Author's Note: My update schedule just gets worse and worse...ugh. This chapter gave me trouble for a while, but I finally showed it who's boss. Enjoy!

Wasteland Survival Part 17

"Do you think he…did something to her?" Ray asked Jericho as he rammed another nail home in the wood.

Jericho gave Ray another nail, holding the supporting board in place as Ray repaired the barricade. "Like what?"

Ray sighed. "You know, like…violated her…or something. I've never seen Sarah cry, but she was crying and her hair was down when he brought her back."

Jericho clenched his jaw. "If that fuckin' asshole did, I will shove a goddamn Ripper up his ass. And I'm serious, I've done that before." The comment was brutal, and maybe slightly comical, but Jericho's eyes were dead serious as they met Ray's.

Ray averted his grey eyes back to the fence. "Wow."

"And that's not even the worse part. Then, I'll take a Deathclaw Hand and I-"

The roar of a Chinese Assault Rifle ripped into the air from behind them. "Shut the fuck up and fix that goddamned fence." Forty hissed in annoyance, glaring at their backs.

"Oh my god, I fucking hate that guy," Jericho snarled under his breath, taking the hammer from Ray and angrily driving the nails into the wood, managing to not bend them somehow.

"Really? He kinda reminds me of you," Ray said with a small grin.

Jericho gave him a glare. "You do realize I'm holding a hammer?" He raised it jokingly.

Ray gave a small laugh, prompting more shouting and berating from Forty. They quieted, sweating beneath the scorching afternoon sun as they repaired the junk wall. According to a conversation between two of the Slavers that Ray had overheard, a Slaver named Ymir had gotten drunk and smashed another Slaver into the wall with his Super Sledge after he insulted his son, Jotun. Ray had rolled his eyes at the man's alleged stupidity, and the bizarre names.

The blow had managed to knock over the small section of wall, splintering the wood and leaving an opening in the barricade around Paradise Falls. Ray contemplated leaving it weak as a means of escape, but the damn guard, Forty, kept coming over to check their work and make sure it was sturdy. The aging slaver may have been stupid, but he was observant as hell.

...

The duo worked through a good part of the day before the wall was repaired and they were herded back into the slave pen. Ray's hands chafed and his back hurt, but he didn't complain. Neither did Jericho, he just parked his ass on the ground, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.

Breadbox was, as always, reading from his Pre-War book. Ray absentmindedly wondered where the man got the book; there was no way the slavers had given it to him. Jeanette was looking up to the sky with a faraway look in her eyes, whereas Bronson talked animatedly with Bleak. Sarah sat near the hole in the wall, examining it with a thoughtful expression.

He made his way over to the Sentinel before planting himself next to her. "Hey."

She glanced over at him with a faraway look in her green eyes. "Hey. How'd it go?"

He shrugged. "Fine I guess. I thought about leaving the wall weak, but that dumbass Forty guy was watching us very intently. There goes another plan down the drain," He sighed, shaking his head.

"Don't worry Ray. We will get out of this shithole sometime, plus we got plenty of spare time to think and plot," She said reassuringly, giving him a light smile.

He gave a weak smile back at her, but her words didn't help him feel any better. Their situation was still dire. The way Bleak described Eulogy showed that the man had an interest in skilled women. Crimson and Clover had been in the slave pen just like the rest of them until he had assessed them. After that, they became his personal bodyguards/sex slaves. They used to be proud and defiant, until he mentally broke them and brainwashed them into thinking that he loved them. The idea of Sarah suffering that fate made his stomach do cartwheels.

Then there was the ever present danger of being bought. A perspective buyer could show up any minute of any day, and purchase any one or number of them. It was hard to think of what could happen if any of them happened to be purchased. Maybe they could overpower their new owner and come back to get the rest of them out? It was incredibly long shot, but it was the best idea he'd had so far.

"Bronson's lost hope," Sarah said offhandedly, not taking her eyes away from the hole in the wall as she picked up a small rock and began trying to chip away at the concrete.

"I'm not surprised," Ray sighed, looking over at the man in question, finding him sitting in his usual spot against the fence, drinking from a nearly empty whiskey bottle. "Where'd he get that?"

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "The fucking idiot humiliated himself for a half a bottle of leftover whiskey."

"Seriously? What'd he do?"

Her face twisted in disgust. "Let's just say we all saw more of him then we'd like to."

"Ugh… That guy has no damn shame," Ray muttered, scowling in the direction of Bronson, who was frowning and peering into the now empty whiskey bottle.

"Amen to that. Let's hope Jericho doesn't see him drinking anything or he'll probably kick his ass for it," Sarah murmured in response.

Ray gave a small laugh. "Yeah, or get drunk and make an even bigger ass of himself. Anyway, any new ideas for an escape plan?"

"Just this," She said, motioning to the gap. "But we still need a way to get these collars off. One of those kids in the pen next to us said something about being able to shut off our collars with a terminal they got working over there if we could get it connected to the main network, then he called me a damn mungo," She trailed off with a questioning look. "Anyway, if one of us could find the main terminal we could get these collars off."

"Mungo? What the… nevermind. How the hell would we do that? We'd never be able to walk around and find that damn terminal. What about those slave girls that follow Eulogy around?" Ray questioned her.

Sarah shook her head. "No way. They're as loyal as dogs to him. If we asked there's no doubt about them telling him, then who knows what would happen to us."

"God damn it!" Ray hissed loudly, his fists clenching, making the new calluses on his hands ache.

"Stop worrying Ray. We're smarter than a bunch of slaving fucktards. The day I let us die or be trapped in this hellhole forever is the day that hell freezes over."

Ray was still a bit worried, but her words calmed him slightly. He knew Sarah's determination and resolve. The woman was unstoppable when she put her mind to something. There was a reason she had been promoted to the only Sentinel in the Brotherhood. He picked up a small piece of broken concrete from the ground and helped her chip away.

...

Usually, the day tends to pass rather slowly when you are busy plotting and chipping away at a hole in the wall, but the day passed rather quickly for Ray and Sarah. Jericho slumbered at his spot propped against the concrete wall, Bleak talked with Jeanette, Bronson observed the Slavers through slightly drunken eyes, and Breadbox had wandered back into the slave building to get out of the sun. Ray looked over his shoulder to observe the setting sun and see a slaver bringing food over their pen. He absentmindedly noted that Bronson wasn't outside, but thought nothing of it. He tapped Sarah on the shoulder to show her that the Grub Slaver, as they had taken to calling him, was on his way. She dropped her rock and drifted over towards the fence to see what slop was in store for them.

It'd been about three days since they'd last been feed and it was wearing on Ray. Those three days ago had been the Squirrel Stew, a meal he had skipped. His stomach grumbled loudly at the thought of food. He stood up quickly, slightly dizzy from food deprivation and accepted the meal.

It was simple, a bowl with a bit of dirty water to drink and a piece of what was apparently Mole Rat meat carelessly tossed into said water. The meat was cold and somewhat tough and jerky-like, and it wasn't soggy, but had a somewhat slimy texture. Presumably from the water it was in. Ray quickly choked it down, hardly tasting the cold, slimy meat. It was no Brahmin Steak, but it was better than the Squirrel Stew they had before. He forced the water down as well, and hoped it stayed down.

He joined Bleak and Sarah, who talked quietly to each other. "So, why does everyone call him Breadbox anyway? Does anyone even know his real name?" Sarah asked the other woman.

"Well, he doesn't like to talk about it. He doesn't like to talk much at all really, being deaf will do that to you. But the nickname comes from a game the Slavers sometimes like to play with new slaves. They call it see how much can fit in a breadbox," Bleak stopped talking there, grimacing and looking away before continuing. "That old man has been here longer than anyone, and endured more than I knew a person could. He's a good man. You could try to talk to him. He can't hear you, but I think he can read lips or something. He responds to people sometimes, but most of the time if you try to talk to him he can't understand you."

Ray was silent. He knew the Slavers were sick fucks, but how could they do that to someone? His urge to leave was suddenly even stronger than before, so he made his way back to the wall and began chipping away just a bit faster than he had earlier.

Ray and Sarah worked at chipping away until their hands started to bleed from the rocks that they gripped. The others meandered about, mostly talking to one another and alternating between keeping watch for any incoming Slavers. Night had fallen and Ray was fighting his need to ask Sarah if Eulogy had attempted to do anything to her. He didn't know why, but he felt immensely protective of her all of a sudden. On top of everything else, he was fighting a strong feeling of guilt. If he hadn't asked Sarah and Jericho for their help, they wouldn't be trapped here with him. No one deserved to be trapped here. He wouldn't wish this place on Burke.

He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly sighed instead and clenched his jaw. Sarah dropped her rock, wincing at the calluses and small cuts on her palm. "You okay Ray?"

He opened his mouth slightly to give her an answer, but instead gave a frustrated sigh. This prompted an eyebrow raise from Sarah. "I'm just frustrated," He said simply.

"I think it's a bit more than that. You know you can talk to me about anything," Her voice was gentle, almost cautious as she tentatively touched his forearm. Her green eyes turned up to meet his, causing him to quickly look down with a slight blush. He wasn't used to Sarah being this…sensitive.

"I know. Maybe tomorrow, okay? It's getting late and I just need some sleep." Yes, sleep. His aching body longed for one of the dirty mattresses on the floor of their small shelter. It would be better than nothing.

"Alright. I might be at this for a bit longer," She was herself again, all business and determined to escape as her eyes focused on the wall again.

Ray was slightly confused as he turned to head back into the shelter. Sarah being warm. What the hell was going on? What next, Jericho swearing to quit the bottle and smoking? He shook his head as he shut the door behind him. As his eyes turned up and looked towards the mattresses, he was greeted with a horrific sight.

Breadbox hung from a noose poorly made out of scraps of mismatched cloth. His head wasn't cocked at an unnatural angle like most hangers' necks were, indicating to Ray that his neck hadn't broken. If he had hung himself, he had slowly strangled to death. His face was pale with the color of death and the tips of his cloth shoes hung about a foot off the floor. Ray rushed out of the small building as fast as his feet could carry him.

Author's Note: Oh Breadbox, you were taken just as our heroes developed an interest in you. I was rather intrigued by Breadbox, especially after reading his page on the Fallout Wiki. It is hinted at that he may have pretended to be deaf, but it is never known. Interesting...