Chapter Three: Shepherd of the wastes
Jack led the boy through the rubble and wreckage of a destroyed and deserted town. Night was closing in, and the sky had become a dull purple. A cool wind whipped against Jack's face as he turned a corner, onto a street filled with overturned garbage cans and burnt, unrecognizable objects. Tim struggled to keep up, often tripping awkwardly over things. Jack could sympathize. Tim had probably gotten no sleep in the past three days, and the fact that they had been traveling for hours since they left the market hadn't helped. Jack decided to stop for the night somewhere, hopefully a place with decent shelter from the cold and rain, and a place that could conceal them.
It would probably be better than the destroyed house Jack had stayed in for several months, because they needed extra room for the boy. They soon found the perfect place, a run-down gas station on the outskirts of the town. The open wasteland could be seen on the horizon beyond, where the sun was setting below the hills. Jack opened the broken glass doors and let the boy inside, who promptly rolled up in the corner and laid down. Jack tossed a ragged blanket from his backpack over the boy, who immediately curled up to sleep. Jack did the same, finding a spot on a wide window seal that had been covered up by bricks.
He had no blanket or sheet to cover up with, and soon the cold winds managed to seep their way through the broken doors. They attempted to block it with a drink cooler, but it remained chilly inside. However, Jack found a dirty tarp in the back room, which he used to wrap up in. Before he could fall asleep, the boy spoke."Thank you for saving me," he said quietly, barely audible over the ash storm that was blowing through the town outside.
"Don't worry about it," replied Jack. "Anyone would have done it."Tim was silent for several moments, but finally spoke."Anyone would have saved a useless boy from a group of dangerous bandits?" said Tim apathetically. "You aren't useless," said Jack with a sympathetic tone."Father thought so. That's why he never talked to me.""Well, your father was wrong. And I promise you, we will get your mother back," said Jack, sitting up."Promise?" asked the boy, getting out from his blanket and facing Jack."Promise." replied Jack, walked over to the boy, and grabbing his shoulder. The boy shrugged his hand away, and returned to his makeshift bed. "But we don't even know where they took her," said Tim paced the room, thinking hard."You said your family was originally staying in a store, correct?""A convenience store that we found, yes. We also had another family with us, the Pell's." "All right, then let's go there," said Jack."What? But they took everyone from the store! I saw them take my mother too!""Look, it's our only lead. If we go there we may find a clue as to where your family is. There could be someone who wasn't taken, I don't know. It's worth a try."The boy remained silent, unmoving.
"Fine. But what if nobody's there?""Then we keep looking. I hear the town of Megaton is across the Potomac. They get all kinds of visitors. Maybe they've heard of your Mother's whereabouts."
Tim crossed his arms, his eyes getting watery."You really think we can find Mom?"Jack again placed his hand on Tim's shoulder."Yes. I do," said Jack, his voice not wavering whatsoever.
Tim smiled, his hopes rising. The young man crossed the room and curled up in his blankets once again. After several minutes, Tim spoke again."Mr. Harding?" he said."Yes?""Can you make sure the monsters don't come back?"Jack remained silent, unsure of what the boy meant. This was certainly not a time for joking."Monsters? Aren't you a little old for that?""I'm thirteen," replied the boy. "But I don't mean under-the-bed monsters or the ones in your closet. I mean…"Jack finally understood."You mean radiated creatures? Like a mole rat?""Mole rat? No… me and my family survived off of mole rats mostly… I meant…"Tim swallowed hard, suddenly aware that 'they' could be within the town."The Death Claws," he said, frightened beyond repair."Death Claws? What's a 'Death Claw'?" asked Jack, still thinking the boy was pulling his leg."That's what our group called them. They prowled outside our store at night… they would run their claws along the windows and the glass doors, leaving huge scratch marks. My father saw one a month ago. He was never the same… and John Pell, he actually got up close to one. He said it was huge, easily nine feet tall. He said it had massive claws on it's fingers, and horns on it's head. He had a gun, though. Managed to hold it off until he could escape back into the store. But he told us the thing ran at him like a cheetah, maybe faster. It leapt at the door and left a massive dent in it. For some reason though, it didn't break in, despite the fact it could. When the Raiders set up camp a mile from our store, they seemed to have migrated. I almost wished they had stayed."
The boy finished his story, and began to take a gulp from his water bottle.
Jack sat down, unsure if he wanted to know this. Death Claws? Massive creatures that move like cheetahs? Jack had encountered a lot of things in his time in the wastes. Mutated things. Strange plants that had evolved into poison spitting death traps. Pits of muck that could suck a man to his death. And of course, Raiders. But not once had he heard of Death Claws, or anything similar. He was certainly not as frightened as the boy, but it definitely wasn't good news.
"I'll be right back," said Jack, who walked into the aisles of the gas station. He gathered some food: several bags of chips, three bags of apples, a dozen bottles of water, and some candy, and tossed them into his backpack. He then searched behind the counter. He found a worn baseball bat, probably for protection. It was covered in dust and spider webs; the thing had probably been there for years.
Jack also found a box full of ammunition under the counter. It was .32 caliber, the same kind of round his old hunting rifle had used. He emptied the box into a pouch on his waist, where the rest of his rifle's ammunition was. It could be useful, after all. He was about to find out. Jack looked around, and quickly found what he was looking for. Across the way was a small gun safe, nestled between some dusty boxes of books. Jack tried to open it, but it was still locked as if the place had been running yesterday.
He kicked it repeatedly, and slammed it against the wall, but it didn't budge. Two hundred years have passed since the Great War, yet a damn gun safe is still in perfect condition! thought Jack, giving it a final kick. He then remembered the baseball bat he had found only minutes ago. With several whacks, the safe's cover broke off, revealing the contents inside: six rounds of .32 caliber ammunition, and a silver revolver, gleaming in moonlight, which shone through several holes in the ceiling.
Jack examined the weapon, determining it to be in useable shape. He loaded all six rounds into it, and stowed the gun in his pocket. After making sure the safety on it was set, he opened a door marked 'storage' both in English and some other language, probably Arabic. Inside he found mostly boxes, but did see a pile of 2x4 wooden boards. He grabbed them all and dumped them into a box. He grabbed a tool case, and returned to the entrance of the store.
"What are you doing?" asked the boy."Just a few changes, don't worry about it," said Jack, grabbing a hammer and making for the broken glass doors. He smashed them apart, spreading the glass out into the streets with his feet.
Then he kicked off the weathered, old door frame, and tossed it out as well. Jack began to nail the boards onto the doorway. After a good dozen had been nailed, he placed two drink coolers from the aisle In front of it. Finally pleased with his work, Jack sat down in front of the fortified doorway. "What have you done?" asked the boy, returning from the aisles with a Nuka-Cola and some gripped his revolver tightly, as the boy dropped his drink."You saw them!""No, nothing like that," said Jack in a reassuring voice."Go to sleep. We have a long walk tomorrow."Tim did as he was told, and wrapped back up in his blanket."You'll keep the monsters away, right Mr. Harding?"Jack pulled out the revolver, and swung open the chamber. "Yes. I'll keep the monsters away, Tim."
* * *
The next day, after having a breakfast of moldy bread, chips, and water, Jack and Tim left their gas station behind. They had to break through a high-up window in the storage room, but managed to get out safely without endangering their safe haven. Jack and Tim headed north from the wrecked town, off into the wastes. Tim had only said that their store was directly north of the town, because they had visited it once before for food and supplies."I think an ash storm is coming," said Jack, gazing into the sky as they walked."How do you know?""Well… I've seen a lot of things in my years, Tim. I've learned to watch the skies. Usually they get dark before it rains. Most people know that, unless you grew up in a Vault like me. But I've often seen the skies become yellow like that. It usually means there is a lot of sulfur or some form of chemical building up in the Atmosphere. This means an ash storm will soon occur. I'm not too advanced when it comes to Science, or the Atmosphere, I don't go by the books. Just by memory and experience, and I'm sure an ash storm is coming.""Well what do we do?" asked Tim, watching the skies intently. Jack looked around the desert, searching for something, anything to cover them. "In an open place like this? I'm not sure. I'm usually not out this far into the
wasteland. I only leave my dwelling for a few miles, and I've managed to survive for easily half a decade like that. But this… this is not good. We've got to find some shelter, and fast. Ash storms can be deadly, and quick. It blinds you, and if you inhale too much you'll pass out, and eventually die. We've got to go, now!" Jack motioned Tim to follow, and they sped off north.
As thunder rumbled above, and wind began to blow the dust back and forth, the two reached a cliff, overlooking a wide valley filled with dead trees. In the middle of the valley was a large convenience store. "Is that the place?" asked a hopeful Jack."I think so!" The two sped off down the hill, towards the building, while the dust began to whip around violently, partially blinding them."Faster! It's gonna get a lot worse, and we don't wanna be left out here!" shouted Jack over the rumbling storm. The sky had turned a bright yellow, that contrasted the dark thunder clouds scattered across it. Lightning, transformed by the radiated atmosphere, cascaded across the heavens. Jack and the boy reached the store as ash began to fall from the sky."What's happened?" said an astounded Tim, as he saw the glass doors, which were shattered and bent inwards. "That didn't happen when the Raiders attacked?" asked Jack, walking into the dimly lit store. Several candles fluttered on the tops of counters. "No… no, the Raiders walked right on in, the doors weren't even locked that day!" said Tim, following Jack.
"Stay here," said Jack, cautious of what remained in Tim's makeshift home. He walked into the store, through the aisles. The place was an utter wreck: shelves knocked over, spilling their contents, piles of broken glass and china, blood smeared on the walls. Jack was awfully glad Tim escaped before the Raiders did all this. He would have to ask for the details later.
Jack found a storage room at the back, similar to the one in their gas station. But when Jack opened the door, he immediately heard an odd fidgeting sound, followed by spastic stuttering, almost human sounding. Almost. Jack walked ten feet into the room, when a figure shot up from behind an overturned desk. Jack gripped his pistol, but immediately loosened his grip when he saw the man. His torn shirt was covered in blood, and a bloody kitchen knife was in his right hand. The man's other hand was covered behind the desk."T-t-they L-left M-me. L-like I was n-nobody. W-why? Was I not g-good enough for them?" said the man in a crazed stutter. "Who left you?" said Jack, cautiously stepping back from the man."T-the R-raiders… t-they took everyone b-but me and the P-Pells…""You mean… you're from the group that stayed in this building?" asked Jack, astounded that this was a remnant from Tim's group, or possibly his family."Oh yes, yes yes yes… but u-unlike the rest, I survived! The R-raiders didn't open the storage door, and t-they d-didn't find me or the P-Pells!" Suddenly, the man dropped the kitchen knife, and drew something from his pockets. Jack almost aimed the gun at him, but the man's hand soon returned holding a strange, syringe-like object. He injected it into his wrist, and sighed in pleasure. Jack knew it was probably Psycho or Jet, one of the more popular illegal drugs before the Great War. Despite the war, they were still made by shady organizations. The crazed man then grabbed a jar from the floor, and popped a few pills in his mouth. It was probably Buffout, a kind of "super steroid". Whoever this man was, he had gone completely insane, either from being alone for so long, or from the drugs. Either way, he was very unstable, and thus, dangerous.
"H-have you c-come to free me?"
"Free you?" asked Jack. "You were locked in here?""Oh y-yes. A-A-Anthony P-Pell left, and locked me inside. B-but you're going to free me, right?""Why did Anthony Pell leave?" asked Jack, trying to see behind the overturned desk."O-oh, t-this Is p-probably w-why," said the insane man, raising something from behind the desk. That was the last thing it took to break Jack's gag reflex. He vomited right there, onto the floor. He wiped his mouth, and faced the twisted man, who was holding a dismembered head."I h-had to k-kill his f-father… because he t-tried to leave m-me.""Stay back!" said Jack, pointing the revolver at the man.
The insane man recoiled, disappearing behind the overturned desk. Jack slowly walked around, to see a horrifying site. The rest of John Pell, headless and all, lay slumped over in a pool of blood.
Jack grimaced, and watched as the man fell further back into the room. Before he disappeared from sight, Tim walked through the doorway."It's dad! Don't shoot Jack!""Tim, go back to where I told you. Now!" "But-" it was then that Tim noticed the blood on his father's shirt, the dead body, and the various drugs scattered across the floor."Oh my god…""Tim, please, I need you to leave," pleaded Jack, cocking the hammer back on the revolver. Tim's eyes were already becoming red with tears, but he grudgingly left the room. Jack closed the door, and approached the crazed man, who lay slumped over in the corner. "A-Are y-you going t-to save me?" I suspect Tim's father was a junkie all along. He probably got jacked up on so many drugs, his already dim reasoning fell through the floor. It only took one slight thought to murder the life of John Pell, and destroy what was left of Tim's. This man is a danger to anyone else around him, including me and Tim. He can't be reasoned with. He can't be dealt with or persuaded. He's best left dead. He never cared for Tim, or his mother. I've heard Tim's story. I have to act. With one good swing with the baseball bat, Tim's father hit the floor, unconscious. But Jack didn't stop. He closed his eyes, and swung again, and again. He didn't stop until the face beneath him was unrecognizable, more so than it already was. Jack walked away, leaving the bloody bat behind. He found Tim waiting at the entrance. The ash storm outside had subsided. The two walked far away from the store, Tim didn't ask a single question, he merely sobbed silently. Though Jack didn't have the heart to tell him what had occurred, Tim already knew.