Squire Lost

Malden

Teagan stood on the rubble of an old Malden building and watched as more than a dozen Brotherhood soldiers laid siege to the hospital that the super mutants were holed up in. What mutants were dumb enough to come out and fight had to contend with the gunner in the vertibird overhead. He glanced up at the vertibird and watched as it struggled to hold a tight flight pattern against the wind. Most of the vertibirds were docked because of the storm, but Lancer-Initiate Dion had insisted she be allowed to fly. She reminded him of Rico. The two of them had been very close and very competitive. And like Rico, he considered her a friend. For the most part she seemed to be living up to her reputation as one of their best pilots. He hoped she could handle the storm.

He squinted against the rain that streaked down his face and brought a gloved hand up to wipe it away. It was a futile action against the wind and rain, but it was habit. Stepping closer to the building, he shielded himself from the brunt of the storm and took a headcount to make sure everyone on his team was still accounted for. Things had gotten a bit hairy outside of MedTek—one of his Aspirants had sustained a minor head injury and substantial lacerations to their hand and face that a medic was able to dress. They cleared the parking garage just to be certain Declan hadn't gone inside, but they left the main facility alone. Teagan couldn't imagine his nephew going inside the place, there were just too many damned ferals outside.

With the mutants outside dealt with, the vertibird hovered just long enough for one last team to drop down and rush inside the hospital. Teagan watched as Dion piloted her craft to the southeast. He squinted against the darkness and hoped she had a safe journey back to base. The rain had been torrential for hours but looked to be finally letting up. He was thankful—he and his team were soaked to the bone.

He stepped out away from the building and the mountain of debris he stood on shifted under his boots. He hadn't meant to get sidetracked in Malden for so long, but Declan was small enough that he could have hidden himself away anywhere, and if he were injured, there was no guarantee he'd be able to get back out.

Teagan led the way through the empty streets in the dark. It was unsettling for such a large, developed area to be so devoid of inhabitants. Most of the buildings were boarded up tight, and the one house they found open was filled with dead ghouls and a dark narrow passage that lead to a putrid smelling cavern with an underground river. Aside from the ghouls they'd dispatched earlier and the super mutants his comrades had intentionally sought out, there appeared to be nothing but bugs in the area. With the storm passed, the only sounds of life were their own boots on the ground and the clanking of the soldiers wearing power armor behind him. He was thankful at least that this round of rain and thunder was not followed by an intensely electrical radiation storm like the storm they'd encountered earlier in the evening.

Seeing movement up ahead, Teagan quickened his pace and kept his gun drawn. Based on his garb Teagan could tell that the other person was a raider. The raider tried to outrun them but didn't get far before Teagan was able to catch up to him and strike him with the butt of his laser rifle. The raider tumbled to the ground and laid on his back, making no move to get up and instead holding his hands up in a defensive gesture when Teagan aimed the laser rifle at his face.

"Who are you?" Teagan asked. "Identify yourself."

"Dwayne!" he cried out. "My name's Dwayne!"

"Have you got a last name Dwayne?"

"No sir! I swear!"

"Do you have any friends around here? Any comrades that are going to jump out and try to ambush us?"

"No sir."

"And you expect me to believe that? It's not that often anyone comes across a lone raider."

"I had a gang but they were torn apart by ghouls this morning."

"How convenient," Teagan frowned, still not convinced.

"I'm telling the truth! We woke up to some kid running through our camp. He had a pack of ferals after him. We didn't stand a chance."

Teagan lowered his weapon as his team grew closer. "Tell me about the kid."

"I don't know, he was just some little shit in a fancy coat! A fancy leather coat. It looked new—not like the prewar hand-me-downs everybody else wears. I ain't ever seen anything like it. H-He had nice boots too. His hair, well his hair was black, a little curly but short. It was shaved on the sides. The little shit led a pack of fucking ferals into our camp while we were sleeping."

"Which way did he go?" he asked evenly, trying not to reveal any kind of emotion.

"I don't know."

Teagan handed his rifle to the Aspirant on his right, and then hauled Dwayne up by his throat and slammed him against the side of a busted up vehicle. "Try to remember," he said through clenched teeth.

"I don't! I swear! I don't! Ghouls were everywhere and then this stranger showed up and he disappeared!" The frantic raider pawed at Teagan's hand, but he was far too weak to break free.

Had someone grabbed Declan? They'd have to be strong to just wrestle him away that quickly. "What stranger?" Teagan asked. "Another raider? A Minuteman?"

"I don't know, just some mysterious stranger! He was just this jerk in a hat and a long coat. He put down the ghoul that was chasing the kid, but when I called to him for help, the bastard just disappeared."

"And the kid disappeared with him?"

"I don't know!" the raider shouted, his voice cracked and strained.

"Where's this camp at?"

"Southeast of here. It's off the road. You can't miss it, there are bodies lying everywhere."

One of the Knights came up behind Teagan and for the first time, he was able to see the raider under the light of their headlamp. His face was bloodied and bruised, covered in scratches and teeth marks. He was missing some of the flesh and meat on one of his cheeks, two of his fingers and part of his right ear. The tattered harness he wore under his gear was soaked in blood. Teagan grimaced—he was a gruesome sight. "Take us to this campsite."

"No way," he whimpered.

"Come on now Dwayne, don't make me have to get testy," Teagan warned him.

"No really, please," the raider pleaded, tears streaming down his face. "Don't make me go back. If you're looking for the kid, he's not there. I swear!"

Teagan let go of him. Dwayne seemed confused. "I believe you."

The raider nodded, taking a few uncertain steps backward. "So, is he like, your kid or something?"

"Something like that," Teagan replied as he took his rifle back.

"Well then I guess you should hope he didn't come this way."

"And why is that?"

"Because the only thing out this way are swarms of bugs and that damn deathclaw."

"What deathclaw?"

"The one at the bottom of the sinkhole," he pointed toward a destroyed building. "If your kid fell down there and the stingwings didn't get him, the deathclaw definitely did."

Teagan nodded. "Thank you for the information."

"Um, you're welcome?" Dwayne the raider stood still. He appeared unsure of what to do with a band of Brotherhood soldiers that weren't shooting at him.

"Have a seat," Teagan told him.

"What?" Dwayne asked.

"Sit down or I shoot you," Teagan lifted his rifle.

"I'm sitting!" the raider cried out as he dropped to the ground.

Teagan stood still, surveying the area around them. It was a bit difficult to see beyond the ruins of the buildings.

"Initiate Paris, hold him here while we take care of that deathclaw. Once we're done, he's going to take us to that camp of his."

"I won't go back there," Dwayne said softly but defiantly.

Teagan smiled down at him. "Believe me, you will." He turned back to the Initiate. "If he keeps making noise, shoot him somewhere unimportant. If he tries to fight or run, take out a kneecap. We are more than capable of dragging him along with us if need be, but we will have his cooperation."

"Yes sir," the young Initiate said as she turned and trained her weapon on the raider.

Teagan led the way inside one of the buildings on the side of the road. "I want to clear these buildings and then find that deathclaw before we leave." Sifting through what was left of the building was no easy feat in the darkness. "Paladin Kris, shine your headlamp over here." He stepped aside and allowed the Paladin to move in front of him. "Check upstairs, I'll be right behind you. Knight Holmes, take Aspirant Grant and Initiate Jones and clear the building next to us. Knight Delancey, take Aspirant Ida and check the building beyond that. Check in on Initiate Paris and our new friend as well."

Their affirmatives blended together as Teagan started up the rickety stairs. Thanks to the Paladin's headlamp he could see that the floor was almost entirely barren. There were no signs that anyone had been there recently, let alone Declan. He frowned. He was cold, he was wet, he was running on only a few hours of sleep that he'd gotten two nights ago—he was running out of steam. The desire to find Declan was there but his physical ability to continue searching was starting to dwindle. His team was cold and exhausted and had earned the chance to bed down for the night. Still, it felt as if they were so close. They lost Declan's trail on the road south of Malden, which coincided with the raider's account. He was seen alive with a man who was both willing to protect him and seemed to have disdain for raiders. It put his mind at ease a little to think that wherever he was, Declan might be safe. He put his rifle away and pulled the missile launcher off of his shoulder.

"If we follow our new friend back to his camp we should be there around dawn. We'll take a rest at their camp and then try to pick up Declan's trail. If our friend Dwayne is telling the truth, he's in good company. We'll start checking the settlements and checkpoints that we come across to see if any of the Minutemen know this stranger in the trenchcoat."

"You know, he described that stranger very similar to how everyone else describes their chance meetings with Knight Miller," Paladin Kris told him.

Teagan made a face as he dismissed the assertion. "Only Miller doesn't wear trenchcoats—believes the loose material is a hazard. And he never travels alone—ever."

The Paladin nodded in resignation. "Fair enough."

They went back downstairs and met up with the rest of the team outside.

"The buildings were all empty," Knight Holmes reported.

Teagan nodded—not at all surprised. "I want to clear the sinkhole in case he tried to come back around and use these buildings as cover. Anyone up to being deathclaw bait?"

"I'll do it," Kris spoke up. "But please don't blow me up, sir."

Teagan smiled. "Don't worry Paladin, I have yet to hit a fellow brother or sister in the field and I'm not about to start now." He dug into his duffel bag and handed the Paladin a pair of grenades. "Try to keep your headlamp on it so I'll have something clear to shoot at. Ad Victoriam."

Declan woke to the sound of not-so-distant explosions going off. His mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. He adjusted himself against the back of the seat. The metal floor had made for an extremely uncomfortable bed and the pain in his left leg was awful. He rolled onto his side and his gun clattered to the floor next to his unopened can of water. The pain was so intense that he didn't move again out of fear of making it worse. He didn't think the pain had been anywhere near this bad before he'd passed out, but he also couldn't really remember anything but the pain.

Through the broken windows he could make out the silhouette of a large stingwing on the outside of the bus. He remained silent and still as he watched it—all too aware of the danger it posed to him. Even if he were completely healthy and at full strength, a stingwing swarm was almost guaranteed to be able to overwhelm and kill him. In his present state, he hoped that they didn't notice him or just thought that he was already dead.

Another series of explosions went off and he could feel their vibrations on the bus. The stingwing and the rest of its swarm took to the air and began flying around in an irritated frenzy. It was a frightening thing to witness so many shadows whipping around him in a haphazard and sporadic fashion. He closed his eyes tightly and just tried to remain as absolutely still as possible. For a few moments, all he could hear was the rapid flutter of their wings before they took off into the darkness. Alone again, he laid on the floor, his body too stiff and in pain to move. What was the point? Where would he go? His best bet was to just lie there and wait for a patrol to come through. If he was lucky, one of them might see him lying among the skeletons. If he wasn't lucky, well he just assumed the stingwings would return and he'd eventually become one of the skeletons.

He brought his good hand up to wipe his eyes, but there were barely any tears even though he'd started crying. Moving his hand away, he cautiously checked his leg. He already hurt so bad that he couldn't imagine it could be get any worse. His fingers brushed the skin on his thigh through a tear in his pants. Based off of the amount of loose fabric he found, he couldn't imagine that there was much holding the pant leg together. His fingers came across what he knew to be dried blood, but as they slid around the back of his thigh, he found another terrifying bulge under his skin. When his fingers touched it, it squirmed and sent a searing pain through his system like nothing he'd ever experienced before. His breath became extremely labored and he balled his hands into tight fists before passing out.

He came to before dawn. He couldn't hear the fighting anymore, but he could hear distant voices—lots of voices. Desperate for a distraction from whatever was inside of his leg, he focused on those voices and blocked everything else out. It sounded like they were singing and laughing—and they sounded close. He had to get to them. Closing his eyes, he grimaced as he clawed at the floor and pulled himself over onto his stomach. Slowly pushing himself up on shaky arms, he fought the dizzying feeling in his head.

Even though his leg hurt immensely, he managed to get up to his hands and knees and stuffed what items he could grab into his coat. The pain in his leg shrouded every other injury and ailment he had as he crawled across the floor of the bus and stopped just at the top of the stairs. He spared an anxious glance outside. Not seeing any stingwings in the darkness, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He mustered up the strength to force both of his legs to move and found his feet for just long enough to tumble out of the bus. With his guns tucked away in his coat, he dragged his stiff and injured leg as he crawled up the road in the darkness.

The concrete was hard on his knees and rough under his palms. He focused on its texture to try and distract himself from everything else. Each hand and knee placement was a reminder that the Commonwealth hadn't defeated him yet and that his mission wasn't over. A rusted truck blocked his path. He paused to rest up against it before opting to move through the brush on the side of the road. He didn't know where the stingwings had flown off to, but traveling out in the open road would have made him an easy target should they return. The ground was soft thanks to the rain that had fallen earlier. It was easier on his hands and knees regardless of how scratchy the vegetation was.

Declan paused when he crawled out onto the wooden deck of an old trailer. There was no more mud, just the splintered texture of old brittle wood under his fingertips. He was a little confused but his head too fuzzy to really question it too much. All he knew was that he was crawling at a steeper angle and was out in the open again. When he reached the edge he looked around. His left was still obscured by a rock wall and his right was open road. He laid down and rested his cheek on the rough metal edge of the trailer. If he was going to get back into cover to get to those voices he was going to have to drop a few feet to the ground and that was probably going to hurt a lot.

Scooting his body around, he dug his fingers in between two planks of wood as he slowly lowered his legs down. His good leg made contact first and he carefully let go and lowered himself to the ground. Aside from a bit of nausea and dizziness, he was holding up surprisingly well. He braced himself against the rock beside him and slowly rose to a standing position, careful not to move his injured leg anymore than absolutely necessary. Both his nausea and dizziness intensified, but he didn't let that deter him from hobbling along the edge of the road using the bluff as both a crutch and a guide.

He moved as quickly as he could despite the pain and his body's protests. His head was so cloudy, his mouth was so dry, and his body was so overcome with exhaustion that every movement took a concentrated effort to power through. It didn't help that the ground was incredibly uneven and when his feet slipped, it sent jolts of pain through his leg. He fell to his knees in a particularly uneven area and the pain that radiated up his leg nearly took his breath away.

The rock wall still loomed over him, but the end of it was in sight. He stayed close to the ground, opting to crawl to avoid passing out. Eventually the large rocks beneath him gave way to mud and vegetation again and he found himself moving through a narrow space between some prewar debris and the far end of the rock wall. He braced himself against the sidewall of a large tire and then fell into the center of it when his arm gave out. The side of his head collided with the sidewall, momentarily stunning him as his upper body slowly slid inside the opening of the tire. His hand up to his shoulder became submerged in the pooled rainwater inside, and his face nearly went under as well. He splashed and struggled to push himself out with his good hand—a much more difficult feat thanks to his dehydration and exhaustion.

The bandana that wrapped his injured hand was soaked—it had long since ceased to keep his wound clean and was now only good to help keep the wound somewhat closed. He grimaced as he adjusted the bandana in the dark and it took him a moment before he realized he'd just fallen into a drinkable water source. Getting down onto his forearms, he reached down and scooped some of the water up in his good palm. It smelled of dirt, rubber, and maybe some mixture of oils, but it was wet and it was cool and he was so desperately thirsty.

He choked a bit on his first few handfuls of water as if his tongue and throat had forgotten how to properly function when he was trying to swallow. The water didn't taste nearly as bad as he expected it to. It smelled, but for whatever reason it didn't really taste that bad. He allowed himself to rest, propped up against the tire, as he sipped on the water in his hand and listened to the voices in the distance. He knew he had to get moving if he was going to find the source of the voices. If they were just some band of roaming settlers who packed up and left without him, he didn't know what he would do. With a renewed bit of strength and determination, he pushed himself up off of the tire and stood on shaky legs. The pain in his leg was still there, but had plateaued at a very persistent and intense ache. It was awful but he knew it could, and possibly would be, worse the longer he took to get treatment, so he pushed himself on.

The terrain ahead was very steep. He came upon an outcropping too tall for him to climb over and he had to crawl up the steep hill that ran beside it. The ground beneath him was a mixture of mud and rock and slipping in the mud meant falling on a rock. Getting up the hill was a laborious task that required him to take a few breaks to catch his breath and keep the dizziness from overwhelming him. He collapsed when he came to the top and just laid sprawled on his stomach as he fought to stay conscious.

Through the grass he could see the warm glow of a fire. He raised up onto his elbows but he couldn't see anyone thanks to a wall that stood between him and where he needed to be. It was still dark out and Declan had no idea what time it was or how long he'd been trying to follow the voices. The only thing he knew was that behind that wall was the source of those voices, and he didn't care if they were human or ghoul, he had to get to them if he didn't want to die.

Crawling downhill was much easier than crawling up. He ended up next to a makeshift wall. There were holes in the rusty metal panels and gaps between the planks of wood. Through them, he could see the warm glow of lanterns, a security light of some kind, and a campfire outside of a glass house. He wanted to be in that glass house so badly. He opened his mouth to try and call out but his voice was weak and barely came out.

He closed his eyes and let his head lay against the ground. His body was so exhausted. A simple wall stood between him and where he needed to be and he didn't have the strength to walk along it and find the way in. The voices were so close. He could hear them as they talked about how terribly they'd slept and he wanted to join in their conversation so much His brief period with Kat and Gus felt like so long ago and he didn't want to be alone anymore. He regretted leaving them and he regretted leaving The Slog. Even if he'd spent his entire time there curled up in a corner crying like a coward, it would've been preferable to everything he'd gone through since.

Through the gaps and holes he could see flickers of silhouettes as they moved between the multiple light sources within the walls. The place looked too nice to be a raider nest—it was too bright on the inside and looked too clean on the outside. He had to find a way in. Mustering what little strength he had left, he pushed himself up onto his knees. His vision momentarily faded black but he didn't lose consciousness. Fighting the urge to throw up, he tried to stand but ended up in a hunched position. Reaching out he touched the wall with his hand and then braced himself against it as he slowly made his way downhill.

His legs wobbled and a few times he almost tumbled down. Overcome with dizziness, he fell to his hands and knees. He braced his hand against the wall as he threw up what water he'd consumed earlier. He felt awful. Raising up a hand to knock on the wall in a desperate attempt to get attention, he found he lacked the strength to make enough noise against the wood to overcome the sound of the turrets whirling around up above his head. His body made a muffled thud as he collapsed against the wall and then rolled onto his back.