard numerous times without having to fire a shot. And if they could find the kids without having to go through a gun fight it suited Billy just fine. He had lost his taste for killing after so many years of it out there. Billy looked back to his scope in time to see Carrington walking over to the bag.
"A trade?" Billy asked himself with a frown. Before an answer could be found the bag exploded into a fire ball, blasting Carrington off his feet and into the air. "Goddamn!" Billy cursed, looking away from the blinding glare of the explosion. He didn't even have time to see what had happened to Carrington, but he was surely dead.
"A double cross," Simms corrected without humor. "Cover me," Simms barked, slipping over the lip of the cliff and falling the fifteen feet with a grunt and roll. Billy whistled, amused despite the situation. Old as he was, that bastard could move when he had to! Billy tracked Simms stealthy progress as he closed in on the road through the charred remains of a couple of houses. As Simms approached the mystery sniper finally came out of hiding, and ugly looking bastard with a Mohawk and enough dirt on his face to start a farm. His guess concerning the number of snipers proved correct as three more mean looking wasters jumped out of hiding and made their way casually to where the fat man was waiting.
They were celebrating or something, smiling about whatever they were saying in any case. Only a few seconds later the fat man started off, leading a brahmin with him. Something was off about that man, but he was to far away for Billy to place it. With a curse he returned his scope to the mercs, who were heading toward one of the buildings. Taking a second to make sure Simms was in position Billy lined his shot for the merc closest to the house, a woman with a clean shaven head and an old hunting rifle slung over one shoulder. The gun flashed with a familiar kick and Billy watched as the woman's head turned into a fountain of blood and bits of brain.
Though he no longer enjoyed killing Billy did take a moment to appreciate a fine shot. Before either of the other walking mercs had time to react his next shot blew a fist sized hole in the leather armor of the man standing next to his now dead partner. By the time he had brought his sights back in line the remaining two mercs had already dove into cover, one behind a care and the other finishing the run to the house and rushing under the safety of the porch's roof. Billy peered at the house, looking for any holes in the roof he could shoot through. No such luck this time. The only place in the whole damn building that seemed to be holding up nicely.
As for the merc behind the car Billy needn't have bothered. Simms was in the process of clubbing him when Billy finally returned his gaze to that area. With the merc on the ground Simms lay his rifle across the hood dead car, taking aim at something. One shot rang out, echoing across the distance like a single crash of thunder. And as if to answer if the shot had found its mark the last merc stumbled out of the cover of the porch, wobbling as if his legs were made of rubber. His hands clutched frantically at an oozing hole in his chest. More out of mercy than any perceived threat Billy ended the man's suffering, putting a bullet in the dying mercs face with a sigh. His body fell to the time worn road with an unheard thud and twitched sickly. Always with the violence, such a waste. But the battle was over and now they could search for the kids.
It took Billy a considerably longer amount of time to reach the road, him lacking the leg strength to just jump off the cliff. As he jogged around the obstacle Billy began to think of Maggie again, now that the adrenaline of battle had faded.
"Please be ok," He wasn't even sure who he was addressing the plea to. He reach the shirrif panting from the run. Simms was standing over the crumbled form of the only surviving merc, shaking his covered head slowly. He eyed Simms questioningly as he joined him.
"Just a little too hard," Was all he gave in answer before marching off. The merc was dead, Billy could tell just from the disgusting bruise on his temple. It didn't take much to kill a man when it came to a blow to that soft part of the head. He stood over the dead merc for a while, just staring down at him sadly with his remaining eye. Such a cruel world they lived in, and such cruel inhabitants it spawned. Billy was roused from his stupor by a call from the other side of the road.
"In here!" Simms barked from inside the doorway of one of the more intact houses he had seen there. "Carrrington survived." Billy stepped into the house and shook his head sourly.
"Just barely," Billy returned, looking down at the broken form before him. The man was damn near dead, the only thing contradicting his death was the wheezing breaths that issued from him every few seconds. His shirt and coat were torn in a dozen places, a severe burn oozing under each hole. Carrington's chest looked misshapen too, one side dented just enough to be noticeable.
"Ribs are broken," Simms stated simply after a gentle feeling over of the wheezing man's chest. Billy nodded an agreement and whistled. Damned if that guy didn't look angry even when he was asleep! The scowl on Carrington's unwaking face could curdle milk. "Lung punctured too." He added after listening over Carrington's mouth for a heartbeat.
"What do we do?" Billy asked nervously. Gruff as he had been, Billy was in no hurry to see the man die. Simms stood up with a groan and eyed him for a moment.
"We leave him,"
"No way!" Billy retorted before Simms had a chance to continue. He expected the battle hardened sheriff to knock him out then and there. But that didn't happen. Instead he just went on in the same grim tone.
"The kids aren't here, we both know that. And that means they were with the fat man." He explained, pointing a finger off in the direction the man in question had left from. "If we take the time to bring him back to town for aid the trail will go cold, and it will take both of us to move a man in his shape without hurting him worse than he is now."
"But we can't leave a man to die!" Billy almost laughed as he spoke for some reason. Like the idea of them leaving the man was a big joke. "It aint right damn it! Maggie and Harden wouldn't want it" Simms didn't even blink, he just turned away and started to exit the building.
"Chevron," Carrington suddenly gurgled, scaring Billy so badly he almost drew his gun. Simms stopped in his tracks, turning back to the prone man with an eyebrow raised. "His name's Chevron, I can," He gasped weakly through a mouth full of blood. "I can take you to, erm, him." Billy looked pleadingly over his shoulder at Simms, willing him not to leave.
"Get a chunk of wood to carry him on," Simms growled, shaking his head tiredly. Billy nodded almost eagerly and went further into the old dark house to find a suitable impromptu stretcher. "You'd better be worth it," Simms added once Billy was out of earshot. "If I lose my son because of you I'll make you wish I' left you here with a bullet in that ugly face."
-()-
The Lone Wanderer down the crunchy dirt at a brisk pace. The night was cool and still for a change, allowing him a moments peace out in the dangerously open flat-lands. Beside him marched his trusty companion Dogmeat. The dog wagged his tail all the way, happy for the walk and the calm. They had been walking all day and it was well into late night now. Though not really in a hurry he was excited to be on an adventure again.
Word had reached him of a riverboat docked just outside of Project Purity which was offering rides to a distant land. That was just too enticing for his wandering spirit to resist so first thing the next day he had departed with a rousing cheer from his fellow citizens. The trader who had let him know about the boat had also sold him a strange but tasty fruit he promised came from that distant land. Thinking back on the fruit and its juicy goodness he really hoped it did come from there.
His contemplation was interrupted by a sound in the distance. Dogmeat's ears flattened for a moment in worry but quickly rose back up as the maker of that sound came closer. Coming from a direction perpendicular to his own was a man and a brahmin and the man was singing. The man was round, but his singing voice was perfect for the fast paced but sad ditty he sang. As they drew closer to a crossroads the words of the song became clear.
"Do ye mind the old horse trams a long time ago, As they passed through the city at jog trot or slow? On the level they cantered, but the pace it did kill When they got to the bottom of Ligoniel Hill."
The man wore a back suit and hat walking with a jolly gate and singing as though there were an audience. The Lone Wanderer warmly at the sight of the happy man. It was good to see someone making the best of what they could get in the Wastes.
"My friends all departed, and work now so scarce, The only thing left is a ride in a hearse; For the sky is my roof and my bed a brick-kiln, Yet I once was a trace-boy on Ligoniel Hill."
The man finished just in time to notice his new company and gave a hearty wave and smile. The Lone Wanderer waved back and stopped in front of the man, offering a hand in greeting. The jolly man shook it heartily and removed his hat to reveal a set of swirling tattoos.
"Thank you for a great song," The Lone Wanderer chuckled.
"As always I live for my fans!" The man returned and bellowed laughter. His accent was something like Mortiarty's, The Lone Wanderer noticed absently.
"Where are you headed?" The Wanderer asked as Dogmeat sniffed at the man's brahmin nervously.
"Commonwealth is my destination," He answered casually petting Dogmeat, who shied away from his touch like he was made of fire. The Wanderer chalked that up to him being a stranger and kept up the conversation with gusto.
"I don't envy you the distance," The Commonwealth was about as far away as he had ever been from Megaton and the journey was harsh.
"My thanks lad," The man spoke, getting his brahmin moving again with a whistle. "Long days and pleasant nights!" He spoke over the brahmin's back as he departed.
"You too!" He returned, not sure how else to respond to the strange farewell. As he went back on his way The Lone Wanderer whistled a bit of the tune the man had been singing, relishing a new song after years of the dozen or so GNR ever bothered to play. To rapt was he in the new experience he had failed to notice that one of the packs on the man's brahmin was crying softly.
"Yet I once was a trace-boy on Ligoniel Hill,"