Chapter Specific Warning: I apologize for how long it took to publish this chapter but it was partly due to the content I decided to include in it. Everything I wrote was based on in-game content, but I wanted to take a moment to warn any of you that have a sensitivity to cannibalism or gore, that it is included in this chapter. I have never written a story with this sort of thing in it and it was a bit difficult. This will be the darkest chapter in the story, and the only chapter with this specific content in it. I just felt that I needed to put a warning out, just in case it bothered anyone..

Squire Lost

Karma

The room was sparsely furnished with just a bed, a busted up dresser, and a broken mirror on the wall. The rest of it's contents appeared to be random bits of armor and broken pieces of junk. In the center of the exterior wall was a lone, boarded up window with daylight streaming in between the planks of wood. A vine of some kind snaked its way in through a gap in the plaster above the window and spread across the ceiling above. A thick layer of dust coated nearly everything and what bit of light came in did relatively little to brighten up the small space.

Declan slowly opened his eyes and gave them a moment to adjust to the dim light. He grimaced as he slowly sat up. His leg and hand still hurt. Bracing himself on his good hand, he paused when he felt something cold and metallic under his palm. Looking down, he realized he was handcuffed to a metal-framed bed. He tugged against the cuffs a few times as the realization that he was someone's prisoner sank in. He pulled against the handcuffs, trying to decide if he could get his hand out without hurting himself. The tugging on his part had created red marks on his skin – then he realized he could see his skin. Where was his coat? He looked down to see what else had been stolen from him.

His boots and socks were over against the far wall and he had nothing on him but his regulation pants and undershirt. His mother's knife was nowhere to be seen. He'd already lost his father's compass, and now they'd taken his mother's knife. Angry, he began pulling against the handcuffs again, testing both the cuffs and the bed frame for weaknesses. When he could find none, he turned his wrist over and moved his injured hand to help him better examine the handcuffs. It was then that he realized that someone had wrapped his wounded hand in what looked to be a fairly clean bandana. He'd bled through it, but it was still a really nice gesture for someone that was holding him against his will.

He ceased his efforts to break free and listened when he heard feminine voices from somewhere else in the building. They were distant but he could still make them out. They were talking about what they were cooking, arguing about whether or not to add tatoes to whatever they had on the stove. He heard someone bang a spoon against a pot and he wondered what they were fixing because he didn't recognize the smell that was wafting over into his room. His stomach rumbled as he continued listening.

"All I'm saying is that I think we shouldn't jump the gun, Ma," a girl raised her voice. "He's got good muscle tone, he's got good colorin', he's got all his teeth."

"Exactly. He's good meat," a woman with a scratchy voice dismissed.

"First off, you don't put good meat in a stew. Second, he's ghoul-bit," the girl said bluntly. "We don't have no business eatin' infected meat."

His blood ran cold. They talking about eating him.

"Ugh."

"I mean it, you saw what happened to Patrick and Daisy. They ate some of that bad meat and caught the fever. He got the bumps and was dead within the month. Daisy was sick for six months before Monty put her out of her misery."

"Well if he's got the fever he's no good to you alive either," the older woman stated.

"But Ma, if he's healthy, he could be really useful. He's gonna be big and strong," she argued. "He'd be real handy for when Lonnie and her gang come around."

The older woman made a disapproving grunt. "That backstabbing bitch should've gone down with Jared in Corvega. She's a two-face traitor is what she is."

"But she's got her own gang now and that's all the more reason we need him."

"You can't trust him to defend this place against the likes of Lonnie and her gang. He isn't one of us."

"How do you know? He was just south of one of the campsites and he had jet on him."

"Because I know every child born to, or taken into, the raider families in this area and he isn't one of them."

"And what is he then? A farmer? Please," the girl's voice dripped with annoyance.

"Well whatever he is, he's obviously been taken care of and well clothed. Someone will be looking for him."

"They won't find him."

There was a long pause and Declan sat still, listening intently.

"Why are you so determined to keep him? If Lonnie and her gang come around again, Remi and Monty will help hold them off. We don't need him bringing unwanted attention."

"He's… you know."

"You like him," the older woman accused.

"So what if I do?"

"He's just a boy."

"He's a healthy boy. And when we grow up, he'd make healthy babies."

The sound of spoon clanging against something metal echoed through the building, and it appropriately summed up how Declan was feeling about the new subject of conversation. "Girl, you are thirteen."

"Yeah so? And Cici is sixteen, and I saw that last baby she had with Bruno. It had six fingers on one hand and it's face didn't look right. Doc Anderson said it wasn't gonna make it. I don't want a sickly baby. He's healthy, he's got thick hair, all his teeth, he's strong for his size... you saw Sonny and Remi wrestlin' with him to bring him in. He's good stock. Not to mention... he's real pretty."

"Fine," the older woman conceded in an annoyed tone. "But you're responsible for him. If he steps out of line one time, you'll be the one killing him. Do you understand me? And you're also gonna cut up the next one Sonny brings in."

"I promise!"

"Here. If you're going to keep him you'd better feed him."

"Thanks Ma!"

Declan lay on his side, using the fingers of his right hand to try and pry the cuffs off of his left hand. It was no use. He pulled at the handcuffs again. He couldn't stay with these crazy cannibals and he certainly wasn't going to hang around long enough to be their breeding stock. Still, it did make him feel a little better to know that he wasn't literally going to end up on their chopping block.

Loud footsteps rushed towards his room. Unable to get away, he pretended to be asleep. The footsteps stopped abruptly at the doorway, and he could feel himself being watched. The food smelled much stronger now, and he was certain she'd brought some with her. He was so hungry but he was also pretty sure whatever she had, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to eat. He heard her place a few items on the floor and It took everything he had to remain calm, especially when the bed dipped and he could feel her climbing in next to him. An arm slid around his waist and then she laid their head on his shoulder. After a moment, she started to drag her fingertip along the length of his nose, starting up at the bridge and slowly making her way down to the tip. The motion was slow and repetitive, and he found himself unable to resist the urge to open his eyes and push the hand away. He hissed when he bumped her hand with his injured hand. Clenching his teeth, he spared a glance over at her. She wasn't anywhere near as scary looking as he'd imagined. In fact, she was surprisingly pretty.

Her face was inches away from his own. Their eyes met and excitement danced in her dull, gray eyes. "Mama said I could keep you," she smiled triumphantly as she tapped the tip of his nose with her finger. He understood her obsession with his teeth – she looked to be missing a few and she wasn't that much older than he was. She had significant scarring on one side of her face and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to her. Had it not been for the fact that he knew she and her mother were cooking people a few rooms over, he would've felt very sympathetic towards her. "I wrapped your hand," she informed him as she sat up. "And I brought you something to eat and drink."

He managed a nod as she leaned over him to retrieve something from the floor. He closed his eyes, not wanting her to get too close to him after she'd made that baby comment. She eventually sat up and pulled him up to a sitting position. Lifting a chipped mug up to his lips, she took hold of his chin and began tilting the mug regardless of if he was going to willingly drink or not. He did. He coughed a few times and some of the water ran down his neck and onto his shirt. It tasted stale, but he was desperate so he didn't object. He brought his wounded hand up to cover the hand she held the mug with. Once the mug was empty, he wiped his mouth with his fingers. She watched him expectantly as she placed the empty mug on the floor.

"...Thank you," he offered quietly.

"You're welcome," she beamed. "I'll get another wrap for your hand after supper." She seemed pleasant, which confused him. He'd assumed his captors were raiders but she was too nice to fit the general stereotype, regardless of the fact that she was wearing tattered leathers and a pipe pistol.

"Are you a raider?"

"You have to ask?" she grinned. "That is so adorable," she said as she pulled her blonde hair up and secured it with some bobby pins she'd pulled from her pocket. "I'm just a girl who's trying to survive life in the wasteland," she told him. "Ma and me don't run with any of the major gangs, but we do what we've got to do to survive. And if that makes us raiders, then I guess we're raiders."

He nodded, more to stay on her good side so he didn't become supper.

"I'm Karma," she told him as she knelt to pick up another mug, this one with a spoon in it. "Eat this. You need your strength."

Declan looked down at the grey and brown mush in the mug. There were a few lumps that he assumed were vegetables or chunks of meat, but it certainly didn't look appetizing. "I'm Declan," he introduced himself.

"Take it, Declan," she insisted, placing the mug on the bed by his good hand. "Eat," she repeated.

He took hold of the mug's handle which seemed to appease her. "Um.. can you take the handcuffs off so I can go to the bathroom?" He raised his left wrist to show her the handcuffs. She grinned and shook her head.

"I wasn't born yesterday," she dismissed his request. "Can't chance having a pretty thing like you running off," she smiled as she put in one last bobby pin. She leaned down and put a hand on the back of his head. He was suddenly aware of a new bruise, which explained his slight headache. She leaned in and quickly kissed his forehead before pulling away. He sat very still, unsure how to process the fact that a raider had just kissed him. "If you've got to go, there's a bucket," she gestured towards the floor. "And if you need to wipe, there's some old pre-war money under the bed."

"Thanks," he made a face.

She rolled her eyes. "It's not that big of a deal," she told him. "I'll be back later with a fresh bandage but I've got to go reinforce the windows and doors downstairs. Wouldn't want the ghouls to get in and finish the job they started." She didn't wait for a reply and he didn't offer one. Were they in a heavily infested ghoul area? The thought made him even more nervous than he already was. Once she was gone, he looked down at the contents inside the mug. He wasn't touching that stew for fear of what was in it. He also wasn't about to use her bucket. If he made it back to the Prydwen, he was going to make certain to tell everyone that not all abominations were non-humans.

Huddled around the table in Maxson's quarters, Lancer-Captain Kells, Elder Maxson, and Proctor Quinlan stared at the marker that Kells had placed on a map. Standing with his back against the door, Proctor Teagan loomed over them, his lips pressed in a thin flat line and his arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"This is where the vertibird went down," Kells said as he explained the marker on the map.

Quinlan made a face and leaned forward in his seat. Emmett leaned forward on his lap and swatted the marker with his paw. Quinlan quickly pulled him away.

"Most of the vertibird is in the Malden River, just north of where it branches off of the Mystic. The tail and part of one of the wings is on the other side of some sort of retaining wall at the water's edge," Kells stated. "Our men on the ground said there was some hellish fighting going on and requested reinforcements. The Minutemen appeared to be engaging hostiles at a well fortified location nearby."

Maxson scowled as he stared at the map. "Do they believe the Minutemen were involved in what happened to the vertibird?"

"The Minutemen? No sir, based on the information they've gathered, the Minutemen launched their attack, as retaliation, after the vertibird went down," Kells told him.

"Have any members of the team been found?" Maxson asked.

"Initiate Harris' body was recovered. Everyone else is still unaccounted for."

"To get there, your pilot had to deviate from the flight plan," Teagan frowned, irritation evident in his voice.

"That is correct," Kells replied.

"Why would he do that?" Maxson asked. "They had a Squire on board. Did they get disoriented in the fog?"

"They shouldn't have," Kells answered. "All of the vertibirds are equipped with instruments to assist the pilots in poor visibility situations."

"Super Mutants," Quinlan grumbled.

Teagan looked over at him. "It was a low risk training mission, they shouldn't have deviated to go engage that sort of enemy at such a well fortified location."

"You're familiar with this location?" Maxson asked Quinlan.

Quinlan nodded, acknowledging both of them. "My Scribes haven't been inside, but they've been in the area. That place is known as West Everett Estates. It is a heavily reinforced super mutant fortress. Their leader is a mutant named Hammer. He's a particularly good shot with a missile launcher and he does keep in contact with nearby groups of mutants. I've come into possession of a substantial number of super mutant notes. They communicate with each other fairly regularly. They're organizing. Hammer could've ambushed the vertibird after another group of mutants caused them to deviate north. They did have a Squire on board and Star Paladin Reeves was on the mend, they probably would've been looking to avoid an altercation of that nature. Of course, this is all just speculation."

"Where are these other super mutants?" Maxson asked.

"The nearest documented group is about right here, sir," Quinlan pointed out a location on the map.

"That speculation would seem to offer some explanation as to why the vertibird was in the area," Kells frowned.

"And if our teams have reported a substantial Minuteman force already there, that allows us a little extra time for our men to gather the supplies they'll need to better handle such a heavily fortified area," Quinlan offered. "This isn't like the raid on the Institute, the Minutemen can't just set a charge on a reactor and run. Sure, they have artillery capabilities, but using that on a location that may hold hostages would be counterproductive to their purpose. They're going to have to use farmers to muscle their way past this place's defenses and then fight off a large group of heavily super mutants. Honestly, I don't know if the men they have in place are capable of that. They had no time to plan or gather gear, and they've had, at most, minimal basic training. At the very least in this initial assault, the Minutemen are doing us a great service. There's certainly no harm in using their men as expendable soldiers to wear down their defenses prior to our men moving in. I know you aren't a fan of the Minutemen sir, but this does spare Brotherhood lives," Quinlan directed his attention to Maxson.

"Have any reinforcements been sent in yet?" Maxson asked.

"I've got two teams gearing up as we speak and Proctor Ingram is helping them with their equipment," Kells answered.

"I'm going with them," Teagan said.

"Proctor, I understand your concern, but we have plenty of soldiers that can handle this. You can best serve the Brotherhood here."

"With all due respect, Elder, that Squire is my flesh and blood family and I can best serve him on the ground. I've already assigned someone to man the cage in my absence," Teagan told him.

Maxson's expression softened. "Teagan, we have never lost a Squire and we're not about to start now."

"I know, but you can't make that guarantee right now. I'm going to find him. I will personally see to it. Order me back to my cage if you like, but I'm still going to go down there because he's my nephew. Maybe, if you're lucky enough to have a kid of your own, you'll understand. But he's the only part of my brother that I have left and I promised his Mama when we left the Citadel that he'd be taken care of. It's already been almost twenty-four hours. If he's alive, he's more than likely injured and unarmed. He won't last long on his own."

"We don't know that he's on his own," Kells interrupted him.

"If he wasn't, they would've already checked in at a Minuteman settlement or checkpoint by now. They're all over that area and our guys on the ground know it." He turned his attention back to Maxson and lowered his tone, "Now I've never agreed with your no firearms policy for the Squires out in the field, but I always backed you up because it was my duty to support you. But if anything happens to him, if he dies down there, that'll make two deaths that'll be on your head."

Maxson stood abruptly, knocking his chair backwards onto the floor. He looked as if he'd been punched in the gut. He paced the small space between his bed and the couch before focusing his glare on Teagan and pointing a finger in his direction. "Get out," he growled. For a tense moment, the two men just stared at each other. Kells remained silent as he stared down at the map. Quinlan glanced between Maxson and Teagan, uncomfortable and confused with the situation. "Get your gear and board the first vertibird heading down."

"Thank you, Elder," Teagan replied curtly as he pulled the door open and stalked back to his cage. Behind him, Teagan could hear Maxson making arrangements to take his personal vertibird out. The thought that the Elder was getting involved brought Teagan some solace. He still had a great amount of respect for Elder Maxson, even though he was currently frustrated with him. Of course that frustration paled in comparison to the frustration he had with the Lancer that had been piloting the vertibird. Unlocking his cage, he shoved the door open and began gathering ammunition and supplies. He now knew what kinds of enemies to expect down there and he wasn't going to be caught unprepared.

Scribes Danaka and Winslow watched him silently from their posts by the counter. He picked up his laser rifle and then paused. On the bottom shelf under the counter sat Declan's stuffed bear. It had been silly really, giving a twelve year old boy a stuffed toy, but it was new, recently manufactured in a factory at the Starlight settlement, and it didn't have the 200 year stench of hopelessness and despair on it. Declan slept with it, even though he'd pretended to be too old to care about it. Teagan debated whether to pack it, if any of their dogs could track, it would be very useful. He thrust it in his duffle bag when he saw Quinlan walk up to the counter.

"I'm busy," he told him as he packed a missile and a handful of grenades.

Quinlan pushed his glasses up higher as he peered into the bag. "You seem to be already packed."

"I started packing the moment I realized they had no idea where my nephew was," Teagan replied. "I'm just adding a few extra things."

"Should I have Ingram get your power armor ready?"

"I don't need power armor," Teagan told him. "It'll only slow me down."

An awkward silence filled the space between them as Teagan hooked a strap onto a missile launcher and hoisted it up over his shoulder. "Off the top of your head, is there anything besides the super mutants that might pose a significant threat in that area?" It never hurt to compare notes.

Quinlan brought a hand up to his mouth as he tried to recall everything. "There's a place called Med-Tek. If you miss the sign, it's pretty easily identifiable by the big perimeter wall around the property and the dozens of ferals just meandering about. The place is like a magnet to them. Not only is it infested, but we have it on very reliable sources that some of the ferals in that area might have been test subjects for weaponized viruses during the war."

Teagan frowned. "Lovely." He grabbed one last stimpack and slid it in his pocket.

"There is also a significantly higher population of insects in the area," Quinlan warned him. "Some of the swarms my men have encountered have been quite voracious and quite large."

"Thank you, Quinlan."

"Might I ask," Quinlan whispered. "To what were you referring to when you were speaking with Elder Maxson?"

Teagan glanced around to see who was nearby. Aside from Danaka and Winslow, they were alone. "They didn't tell you when you transferred?"

Quinlan shook his head as he watched Teagan lock the cage with the pair of scribes inside. "Who didn't tell me what?"

Teagan hesitated. As much as he liked Proctor Quinlan, he was suddenly reminded that Quinlan was an outsider. He was sent east by the West Coast Brotherhood to gather information about the legendary Arthur Maxson. There was talk of putting together an actual book about him.

"I'm sorry," Teagan told him. "But it's confidential, and if they didn't tell you, well it isn't something that I'm willing to discuss."

On his second, third, and fifth field missions, Declan had the good fortune of being able to go out with Knight Miller and Paladin Danse. The great thing about the Knight was that he was always getting distracted—taking detours to different places—and anyone traveling with him got to go too. The great thing about Paladin Danse, aside from the fact that he was Paladin Danse, was that he was always enthusiastic about seeing where the Knight was going to lead them next. Captain Kells must not have had an issue with it, because he was never upset when simple cleansing missions took days and was always eager to read detailed reports from the Squires about the settlements and various locations they discovered while on the ground. The Knight and Captain Kells really seemed to get along well.

All the Squires wanted to go on missions with Knight Miller. On every mission, the Knight would go to great lengths to try and teach the Squires basic survival skills that the Brotherhood didn't. One of his most emphasized skills was lock picking. It was a skill so emphasized that the Knight insisted that all the Squires wear bobby pins on the collars of their undershirts. It had become so routine that Declan had forgotten his were there until he'd seen Karma fixing her hair.

Putting his bobby pin in his mouth, he bit down on it and pulled the tip off. Spitting it out, he bit down on one end and pulled the other to open it up a bit. His hand ached as he held the tiny pin and pushed it straight in the lock on the handcuffs. He took slow and controlled breaths to push aside the pain, once he was free, he would be able to use his other hand again.

Pulling the bobby pin down, he bent the tip and then pulled it out. He knew he could do this, Knight Miller had trained him to do this. Pushing the bent tip back in and under the metal lip of the lock, he moved it counter-clockwise and added a bit of pressure until he heard a faint click. His hand burned and his heart pounded with excitement as he tried to reposition the bobby pin. Instead, he dropped it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was so excited his hand was trembling. Picking the bobby pin up off the mattress, he inserted it back into the hole and moved it clockwise until he heard another click and the handcuff fell open.

His heart felt as if it were about to beat out of his chest as he pulled himself free and tiptoed over to his boots. Pulling his socks and boots on, he laced them as quickly and tightly as he could. The cool squishiness of his socks were unpleasant, but it was a minor annoyance compared to his current situation. Stepping lightly, he held his breath as he slipped out of the bedroom. He found his coat, along with his pistol and combat knife, lying across a table. It was evident that the raiders that lived here were messy, unorganized hoarders of rather useless gear. If he had to guess, he assumed they stripped it off the bodies of their victims. Pulling his coat back on, he left it hanging open as he tucked the gun and knife away and ducked down to move into the next room.

His adrenaline level was so high that he could hardly keep himself from stumbling around the bits of broken furniture and junk in the dark, cluttered hallway. Reaching what must've been their kitchen, he stopped short when he saw a bloodied human rib cage sitting on a tray on the kitchen table. There was an assortment of saws and knives next to the tray and an enamel bucket filled with blood on the floor. Horror momentarily took his breath away. He brought his right hand up to cover his mouth. When he finally inhaled, he gagged on the smell of the feral that still lingered on his injured hand.

He averted his gaze to the floor and took a deep breath to calm himself. In doing so, he inhaled the thick, and distinct smell of human stew. Fighting his gag reflex again, he took slow, measured breaths as he tiptoed along the wall farthest from the stove. The floor tiles were covered in dirt and blood splatter. He clenched his teeth as he tried not to pay too much attention to it. It felt as if the room were closing in. The air felt thick enough to crush him. Each breath grew a little harder as he neared the end of the room. He was almost out of the horrible room, when he realized the smell of blood and decay was beginning to overpower the smell of the food on the stovetop.

There was a small room adjacent to the kitchen. The door sat partially open, and he peered inside to make sure there were no raiders. He immediately regretted it. Inside the room was a sink, a bathtub, a toilet, and an assortment of metal and enamel buckets. They all contained various parts of dismembered bodies. Judging by the tile, at one point before the war, this had probably been a very nice bathroom. Now it was horrifying and disgusting, but sadly, thanks to the super mutants, not the most grotesque thing he'd ever seen. The floor was covered in blood, the porcelain and tile was hideously stained and discolored, and the buckets were overflowing with blood and various organs.

His gaze fixated on a hand that lay on the floor. He felt himself growing faint and unable to tear himself away from the splintered bone and loose flesh jutting out of the wrist. He knew he had to make himself keep moving but his body wasn't cooperating. While he had seen worse, he'd never been in a situation like this alone. On some of the severed appendages he could see bite marks, and he was fairly certain they were human. Tears threatened to obscure his vision as he tore himself away from the bathroom and went through an open doorway. He reached the top of a staircase and peered down into the dusty darkness. He couldn't see anyone but he did occasionally hear a cough or the distant sound of someone's voice.

These people were bigger abominations than everything else in the Commonwealth. At least the ferals were just mindless creatures and the super mutants were monsters. These people were humans and they were choosing to do this to other human beings. Elder Maxson had said that humanity needed to be saved from itself, but Declan had never imagined that it was because of this—he couldn't imagine that Elder Maxson had meant it in this context either. Gripping the railing tight enough to turn his knuckles white and make his hand start to bleed again, Declan tiptoed down the stairs as quietly as he could. He stayed low to make himself harder to detect and kept his gaze down so his eyes wouldn't be blinded by the light from upstairs.

He made it halfway down the stairs before he heard the older woman start scolding the girl again. They were in another room and he could hear things being moved around. After a moment he heard someone start banging away with a hammer. Daylight streamed through a cracked doorway at the base of the stairs. He was so close, he could see the back exit to the building. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself not to rush down the rickety stairs and then stopped abruptly when he saw a lean and lanky raider slouched on the couch against the wall. The raider looked over at him, the expression on his face screamed that he was under the influence of something powerful.

"You're up," he mumbled as he got comfortable on the couch and laid his pistol across his lap. "Karma fought so hard for you kid. Welcome to the family." Declan watched silently as the raider fumbled with a tin he'd pulled out from under one of the cushions. He fumbled with a box of mentats before spilling the contents onto the floor. "Well shit," he laughed as he tumbled off the couch and began picking them up. "I was gonna share…" Declan kept a close watch on him as he slowly made his way towards the door. He wondered what kind of cocktail the raider was on but he wasn't interested enough to hang around and find out.

When he reached the back door he pulled it just open enough to squeeze out. A string of cans fell from somewhere overhead, announcing his action, and he bolted towards the densest patch of the fog he could find. He covered quite a bit of ground before the other raiders realized it was him who'd slipped out and not their drugged up friend. By the time they started shouting in alarm, he was almost totally out of earshot and completely surrounded by trees. The ground was a bit uneven in places but he was determined to put as much distance between him and the house of cannibals as he could.

He crossed a street, a few downed trees, and he fell twice trying to get through some rocky uneven areas, but he kept going. At one point he stumbled across a female radstag and her young, but he didn't stop running and they didn't have a chance to react to his presence before he was gone. It wasn't until the burning in his leg was too overwhelming that he collapsed against a rusted guardrail and desperately tried to catch his breath.

With his uninjured cheek resting against the abrasive metal, he held up his wounded hand and stared at the bandana. Why couldn't he have been found by a friendly farmer or a Minuteman out on patrol? Even a Gunner might have been convinced to keep him alive if they thought they might get paid for saving him. His hand was probably going to end up infected. In all fairness, his hand was probably already infected. He just hoped he didn't get that fever that Karma and her mother were talking about. He looked over his shoulder, scared that the raiders would be behind him, but all he saw were trees and dry grass. In the distance he could hear vertibirds. It was far too foggy for him to see them and it was frustrating. He momentarily considered trying to follow the sound of the vertibirds but his legs were too weak and wobbly.

That was alright though. Multiple vertibirds more than likely meant Brotherhood boots on the ground. He'd be found before he knew it. He just needed to stick to the roads and stay away from any future packs of ferals and cannibalistic raiders. He just hoped they found him before nightfall.

Declan continued to lay propped on the guard rail. He honestly couldn't imagine how regular civilians survived this place. If his short experience on his own had taught him anything, it was that the Commonwealth still needed the Brotherhood, Institute or not. There were so many dangers still lurking all over the place. He stretched out his legs as he caught his breath. His ankle felt better but his hand, leg, and head were throbbing. In the distance, he could hear a robotic rumbling. He sighed in resignation. "What now?" he groaned as he pushed himself to his knees. Catching sight of a sentry-bot, his heart skipped a beat. Where was the fog when he needed it? Could he play dead? Declan scrambled behind the guardrail, his body too sore for another hasty escape. If he'd had any doubt before, he certainly didn't now—the Commonwealth was trying to kill him.