Chapter 3
"Never too young to learn"
"Oy, Guard! Stay on your toes there, trouble could come up at any minute!" This has been the incessant shout of a man named Brigg he owns a caravan that transports supplies between the main cities: New Reno, the Den, Junktown, and NCR.
Right now the caravan is stopped just outside of the Den, all the caravanners are finishing up ties and wraps for their trailers securing their merchandise.
Brigg, the VanMan, runs the whole show, at least he thinks he does. Here's the look of him: he's an oldish fellow, late forties, gray scraggly hair dangling under a dirty Cowboy hat. His too-tan leather skin makes him look meaner than he is and his penchant for nagging the guards makes him an unpleasant man to work for but the fact that he pays better than nearly all other caravans means the hired guns/guards put up with him. Who are these guards? Well, since caravans travel between cities they spend most of their time in what most folk fearfully call the wastes – the barren land between settlements. The wastes are a dangerous place, even for a large group so every caravan hires guards armed to the teeth to travel with the caravan for protection. Most caravans will hire anyone packing heat who looks to have an attitude, but some caravan routs are more dangerous than others, those require a particular caliber of guard and above normally tempting wages. This is one of those caravans, and this is a focus on one of those guards.
"You there! Baldy! Take off those dark spectacles, you'll be ambushed for sure!"
"Dude…" a man of 3 and 30 mutters exasperatedly under his breath, "you've been saying that for the past 4 days, give it a rest." His head is shaven making visible a long scar stretching along his scalp from slightly above his right ear to just under the left side of his jaw. He's a little above average height with the stocky build of someone who maintains his strength for necessity rather than vanity. His garb is fairly dark: black boots (metal toe and heel with a long metal plate sewn on the outside tall-ways), faded blue-jeans, a hockey jersey over a black shirt under a scuffed black bomber jacket, and black fingerless gloves. His visible weapons are a modified plasma rifle that sits in a holster on his back and a Ruger Alaskan Revolver on his hip. He wears dark sunglasses always; it makes it easier for him to ignore people. He doesn't want anyone 'buddying' up to him. He's got a few friends - he doesn't need anymore. The caravanners call him Red.
"An don you give me eny lip either! None a you! I pay ya to look, listen, an shoot!" Brigg the caravan owner blusters from horseback in the middle of the halted carts.
'pay?' if that's what you wanna call it... blood money more like.
The sound of light quick footsteps focuses his attention behind him – Red's hand moves instinctively to his Ruger.
"Hey! Hey man... uh your name Rebb right?"
"Red" noobs always get it wrong.
"Ooh, with a 'd' right?"
Ugh...
"Right. Hey man, I hear you're old hat at this, the guard thing I mean, you been on this trail a hundred times they say!" The tan skinned guard glances over to the kid – he looks ridiculous. He's thin like a normal seventeeny but the black pants with a white shirt and a too-big black biker jacket make him look nearly twiggy. He's packing a nice gun though, a .44 Desert Eagle… Red's face belies his mild surprise at the two stocked ammo belts the kid has crossing his chest. He notices the bullets in the belts are the wrong caliber. He smirks.
"And?" The walking-stick urges, his bright eyes so wide. There's one nearly every trip, some kid who got bored of the slums decides to buy a gun, steal one if they really think they're tough, and hire on as a caravan guard to seek fortune and fame. And that idiot Brigg keeps hiring em, too blind to notice men over meat… fighters versus fodder. It's a damn good thing we guards hate digging graves…
"Well... you seen lotsa stuff right? The others say you seen mutants an ghouls, they say you beat swarms of geckos..."
Red sighs getting irritated "go away kid."
"They say you found old-time treasure and you're secretly rich from the loot." The kid's still standing there next to him – you're getting on my nerves whelp!
"I said beat it kid."
"C'mon man we're both guards here, I only wanna hear the truth from the legend himself. I heard em talk'n bout how a Deathclaw attacked one a your caravans and killed every man but you because you tried to talk to it – talk to it!" The young guy laughs as though he were talking to an old buddy. The sound of the juvenile's cackling grates the older man's nerves, stirring anger and a familiar sick feeling.
"I knew THAT one wasn't true cause who ever heard of a animal talking; but the others? How about it Red? Is there any truth in those other tales?"
"No!" His voice resonates "Now leave me alone!" Red swings his leg in a smooth motion sweeping the mosquito onto his back.
"Hey!" The twerp squawks in surprise.
Red glares menacingly at the persistent gnat.
The kid's face flushes puce as he looks around in embarrassment "Man, touch me again an... an, I'll hurt ya!" The boy squeaks out what is meant to sound like... a threat? And sure enough, he clumsily grabs his gun which Red easily kicks out of the young one's hand – little withstands a blow from a heavy boot.
In a moment the kid is lifted bodily off the ground, suspended by Red's muscular arms his leather-clad hands gripping the kid's jacket. There's a flash of metal, a knife the kid never saw drawn is held against his offending throat. With angry eyes Red presses the knife into the young flesh.
"You like the thrill kid? You like the idea of danger? Think it'll make you a hero, huh?" He grips the knife more tightly "this is what its like, what you feel right now but worse because what you deal with out here won't give you any chances, human or not."
Red lets the blade cut the young man's throat lightly till he yelps "please! Please! God - don't hurt me!"
"Here's your first memento and a lesson..." His voice trails off as the young wide eyes become liquid.
"Please..."
For a moment Red considers not letting go, not giving him the choice he doesn't know he's making by being here... the hardened man considers hurting the boy, badly, so he can't continue – making the choice for him. Saving him against his will.
There won't be any protest from anyone because they'll all know why I did it, and no one wants another noob to baby-sit and bury. Besides they don't have the guts to save him themselves.
"I'm not going to hurt you kid..." I'm tired, tired of choosing for them… they don't learn that way. "But IT will… the wastes will hurt you, push you, and if you survive you'd better be careful an don't let the job make you numb, because once you're numb the wastes will kill you and you'll deserve it because you let your guard down."
The guard called Red releases the trembling half-man who drops to his knees one hand clutching his bleeding neck.
"And that'll be the end of you. From nothing to nothing."
The experienced Guard stands over the shuddering form for a moment then twitches his fist retracting the blade.
"Oh god..."
"Don't call on God, He won't get you outta this. This is YOUR world, your choice... live or die quickly."
He sneers in disgust at the defiant expression. He hasn't even been listening. What's the point – they never learn, no matter what I say.
"Don't bother me again. I don't have time for thrill-seekers."
"Oy, guards! Back to spots – move out!" There howls Bard, completely unaware of anything as usual.
Ignoring the stares from most and the chuckles of a few he walks with long strides back to his position at the head left of the line, not looking back at the kid still trembling in the dirt.
As the bald man with dark sunglasses walks away he mumbles bitterly "Stupid. I almost hope he doesn't go home..." Pausing, he deliberately bites his tongue sending a burning sensation along his jaw bringing the metallic taste of blood. "Don't say that, don't you EVER say that!" he closes his eyes tightly, remembering the faces of others like this one "Its' not his fault" just like it wasn't the last kid's fault, and the one before. They're young and stupid because no one's taught them better... but damn if it doesn't hurt everyone else till they learn.
Having moved back into position he easily keeps pace idly wondering if the kid got up.