Chapter Four

The Prodigal Returneth

I holstered my 9. The crumpled remains of Raiders lay around me, their bodies desecrated by my bullets. They had tried to stop me, after all, from getting my gun back. And that just doesn't fly with me. I stepped over the one in front of me. The body contained nothing. Maybe a couple caps or bullets, but that didn't interest me at the moment. Caps and bullets would come in due time. I did stop to take a fine grenade belt off a Mohawked babe, though. Hey, grenades are expensive. I stopped to look at the Raider's face as I unbuckled the belt. She was young. As in no more than twenty young. She was attractive, with a garish atomic-green and yellow Mohawk being the only detriment to her appearance. I began to feel sorry for brutally beating her to death, then stopped.

That's the Wastes, man. I thought to myself.

I finished unbuckling the belt, buckled it back on to me, and strode into a corrugated tin shack. The inside was dim, the only light permeating the building coming from a small, cut out window to my left. Mats littered the floor for sleeping, a dirty bucket of water in one corner.

"What a shithole." I said to myself, looking at my surroundings.

I could not wait to get back to Tenpenny Tower. The plushness, the luxury of it all…

And that's why I was eager to finish my job here. After I had escaped the Vault (whose number I still don't know) and left Officer Dickhead to his fate, I had wandered for days, simply waiting for my PipBoy to regain enough power to work properly. A normal person would have then headed straight home, but I'm no bitch. I wanted my gun back. My Ole Faithful Smith and Wesson .500 that I had to kill legions for. I wanted it back. And thanks to some Old World transmission tech that I installed with the help of the Brotherhood, I knew just where it was at all times. The only slightly difficult part was tracking it down. The dot signaling its location moved, which was a real pain in the ass. I would start off in one direction, only to have it change course in some other way, and I would be off again. Felt like I was chasing my own damn tail. After I finally found the dumbass Raiders that had taken it from some merchant that found it with all my stuff in the downtown D.C. ruins where all this fun began, I proceed to shoot and break them to death.

And that lead me to here. To this shit shack. I glanced at my Pip. The dot showed itself in the west corner. Looking up, one lone locker stood where my gun was supposed to be. I trudged over, careful to avoid the dirty, grime smeared mats and whatever the Hell else those fucks may have left lying around. I reached the locker, ripping off the door. I let it clank to the ground. It was empty… except for one single hook that held her.

"Come to daddy, sugar." I sang to her, carefully taking my gun off the hook and cradling it.

I needed to inspect it. The dim light in the shack wasn't exactly ideal for scrutiny. I held my gun carefully, making my way outside. It was getting towards night, but the rays of the setting sun were enough for my eyes. The gun was clean, save for a few new blood stains. Bastards must have tried using my gun. The barrel was straight, the chamber clear of all externalities, and the grip still firm.

"It's a good day…" I sighed, weary. I kicked a corpse. "Hey, you should be excited. I got my gun back."

The body lay still.

"Douche…"

I looked up at the horizon. In only an hour or so, it would be total darkness, and I was nowhere near any reputable haven. The shack would have to do for the night, but no way was I inviting the flesh eating Ghoul fucks in by having bodies just sitting around. I picked one up, starting a pile that I added the other bodies to. Bear hugging the bundle of corpses, I picked them up. I walked for about ten minutes, giving the shack and plenty of space. Having a Ghoul gnaw my face off in my sleep was night my idea of a good night. Lyon, though, maybe.

I smirked. I hadn't seen that blonde headed prissy captain of Lyon's Pride since months before I got taken. Maybe I would pay her a visit soon and work some of my magic. But before I could do that, I needed to survive the night. I dumped the bodies, making my way back to the shack. The air grew cold, and I suppressed a case of the shivers. Once inside the shack, I gathered up the dirty old mats, ripped them up, and started a pile of dry tinder. I managed to light a fire by very vigorously striking stone and metal. Once the fire started, I was good for the night.

I lay down, staring up at the tin ceiling. The wind whistled against the open door… shit. I forgot about the door. Leaving it wide open would be foolish. I rose from the ground, picking up the locker that once held my pistol and jammed it diagonal into the doorframe. The sharp screech of metal on metal made my skin crawl and set my teeth on edge. But my makeshift blockade would work well enough until morning time. I turned to lie down once more.

Tssssss…

I stopped, cocking my ears. That was no wind on dirt. That was an organic sound. I quickly stomped out the fire, the dark engulfing the shack. I listened once again. Nothing. Still, I didn't have the ammo to take chances. It would be a cold night once more.

XXXXX

The sunlight creeping in through the window woke me. Standing, all I could feel was the soreness of my neck and back from the cold sleep on the hard ground. I tried to stretch, my muscles grinding in resistance. Making sure I had all my stuff, I kicked the locker out of the door, sending it flying through the air. It landed with an empty boom, resting several yards away from the shack.

I stepped outside into the morning air, taking a deep breath.

"Fuck. I'm tired of walking." I said aloud, my words disappearing into the blue sky.

At least the sky looked clear. It probably wouldn't rain today, which would really chap my ass. But it was no use hanging around this place anymore. I just wanted to get back to my room at Tenpenny's. I checked myself over. I had all my supplies, my new belt securely fastened around myself. My pistol lay snug in my old 9mm holster. And by snug, I mean that I had to shove that bastard in there to get it to fit. It definitely wouldn't fall out, though.

With everything intact, I started walking. I got just beyond the perimeter when I smelled a noxious cloud of pure shit. I gagged, covering my nose with my sleeve. Looking around, I couldn't see anything that would smell that bad… and then I remembered. The bodies. I walked over to them, a gruesome sight meeting my eyes.

The bodies had been maimed. Well, maimed more than before. Huge chunks of flesh had been torn out of their stomachs and limbs, entrails spilling out onto the dirt. The smell grew unbearable. I mean, I'm no pussy, and I had certainly smelled death before, but this was worse. It wasn't just the natural order of decay. It was more...

And there it was. The shimmer around the wounds. Ghoul juice. It was a kind of digestive juice that Ghouls used to consume their prey. Gross shit, let me tell you. It breaks down flesh like it's going out of style. I would know, I saw Ghoul juice once dissolve the face of a BoS grunt. Not a fun time for him. Mostly because he died a horrifically painful death.

But anyway, I wasn't sticking around to be ambushed by a horde of Ghouls. They always seem to be in packs, and I didn't have the ammo to defend myself. And I wasn't really interested in getting within arms reach of something that could dissolve me. Last time I checked, even Muties can melt.

I turned away from the bodies, making my way over a nearby ridge. Checking my PipBoy, I oriented myself towards Tenpenny's.

"Home, here comes Daddy."