Squire Lost

Chapter Two: A Night in the Commonwealth

Captain Kells waited patiently for Proctor Teagan to finish a transaction with a pair of Scribes. Once they were out of the way, he walked up to the cage and placed his hand on the counter.

"Looking to pick a fight? I'll help you end it," Teagan greeted him with a wry grin. When Kells didn't smile, he tried again. "I got a new shipment of supplies in. I have some of those candies that you like to pretend that you don't like. I've also got an orange Nuka Cola. I've never seen one of those before but Knight Miller says they're his favorite," Teagan said as he wiped some grease from the counter. "Come on, why so glum? I'm sure I've got something here that'll put a smile on your face." When he still failed to get a reaction out of the Captain, Teagan grew serious. "What happened? Is Declan alright?"

"We've lost contact with the vertibird that Squire Declan was traveling on."

All the blood drained from Teagan's face and he lowered himself to sit on the edge of one of his storage trunks. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He immediately thought of his friend Rico, his brother, and then of Declan's mother back at the Citadel. "What do you mean you lost contact? Where are they? Were they in distress? Did they make it to Bedford Station?"

"We're uncertain at this time."

"You're uncertain?" he asked. "How can you be uncertain? Didn't your pilot have a flight plan logged?"

"I've diverted all nearby patrols to search along the vertibird's planned flight path but the weather is hindering their progress. Visibility has been poor all day due to rain and a heavy fog," he informed him. "I assure you that we are doing everything we can to try to locate the missing vertibird. Ordinarily in a situation like this, we wouldn't divert so many resources to find one team, but Declan's presence on this mission makes locating their whereabouts a high priority. I expect results and I have faith that my men will bring them."

"If the visibility is so poor, why did you chance sending a Squire out in the first place?"

"Unlike most of the other Squires, who have yet to see any serious combat, Declan has more experience in the field. I thought that the weather conditions would pose a unique challenge for him to have to compensate for. I'd given the Star Paladin orders that once the ferals were cleared, Declan was to navigate through the fog and lead the team to the Starlight Trading Post operated by the Minutemen."

Teagan nodded quietly as his eyes scanned across everything he had stashed below the counter. They came to rest on a handful of Declan's toys grouped together on the bottom shelf. It would have been a beneficial experience. Declan was one of two Squires who had started their live weapons training, so it made sense that he would get more advanced training missions as well. "What about the trackers?" A haggard looking Knight approached the cage, but Kells sent him away with a wave of his hand.

"All of our vertibirds are equipped with them," Kells replied. "But the tracker on Declan's vertibird stopped transmitting a signal at the same time the vertibird's automated distress signal went offline."

The automatic distress signal had been deployed just prior to everything going offline? Teagan knew what that meant. "It went down," he managed as he brought a hand up to his mouth. "He's most likely dead."

"A vertibird going down does not necessarily mean that the crew on board was lost," Kells reassured him. "Close to fifty percent of our soldiers walk away from vertibird crash landings."

"And how many of them make it all the way back to the Prydwen?" Teagan charged. "Even if Declan survived whatever has become of the vertibird, he still has to survive the wasteland, and he has to do it unarmed."

"You speak as if Declan is alone," Kells told him. "Keep in mind that he was traveling with two very experienced members of the Brotherhood. If they made it to the ground safely, I am certain he is in the company of very capable soldiers. I don't allow just any soldier to take the Squires out. He is learning from some of the best."

Teagan nodded numbly, shock and grief straining his features regardless of Kells' reassurances. "I'll take comfort in your high standards once my nephew is safely back aboard the Prydwen."

"I understand," Kells told him. "I'll leave you to your duties and will alert you the moment our teams find anything."

Teagan let him walk away. Pushing himself up off of the crate, he ran a hand down his beard as he looked around. He couldn't believe Declan's vertibird had gone down – the thought made him sick with grief. "Scribe!" he called out.

"Yes, sir!" one of his men responded immediately, clipboard in hand.

"I want you to inform Scribes Danaka and Winslow that I may be taking an emergency leave from my duties to deal with an issue on the surface. If I do, they're to step in, run the counter, and guard the cage in my absence."

"Yes, sir."

He watched as the Scribe hurried around the corner. Left alone, Teagan eyed the bottles of whiskey and vodka under the counter. He doubted anyone would try to stop him from having a drink. It would be getting dark soon and the one thing that scared him more than the thought of Declan being stranded out in the wasteland, was the thought of Declan being out in the wasteland in the dark. He hoped Star Paladin Reeves and Knight Sloan were with him.

Declan shifted his body as he lay on the floorboard of a rusted, but fairly intact, pre-war vehicle. It certainly wasn't comfortable—the rise in the middle of the floorboard forced his legs to rest higher than the rest of his body—but it shielded him from the wind and rain and kept him hidden from anything wandering through the Commonwealth.

He'd walked for what felt like hours, lost in the rain and fog, disoriented by the thickness of the brush, and hindered by the blurriness of his vision and the spinning feeling in his head. When he'd found the pre-war car on the side of a road, he'd climbed inside of it to rest and take shelter. At some point he'd dozed off, but his sleep hadn't been substantial or restful. He was still exhausted and everything hurt. His muscles burned, his body ached, his stomach was still unsettled by the amount of river water he'd accidentally swallowed, and he'd become vaguely aware that he had some sort of burns or abrasions on the left side of his face and the back of his neck. He had nothing to treat them with, so he just laid on the floorboard and stared out one of the glassless windows at the clear night sky. The one positive was that his vision had finally cleared up. His head still felt funny, but at least he could see clearly.

Of course the sky would be clear now. The Commonwealth was a bitter, inhospitable place. The skies couldn't have been clear when they were trying to travel to Bedford. No. Instead, the sky cleared up once he was all alone at night, in wet clothes, and in an improvised shelter on the side of the road. While the stars were beautiful, the clear sky meant lower temperatures. Regardless of how hot it got during the day, it wasn't uncommon for the temperatures to plummet at night. On clear nights, the temperature dropped even further. He wet his lips and he tried not to cry. His uncle wouldn't cry and Paladin Danse certainly wouldn't cry, so he wouldn't cry either.

Outside, he could hear a buzzing noise that he couldn't quite place. The unidentified noise disrupted the night's desolate silence and put him on edge. This wasn't the first time he'd heard the noise, but its source had moved. He kept quiet and stayed low in the car. Whatever it was, he didn't want to engage it.

He'd been lying on the floorboard of the car long enough to take inventory of everything he had lost. He'd lost his utility belt, hat, field jacket, gloves, scarf, stimpak, and his father's compass. The loss of the compass weighed most heavily on him—with it gone, he had no way of navigating should the weather turn stormy or foggy again. Not to mention it was the only thing he had left of his father. His mom and uncle would be so disappointed to hear that he'd lost it. Aside from the pistol he'd found, his mother's knife was his only means of defending himself. Considering his pistol only had two bullets, his main means of defense was really just the knife. The clothing that he still had on, his pants, socks, boots, an undershirt, and his battlecoat, were all soaked thoroughly and the damp material gave him chills.

Whatever the buzzing sound was, it grew very loud. His heart raced as he peered out a hole in the rusty car door. He still couldn't see anything but something was definitely going on outside. The car creaked as it rocked and swayed and he held his breath as he listened to a deep, rumbling, almost purr-like sound passing close by. He pulled his knees in closer to his chest and clutched his pistol tightly as he stared up at the ceiling of the car. If something was going to grab him, he at least wanted to have a clear shot at it before he died. The buzzing noise became angry and frantic. The deep purr turned into a low growl, and Declan realized what was just outside of his vehicle. Rolling back onto his side, he grimaced in pain and peered out the rust hole. He was very cramped, curled up in a ball like he was, but he had a decent vantage point. At first he could see nothing but the moonlight on the barren road, but after a moment, the thick, scaled tail of a deathclaw came into view.

His breath caught in his throat as he watched it perform an almost drunken dance. He hoped this wasn't some sort of mating ritual—he didn't know that he'd survive a close encounter with one deathclaw, let alone two. The deathclaw let out a deafening roar, causing Declan to jump as he closed his eyes and cover his ears. He hit his head on the underside of the dashboard, and even though it hurt enough to bring tears to his eyes, he stayed as silent and still as possible. His heart raced in his chest but he couldn't tear himself away from his peep hole. He watched the deathclaw slap a bug out of the air and then bite it. Almost immediately, the deathclaw reverted back to its content purring as it looked around with the legs and wings of an unfortunate blood bug jutting out of it's mouth. Declan let out a sigh of relief as he watched the deathclaw chew up the offending insect before it spat it out and left it in a mangled heap on the ground.

His thoughts went to all the tales about the Elder and the deathclaw that he'd single-handedly slain. He'd never actually seen one in person, and even though it was at least fifty feet away, it was still very intimidating. Declan continued lying where he was, watching as the deathclaw appeared to be pacing and waiting for something. When a second and then a third deathclaw came into his line of sight, his eyes widened and he curled up closer to the door. They were significantly smaller than the first,and looked like they might be babies. Did that mean that the big one was the mother? Mothers protecting their young could be very dangerous. He watched with bated breaths as the babies finished off the bug and then followed the adult as it walked out of his line of sight.

Eventually, Declan was left submerged in an eerie silence. Alone with his thoughts, he couldn't stop replaying the day's events over and over in his mind. He wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn't get the image of Aspirant Lyndsey's face out of his mind, or the sound of the Star Paladin's voice as he gave out his last command. He'd seen a few of his brothers and sisters fall in combat, but that was nothing compared to what he'd experienced on the vertibird. Tears started form in the corners of his eyes but he did nothing to try and wipe them away. Curled up on the floorboard of the car, he eventually succumbed to exhaustion.

Declan woke the next morning to a horrible back ache and terrible stomach pains. He grimaced as he carefully stretched his legs back out across the center console on the floorboard. Two perks to being in the Brotherhood were that you never went hungry and everyone got their own bunk to sleep on. Raising up onto an elbow, he dug into his pants pocket. The only possession he had besides his weapons was a parcel of radstag jerky his uncle had given him before he left. He pulled a piece out and chewed it as he gently wiped the dirt and debris off of the injured side of his face. He knew that he needed to get up and move if he was going to find his way back home, so he slowly pulled himself up to look out the windows of the car. Much like the day before, the landscape was hidden behind a thick haze and the morning sun was lighting it up so much that it was near impossible to see through. It was quiet out. He didn't hear any kind of noise to suggest he had company, so he climbed out of the car and stepped gingerly down onto the ground. Placing a hand on his lower back, he grimaced as he tried to stretch and stand up straighter. He felt exhausted despite the fact that he was fairly certain he'd slept for hours.

It was foggy and the air felt very thick. Between the trees and the cloud cover, not only was the sun blocked out, but, much like yesterday, he still couldn't find the Prydwen in the sky. He stood in the center of the street and looked around. The river was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't even sure which direction he'd come from. Still, there was no need to panic. He was smart enough to know that the Brotherhood had to be aware that his vertibird was missing, and they would be out looking for it. He decided that his best chance at being found would be if he stayed on the roads, so Declan picked a direction at random and began walking. If he was lucky, he would run into a search party or one of the Minuteman Settlements his uncle was always talking about. Maybe he would luck out and find a checkpoint. He'd heard a few people talking about them on the Prydwen. According to the chatter, checkpoints were popping up everywhere.

He walked until the fog made it too hard to see his immediate surroundings. After stumbling over a few piles of busted bricks and debris that he couldn't see very well, and what he believed to be a prewar children's toy, he decided to take a break and rest on the side of the road. He climbed up onto a rusted car to wait out the poor weather conditions. He contemplated going in another direction because the road he was on felt like it was sloping uphill, but then again, he had gone up and down numerous hills before he'd found the car he spent last night in, so he had no idea if he should clear this hill or not. Taking out another piece of jerky, he ate it as he looked around. A drink would be nice. He hadn't had anything since he fell into the river and his mouth and lips were starting to feel really dry. Above him, a few rays of sunlight were able to pierce through the fog. It wasn't much—all it did was illuminate the fog and make it more difficult to see through—but for a brief moment, he felt a renewed bit of hope that things would be alright. That hopeful feeling didn't last too long.

While Declan was contemplating if he could figure out which way east was based on the way the sun was lighting up the fog, a light breeze picked up and he was suddenly overwhelmed by a putrid musk. A breeze of any kind was a welcome thing, but his time in the field had taught him what that smell meant. Jumping to his feet, he spun around on the hood of the car. Though it was difficult to see, he could make out a few distinct figures just beyond the end of the vehicle. They didn't stand entirely upright, and two of them were leaned a bit to one side.

They were ferals.

Declan knew that if he could see three, there were probably another two or three somewhere out of sight. The thought occurred to him that he only had two bullets and his only weapons training had been with a laser pistol and not the 10mm that he had at his disposal. The ferals grew still, giving him a brief moment to wonder if they'd been following his scent all along or if he'd surprised them by standing up. All he could do was stare back at their silhouettes. He tried to pick out which one looked to be the closest and then he raised his gun. Holding his breath, he fired both bullets.

He honestly had no idea if either bullet hit. The pack lurched towards him when they heard the gunfire. Two of them moved significantly faster than the others and Declan leapt from the car up onto a raised embankment, running as fast as he could. He could hear their snarls and hisses as they pursued him. For the most part his plan to slow them down on the uneven ground had worked, but it had very quickly worn him out as well. Racing through the fog, he bumped into a few downed trees and had some difficulty navigating the wet terrain. He rolled his ankle and tumbled downhill into a campsite.

At first, all he registered was the sharp pain in his ankle. Then he realized that he'd ended up at someone's camp site. Before him was a small fire and two makeshift tents. He was surrounded by discarded gear and chems. Curious, he reached over and picked up an inhaler of some sort, oblivious to the person stirring in the sleeping bag behind him. Not that far away he could hear the ferals as they closed in. He hadn't run far enough.

"Who the fuck are you?" a raider asked as he jumped up from his sleeping bag and grabbed a gun.

"Run!" Declan shouted as he pushed himself off the ground and took off. He stumbled a few feet away, his ankle still hurting.

"What?"

"Oh shit!" a second raider exclaimed as she lunged for her machete and defended the camp against the feral ghouls.

The pack of ferals descended on the camp and ripped and mauled at anything that wasn't one of them. Four of the feral ghouls attacked the raiders, but the fifth ghoul went after Declan, its arms flapping oddly at its side as it moved at an incredibly fast speed.

Declan shoved himself up off of the ground and tried to run again. The feral lashed out, hooking its slender rotten fingers into one of the pockets on his battlecoat. He was thrown a few feet through the air and landed unceremoniously on his left shoulder. A pain jolted down his spine that was so powerful that it knocked the wind out of him. He was only vaguely aware of the frantic shouts and gunshots coming from the camp as he stared up at the trees in a daze. All he could think about was the fact that he needed to get a hold of his knife, and that he couldn't lose sight of the feral, no matter how black things started to get.

Fingers finding the handle of his mother's lucky combat knife, he whipped it out as the feral descended upon him. He slashed it across the front of it's neck and chest. The disgusting creature fell on top of him, and he kicked it off with his foot. It tumbled onto the ground beside him but gripped his right arm fiercely. It started gnawing and biting down his arm in a crazed frenzy with it's soulless eyes rolled back into it's head. Declan lost his hold on his knife in the struggle, and he rolled around on the dirt and damp vegetation as he fought to free himself from the abomination. The ghoul was putting a considerable amount of pressure on his arm, but thanks to his coat, it hadn't punctured his skin – yet. He yelled and screamed incoherently as he wrestled his way on top of the deranged animal and fought past the pain in his left shoulder to grab his knife. He had his blade but his grip was weak.

A sharp and excruciating pain pierced through his hand when the ghoul finally gnawed its way down his arm and off the edge of his sleeve. Declan screamed out and fought to get away, but the feral reacted to the taste of blood as if it were rejuvenated. Clutching the knife for dear life, he began stabbing the ghoul anywhere he could until it let go of him and he could flee. There was a ghoul to his left, knelt over the bloodied body of a dead raider, and when Declan ran past, it scampered forward and pursued him. He plowed into someone while making his escape, but the only thing that registered about them was their trench coat as they pulled out their weapon.

A single gunshot fired behind him. Cowardly or not, Declan didn't look back to see who the stranger was. He didn't even look back to see if any of the raiders had survived. Chances were if they did, they would've killed him afterward anyway. He changed directions and ran as hard as he could until his ankle threatened to give out on him. Surprisingly, it was a growing knot in his left thigh that forced him to stop. He stumbled over a downed tree and resigned himself to take a moment to catch his breath and take inventory of his injuries. The ghoul that had attacked him still had some of it's teeth. Declan's palm and the back of his hand was a fleshy mangled mess because of it. He bit back tears as he adjusted the way he was sitting. Back when he was fighting the ghoul off, he'd accidentally stabbed himself just above the left knee. At the time the adrenaline and the ghoul chewing on his hand had distracted him, but now the leg was really starting to hurt. He felt himself growing a bit sick and dizzy as he looked at all of the places his body was bleeding from. He gingerly held his injured hand with his good hand, taking care to fold the loose skin back over the exposed tissue.

There was no avoiding it, he was going to pass out. Just when he was about to lie down on the ground, a cloth sack was pulled over his head and someone lifted him up into the air.