AN: So, after a little bit of thought, I decided Christine's story was one worth telling as well. And so, what do you get but moar nonsensical chapters thrown together in a free word pad app. Do enjoy...
"What the hell are you?"
This silently muttered query was spoken into a rifle scope looking out over a great expanse of desert sand and weather beaten rock. And floating in the crossairs was the object of the voice's question.
A full body suit of some ages old material looking to be in a permanent battle with rot. Latched onto what she assumed to be the face was a clunky breathing apparatus rhythmically expelling a ghastly mist. Clutched in its gloved fingers was a rusted pole brandished with gleaming alloy knife blades at the head. This body dragged itself across the desert sand without any measure of direction or urgency. Merely limping from dune to dune without cause.
Christine adjusted her arm to better support the weight of her rifle on the sand. She'd been observing the wanderer for at least half and hour and the feeling was beginning to drain from her forearm holding the rifle. At one point she was hopeful this person was local to the region and could've helped give her some direction. Now though she wasn't sure it was even human. It's movements were limp, as if it was simply a puppet dangling from unseen strings. Somehow this thing just didn't stack up as human.
Abruptly her thoughts on the creature were cut though by a sharp bite on the back of her neck. On reflex her hand shot back to hopefully kill the offending insect making a meal of her skin. Unfortunately it was not be, her hand slapped the back of her neck and the buzzing off her left shoulder told her she had lost the duel. With a defeated sigh she returned to observing the wanderer.
But instead of the aimlessly meandering body she found two reflective lenses staring right back though the scope. "Oh shit."
The body coiled and launched itself at her looking more predatory feline than human. She jumped to her feet, rifle in hand, to better track its movement but instead of landing like the bipedal creature it was it took the landing in a roll, preserving its momentum and used it to leap straight at her. Only blind luck carried her crossairs over its outstretched form as she fired.
A sickly green ichor erupted out of its back as the dead weigh slammed into her like a rampaging Bighorn taking them both back to the ground. Pausing for a moment she thanked the gods above for sparing her life today. She was only brought back to reality by the stench coming from the body oozing green sludge over her chest. The corpse smelled twelve weeks dead not twelve seconds and the rot mixed with the blood and other unpleasant odors sent bile crawling its way up her throat.
Pushing the putrid corpse off her, she gasped for fresh air and fought to keep her last meal in its place. That thing... definitely not human... and definitely something she hoped to not see again for some time in the near future. Then she looked down and saw she was still covered in a good half gallon of foul smelling ichor and she lost the fight with her stomach.
After picking up her fallen rifle and leaving her breakfast behind in the sand she once again set off on her quest for the lost Sierra Madre. Back to chasing bloody ghosts and dead rumors. That was until a soft rustle from behind her caught her ear.
She didn't even have time to fully turn before the freight train of flesh plowed into her back and for the second time sent them both tumbling in the sand. Fingers of course sandpaper scraped over her armor like a feral dog pawing at it's prey. In a desperate bid at freedom she shoved an elbow behind her in hopes of dislodging her foe. A bid that paid off as her blow landed and the weight fell backwards.
Instinctively her hand went to her combat knife sheathed at the small of her back only to feel emptiness. When she stood again she saw why. Held in a reversed grip flat against its forearm was her only weapon other than her rifle witch it also stood over. The beast took a moment and turned its eyes to the still bleeding bullet hole right though where its heart should have been.
Heavily dosed with fear at the undying abomination Christine unconsciously took a step backward. That movement was enough draw it's murderous stare back at her. Without warning it pounced at her sweeping the air at her face with the knife as it went. A last second twitch saved her life but wasn't enough to entirely avoid the attack.
Ignoring the sting below her eye she ducked and rammed her shoulder into its chest and took it to the ground. The beast however wasn't about to be pinned there, two heavy plated boots struck her chest as they fell and as they landed it launched her over it's head to land in the sand some ten feet away. Maybe it was luck or divine intervention but she wasn't about to question it as she looked up and beheld the barrel of her discarded rifle. Greedily she snatched it from the sand and brought it to bear on the suited figure picking it's blade out of the sand.
Three studs of steel aligned over its chest as she opened fire. Adrenaline flooding her veins she didn't even hear the banshee scream leaving her throat as the rifle bucked wildly aginst her shoulder and hole after bloody hole was blown though its cloaked body. Only after the receiver gave a metallic clack signaling the end of her mag did the smoking barrel lower. The body was sprawled out with bullets buried in nearly every square inch of its torso and a few stragglers punching neat holes in its respirator, but thankfully it was unmoving.
With her immediate safety secured she sank to her knees, exhaustion taking its hold on her body. The scuffle had barely lasted a minute, yet her heart felt as if it was attempting to escape her chest and her limbs felt like they had sandbags tied to them. But through it all one question burned hotter than the pains of battle. "What. The. Fuck. Was that Thing?"
Her eyes didn't leave the corpse for another ten minutes. She wanted, needed to make sure it was dead. Only when a winged scavenger dived down and perched itself on the bloodstained fabric of its chest did she dare blink.
She didn't care that the gunfire would probably draw nearby predators to investigate. She didn't care that there were probably more than one of those abominations hunting the desert sands. She just laid back, rested her head in the sand and closed her eyes.
Searchlights burned the darkness away scouring the rocky outcropping she'd taken refuge in. The approaching grind of steel wheels on stone didn't help ease her mind, especially since the blinding light would sweep over her position every couple of minutes. Closer the grinding came until at last it was standing practically on top of her. She held her breath as the seven foot robotic sentry rolled past her and continued searching the bolder field farther and farther away. Her eyes followed it until it was out of sight, finally she allowed herself to exhale and turn her attention back to the shrapnel buried in her arm.
The sleeve of her armor was drenched in red, making the wound look much worse at a glance than it actually was. She supposed she was lucky that the bombs weren't designed as fragmentation devices, but she didn't feel lucky. Seeing the helpless bodies running from the sentries, bombs tied around their necks.
Gritting her teeth she took her knife and plunged it in after one of the more shallow fragments. She had hesitated when one got too close. She should've put her down, but she just couldn't pull the trigger. Now look where she was, prying gnarled steel from her bicep and that nameless goul painting the rim of a blast crater.
That old bastard was going to get his, she swore-
"TARGET ACQUIRED!"
"Shit!" Her head whipped about to see her long lost robotic pursuer looming over her. She hadn't a gun to defend herself nor the strength to run any farther in her current state. The sound of the other Sentries storming the rock crevice around her just brought it all to a neat point. This was the end. But just as quickly as hope abandoned her it returned in the form of a deafening explosion and a hail of machine gun fire. When she dared open her eyes the air was clouded by smoke and dust but through the war torn landscape one figure stood victorious. And it was a figure she'd recognize anywhere. "Six!"
It was her, the courier from Mojave Outpost. She'd found her, saved her even. "Haven't seen a lost girl out here have ya? Cute little thing from out west?"
It was her. Six stepped closer bringing more of her into focus, she was different now. No longer in unfitted fatigues now she sported a tattered cloak over her shoulders and a dark cowl draped over her head. She couldn't see her face though. "Couldn't stay away huh?" She called out to her savior.
She never got her answer as her head jerked up and in place of the pale blue orbs she remembered there were the two golden lenses she'd never forget. Drawing a previously unseen spear from its back it lunged at her and all gave way to darkness.
Christine jumped awake from her impromptu bed of sand, eyes searching for the object of her nightmare. The sun had set leaving only darkness in it's wake but enough light was cast by the stars to see there was nothing there. And that was both comforting but more so unnerving. Because there was nothing to see and she meant nothing, the body had disappeared whilst she was out.
Stains of green dribbled down the dune becoming thinner and thinner until they disappeared entirely. Shaken from her nightmare and further terrified at the undying abomination's disappearance she did the only thing her mind could see to do. She ran.
Fear is a powerful thing. Few forces can push a body to its very limits and then past as well as fear can. Facing down one's death at the hands of a creature that had no right to be in this realm of existence. That's one sure fire place to find more than a bit of terror, and once found, fear van be a hell of a thing to shake as Christine had found.
Only putting distance between herself and that thing mattered. Nothing else, not concern for traitors to the brotherhood, not concern for her own survival once she finally tired of running. Only that devil and her distance from it was important, and as her mind thought of it, of how fast it moved, and of how sharp it's senses were her pace only grew faster and faster until her legs couldn't physically carry her and quicker.
She lost all sense of time and direction in her flight over the desert sands. All she knew was that it wasn't until her legs failed her and her lungs burned like they'd been set aflame did she stop. Or, more collapsed really, at the base of a corrugated steel wall of a shack half buried in a sand dune. From any other direction she'd have passed right over it and never knew it was there, but luck it seemed favored her tonight as she stumbled across it at the very brink of exhaustion.
As the last dregs of strength drained from her fingers and her body slumped she felt a door open before her. Light spilled out over the sands and illuminated her slouched form, she didn't care what it was inside, not even when the click of a safety being disabled souned from within. Tears welled in her eyes, and she didn't care. Her journey cut down so swiftly by the undying hunter, her own mind even sought to turn against her. Now this was where it ended, exhausted both physically and emotionally kneeling at the door of some desert scavenger with a gun.
The sole bark of a lone pistol echoed across the desert and faded into the wind leaving only silence in its wake.
...
...
...
Three full heartbeats after the pistol fired, a lifetime in and of itself, Christine finally looked up at the resident shack owner. Standing a full head and a half over her at full height was an elderly man that had to have been pushing eighty years. His eyes sunken with heavy bags lining them and an unkempt beard that was long void of color.
In his hand was the source of her worry, a smoking .45 auto. But it wasn't aimed at her, more behind her. She really didn't want to turn around, fearful that she'd see the hunter from earlier. There really wasn't any reason to believe it had followed her this far but the logical part of her brain had also been left far behind. Leaving only the primal instinct that screamed at her to run.
"Who are ya?"
She blinked at the question, at first not realizing that the man was talking and then thinking of what the answer was. "Christine. My name's Christine." She was even having trouble with coherent sentences now.
The man lowered his gun but didn't holster it. "Christine huh? Ya ought know this place ain't safe after sundown. Might as well come in, for you call the Ghosts on us both."
A teacup was set before her, breaking her thousand yard stare and turning her attention to the elderly man who's dining room she now sat. The room itself wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination but spacious enough to comfortably seat three around the table and still have room between them and the two wooden cabinets taking up opposite walls. She'd had a fair amount of time to acclimate herself to the environment after practically being carried inside by the man. His face though hardened by age spoke of understanding in her situation as he motioned to the steaming drink he had prepared for her.
"Drink," he said sliding the cup closer to her, "I'll help to calm you ya down."
Her fingers brushed over the porcelain, bringing it before her face without though. Breathing in the steam off the liquid seemed to bring life back into her senses. She took a small sip, not recognizing the flavor but at the same time not caring as warmth slowly returned to her body.
It wasn't until she looked down and saw the empty cup did her mind fully return to herself. By then the man had taken the seat on the other end of the small dining table. He had his pistol disassembled on a towel laid in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the world as he went through the motions of cleaning the weapon.
"You saw one didn't you?" He asked without looking up from the task in front of him. "The desert Ghosts."
Ghosts was it? A fitting name for them she supposed. "Not entirely sure what I saw. It looked human enough but... nothing should move the way that thing does."
The man nodded, beginning the task of reassembling his weapon now. "Yup, It was one of 'em all right. Damn things move like the storm waters and are just as difficult to kill." He worked the slide on his newly assembled pistol a few times before replacing the magazine and returning it to his holster, apparently finished with it. "Your luckier than most that run across one."
She sure as hell didn't feel lucky. "How so?" She asked already with a good idea of what the answer would be.
"Your still alive." He replied confirming what she thought. "Most don't even see 'em coming, and for those that do it's usually too late."
"What are they?" She seen alot in her time with the COS. Super mutants and ghouls were one thing but their bodies near always retained something of their former humanity. But this Ghost? It was like an entirely different species. "It's not just a simple byproduct of mutation, is it?"
"There are more mysteries between Heaven and Earth than we'll ever understand. And There are a thousand and one that I'd rather think about than those monsters."
Unexpected...
"All I can say for certain is they travel with the red mist. In autumn, as the winds shift and the storms grow violent you'll sometimes see a blood red cloud following in the rain. It's nasty stuff, burns the skin and chokes yer lungs. But it's in that mist, that's where you'll see 'em. Packs of Ghosts ten strong at times. Every now and again one gets left behind. Then they just wander about, never really going anywhere until another cloud of mist comes through."
"So where's this cloud come from?"
The man leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his fuzz covered chin, a philosopher's pose if ever there was one. "Have you every heard the legend of the Sierra Madre?"
AN: And that takes care of that lil bit o plot. Like it? Hate it? Completely indifferent to the ramblings of a questionably sane idiot? Press the review button and let me know already.