A/N: Well, here's chapter 2 of Son of the Old World (From now on, SOW for short... despite the silly acronym, I am lazy). Sorry about the delay, my beta had a bit of a delay 'cause of moving, etc. However, the good news is that as I type this, Cyberweasel89 is going over Chapter 3, which I will post in a day or two... hopefully I'll remember. :)
Anyway, this may seem (at first) like a transition chapter. It's not, and I'll explain why (for those that need it) afterwards in my second A/N... though much of it should be clear already. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!

Chap. 2 These Boots are Made for Walkin'

Two hours later, Duncan was wiping his brow of sweat for the thirtieth time. The Wasteland was hot. He hadn't even though to question what season it was, what day it was, in the short time he'd been inside the military compound.

But it had to be summer, and the Vault Suit he was wearing was not exactly the most breathable kit he'd ever worn, no matter what Vault-Tec had claimed in their advertisements. Just before he rounded the cliff face on the way down the mountainside along the broken road, he paused.

Voices. Four of them. They sound... weird.

He hesitated for a moment, then backed up a little, slid his mother's pack off one shoulder, and dug around as quietly as he could for the pistol. It took him a little while to remember how to check the clip and undo the safety. Just in case. I won't shoot if they aren't... aren't dangerous. Those Brotherhood guys seemed all right. Not that this little toy would go through power armor anyway.

Moving slowly forward, Duncan peeked around the cliff face he'd reached a few minutes before. Standing around a waste-barrel fire were four... creatures.

What. The. Fuck. That guy wasn't kidding! There really are zombies! What'm I gonna do? They're on the only path! Do I... but a headshot works, right? I mean... that's what everyone always said, right? And if they're zombies, they aren't... aren't people any more. Right?

Duncan nodded to himself, raised the pistol to peer along the sights, and pulled the trigger when one rotten ear-hole was centered above the little triangle.

The report made Duncan flinch back behind the rock, which probably saved his life. The other three immediately started growling, asking each other in their strange voices where the shot had come from, and if it was a crazy Brotherhood soldier taking pot-shots at them.

Shaking himself in an effort to maintain his self-control, Duncan slowly slid out from behind the rock again. This time he was a little quicker aiming, and took another shot within seconds.
Unfortunately, even as the second zombie's head exploded, spraying one of the others with red and gray goo, the fourth spotted him.

"There!" he cried, pointing at the rock, "It's a human!"

Shit!

Not having any better option, knowing that the two zombies, even slow as they seemed to be moving, would probably wear him out if nothing else, he pulled the trigger again.

A lucky shot nearly severed the fourth zombie's head from his shoulders. It flopped around uselessly, almost pathetically, for several seconds before stopping.

All the while, the panic in Duncan rose, because his fourth, fifth, and sixth shots had all missed the last, blood-and-brain splattered zombie, and it was getting closer every second.

"You little shit!" it cried, "What the hell did we ever do to y-"

But it's words were cut off by the seventh shot, which ripped through the zombie's right knee, dropping it to the ground.

With a growl of rage and pain, the creature stood up again, it's only weapon, a broken pool cue, gripped tightly in it's right hand.

The eighth shot took that arm off at the shoulder.

The ninth, to the center of the zombie's torso, made it twitch for a few seconds as the one before had done, before it, too, fell silent, still glaring at him with milky white eyes.

Slowly, Duncan forced himself to relax. It was over.
Wasn't it?

Fuck. Talking zombies... just what the world needs after nuclear war, right? I gotta get to safety... that guy said there were towns. I gotta go there... gotta find Amber, see if she's still all right. What did he say? Arefu? Megaton? Big Town? Stupid name. But if I follow the river, I should... I should be all right. If I can avoid any more zombies, anyway.

Horrified by the smell, not to mention the gore, Duncan closed his eyes and forced himself to walk past the makeshift camp, leaving the zombies to rot further still in the sun.

(O)(O)(O)

Heart racing in time with his pounding feet, Duncan paused only once for the next three miles, longer than he'd ever run in one stint before, to vomit off the side of the road. His first real taste with death, to him, was just hours before, when Robert had been eaten by that bear-thing. The second was even closer, when the zombies- undead by all accounts- had almost killed him. In return, he'd destroyed them, blown their human-like brains out of their skulls.
Turned them into paste with his father's 9mm.

Fighting the urge to retch again, Duncan continued on, still running though is legs burned furiously. He was brought to a sudden halt when the road before him stopped at the edge of a precipice. Panting, Duncan gasped for breath even as he fell to the ground, but his eyes- terrified, horrified, anxious eyes- swept his surroundings even so, even though they too burned with salty tears.

Gorge ahead, Potomac river below. Two highway bridges over it, one decidedly safer-looking than the other. The less-safe, though, had one vehicle- a cargo tractor-trailer- skewed halfway across it. The road split to his left and right, taking each of the bridges, while a smaller side-road continued further south along the west side of the river toward what Duncan knew as the SatComm DFNS Array's southern-most towers.
The group of them- originally twelve in all- were once the height of missile-defense technology, able to detect incoming ICBM's from a thousand miles away with pin-point accuracy, and direct incoming fire to intercept, all without even needing a human's say-so.
But that hadn't been all. They had also been nuclear launch controls for the various silos in the area, in case enemy forces happened to win enough victories on land or sea to actually (Heaven forbid) close on the United States Capitol. They were the country's last nuclear deterrent.

The towers had also been the project his father had been caught embezeling from, which had landed him a triple life sentence in the new Fort Knox Prison.
Duncan shook his head; no use worrying about that now. He was long gone, just like everyone else.

Mom. Taylor.

But Amber's still out there, somewhere.

Just as a new wave of determination to find the last link with his past washed over him, Duncan heard a distant cry, "Help! Oh, shit, it's gonna bl-"

Eyes suddenly riveted to the northern bridge, specifically the tractor-trailer, Duncan saw it happen. A scientist, or at least a person dressed in an almost impeccably-white lab coat over his black trousers and shirt, was blown forcibly out the back of the trailer, accompanied by several smaller objects that were too small at this distance to identify.
Ignoring for the moment the dangers of the two-hundred year-old overpass, and the decreasing proximity to the 'deathclaws', whatever they were, Duncan ran for the trailer at once. He had to help, didn't he?

If he'd had anything left in his stomach, Duncan would have lost it at once when he reached the scientist. There were two gaping holes in his torso, each bleeding profusely. The first was dead-center through the man, who looked about forty and vaguely asian, puncturing his sternum and heart on it's way through. The second was lower and off-center, having blown a three-inch hole through his left abdomen, just above his hips. He was quite obviously dead, even aside from the crazy angle of his neck, which had crashed against the top edge of the barricade over the gorge.

The objects which had, apparently, killed him? Cans of Pork-N-Beans.

Six of them lay scattered around, two of them underneath the body, smashed against him and the concrete k-rail with great force. Two of them, though, looked salvageable...

These things were designed to keep forever, right? I mean... he doesn't need them any more.

And I'm gonna get pretty hungry... Fuck it. Mine now.

Keeping an eye out for any trouble that might have been called by the explosion, Duncan gathered up the remaining two cans, paused for a moment, and then began rifling the pockets of the scientist.

The lab coat was near-worthless, now, he decided. One large hole in the side, right through a pocket, and the large blood-stains made him cringe at the thought of handling it. But the scientist had several other things in the truck worth keeping, although much of it was damaged by the explosion, whatever it had been.
A near-perfect condition laser rifle, and shit, this thing's heavy! Can I even fire it? Is there power? Are the optics aligned right?, sixty multi-purpose energy cells, several of the bottle caps the Brotherhood soldier had stuck in his pack, a few bottles of murky water, even better, two stimpacks, and... and...

Holy shit. Is that what I think it is?

But the bulbous object, olive green with a radiation symbol on three sides, could only be just that.

A T4K-NUC. Nukular Industries' pride and joy, the small-yield (half kiloton) tactical nuclear warhead, commonly known as a 'micro-nuke'.
Duncan shuddered again.

Those things, or things like them, had destroyed the world. But he couldn't just leave it, could he? He was fortunate it hadn't been damaged in the smaller explosion, because even a blast that size would probably have collapsed the road, not to mention killing him from a half-mile away.

But could he also leave it here? That would be pretty irresponsible.

What if some kid wandered across it and hit it with a hammer or something?

Groaning, Duncan went back to the scientist, stripped the lab coat from him while doing his best to ignore the increasing stench of rotten beans and pork, and gingerly wrapped the warhead in it before sticking it in his pack.

"Okay... I gotta get out of here before anything else comes investigating."

Duncan ducked his head outside, already paranoid that some great beast like the bear-creatures or the mysterious 'deathclaws' would be outside, checking both directions before sprinting, ignoring the protests of his exhausted legs, for the west side of the river again.

"I need... need a place... to rest..." he panted, priorities shifting quickly from escape to just that.

(O)(O)(O)

The location Duncan found to rest was hardly ideal. The structure was a three-walled contraption of rusted tin or sheet metal, with a roof of... leafless branches. The last wall was actual concrete from a half-wall, all that was left of one of the old SatComm towers.

He hadn't slept with such an unobstructed view of the stars since he'd last been on a camping trip, which had been a reward from his father for gaining his Eagle Scout badge, when he was twelve. How many years ago was that, now?
As fatigue and exhaustion overtook his fear and anxiety, the young man mused that he still didn't even know what year it was, so he couldn't find out how long he'd been asleep.

Just as he got close to actual sleep, the howl of a dog from somewhere in the distance made him jerk awake.

There was an accompanying howl, reminding Duncan of stories he'd heard of wolves howling at the moon, this time from further away. His fear kept him awake for another two hours before the silence, broken only by the light breeze whistling through the branches above, lulled him to sleep at last.

(O)(O)(O)

Gnawing hunger woke him. After a quick check of his surroundings looking for large predators (in hopes that he could eat without being eaten himself), Duncan took a few minutes to examine his belongings. On top of what he'd looted- no, scavenged- from the dead scientist, there were three bottles of pure, clean water he'd taken from Vault 100, a pair of cans of Dusty Trails Chilli (Extra Spicy, his favorite), and some unfamiliar items, apparently put there by the man in power armor.
Okay, so he gave me another forty-five rounds for the nine millimeter. That brings me up to... uh...
Duncan spent a few minutes calculating in his head, but the battle with zombies the day before had been a blur, so instead, he started counting them out one by one.

Twenty-four regular rounds, and twelve of these... I haven't seen bullets like this before. Are these supposed to be armor-piercing, or something? They're jacketed, like the name of that old war movie, full-metal-bullet or something... huh. I guess that's what he meant by higher quality. Even the regular ones are newer-looking. They must have a way to make new bullets, at least.
On top of that, there's three books. No wonder it was heavy. I wonder if people can read still? Five forks, two spoons, a knife, and... is this a lawnmower blade? Seriously? Well, whatever. I guess a junk store would buy it or something, if they still have that kind of thing.

"So chilli or... pork-n-beans. After yesterday, I'm a little nervous opening those cans, so I guess the good stuff it is. Mm... cold chilli!"

Except he didn't have a way to open the can.

"Damn it!" he cried loudly, raising the can as if to throw it in frustration, before getting a hold of himself. "No... no, I can't waste it. These might be the only intact cans of chilli left. I gotta save 'em. Besides, if I even find a knife or something I can use that, right? Can't give up. Gotta keep going."

(O)(O)(O)

Those words became his mantra for the day as Duncan continued to hike along the west side of the Potomac, sometimes up higher on the bluffs, sometimes down near the water-line (though not too close, he wasn't sure how hot it was with radiation).

He found another, new reason to fight on when the first sharp projectile struck him low in the left thigh, a couple inches above his knee.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!"

The old stick he'd been using as a walking staff fell to the rocks with a clatter before rolling over the edge of the trail he'd been following, and down into the river valley. As he watched it fall, another of the things struck the rock next to him and shattered.

It was only then that Duncan realized he was being attacked. Just as his head turned to look up the hillside to his right, a third flying object zipped towards him.

He threw himself forward into a roll, taking the only cover available, a charred, burned-out husk of a tree stump, while he drew his pistol.

Shit, what the hell was that? It was flying and shooting things at me!

Numbly, as if on auto-pilot, Duncan rolled sideways onto one knee, ignoring the protests in his aching leg as he did so, and pointed his pistol up the hill.

Follow the sights. Exhale before pulling the trigger. Don't panic, don't jump, don't flinch. Just aim and pull the trigger. Nothing to it, right dad?

He still flinched, of course, when the report went off, and the bullet went wide of... whatever it was.

Holy sh- what is that thing? It's as big as my head, but it looks like a fly! Or a wasp, or a bee, or- or something!

Another of the strange projectiles seemed to be extruded from the buzzing, flying insectoid's tail-end and was flung toward him with startling force.

Duncan lunged back behind the stump, and felt the ancient wood shudder under the impact as the stinger struck it.

Shit, if it is a stinger from a bee or something, it might be venomous. I gotta get that thing out of my leg! But I can't, not while this thing's right there shooting at me still!

He gulped and rolled out again, this time onto the other knee.

Focus. Use the sights.
Exhale.
Fire.

This bullet was a bit more accurate; it tore through the left wing on the fly-creature, sending it spiraling to the ground, where it twitched for a few seconds, seemingly unable to understand that it just couldn't fly any more.

Once Duncan realized it wouldn't be able to get closer to him, he ducked back behind the stump and tore at his vault jumpsuit, ripping the hole in the pant leg about three times wider.

He paled at the sight.
Being a rather rough-and-tumble young man had inured him a bit to injury and pain, but the sight of a three-inch-long stinger buried two inches into his leg, which was bleeding profusely, was something he wasn't exactly ready for.

"Oh my g... okay... calm. Don't go into shock. You can do this, you know basic first aid... just... get a bandage ready."

He continued to talk to himself while he rummaged in his pack for something, anything, to use to wrap the wound with before giving up and ripping the rest of that pant leg off, separating a three-inch by thirty-inch strip to tie his leg with, before shoving the rest into his backpack again.
"Okay, bandage ready... stimpack first. The pull it out..."

He injected one of his two steroid-and-chem (he knew there was an antiseptic, a coagulant, and several other useful medicines, but was unsure of the specifics) surrette into his leg, two inches from the hole, before he wrapped one hand around the sting and yanked it out with a wince.

Of course it had to be barbed, right?

But at least it didn't appear to be venomous, whatever it was, because the blood was still bright red and flowing cleanly.

Not that that's a good sign... shit, that hurts...

"No. Focus, damn it, Duncan! You're better than this! Are you gonna let some stupid giant fly bring you down, make you cry? No! Get up, fight on!"

His self-administered pep-talk was just enough to allow him to ignore the pain and wrap the ruins of the vault-suit around the hole in his leg. Tight enough to help with the bleeding, but not too tight. It wouldn't due to cut off circulation.

But when Duncan stood at last, testing his weight on the injured leg successfully, he started to limp over to the fly-thing to finish it off.

Unfortunately, he'd already been beaten to that by two more of the things.

This time, though, he was better prepared. Before either of them had noticed him moving, he'd drawn the pistol once more and fired off two shots at the closer of the pair.

The first, again, missed, but the second... just clicked.
He pulled the trigger again, then again, but nothing.

Empty.

"Oh shit!"
Duncan dived back behind the stump, fumbling in his pack for more ammunition, praying he would have a chance to slam another clip into the gun before he was pierced somewhere vital.

Two more stingers had embedded themselves in the stump before he figured out he was trying to load the new clip backwards.

Once he'd gotten it in and flipped the safety back off, Duncan had calmed down considerably... or at least, he was no longer afraid. Instead, he was filled with (he hoped righteous) anger.

He was growling and glaring when he cleared the stump again.
The flies were closer, half as far as they had been before.
His second bullet tore through the closer creature's abdomen, causing it to explode in a spray of white-green goo and flesh.

When the third creature rose higher and began to flex it's abdomen in preparation for a sting-throw, Duncan pulled the trigger again.

This time, it only took one bullet. Right through the center of it's head, between the great, blue-green faceted eyes (as large as his palm, it seemed).

Panting with shock and adrenaline, Duncan stood quietly for a few seconds aside from his breathing and head as he frantically looked around for another threat.

When he didn't find one, he holstered the pistol and walked over to the three creatures, which were grouped together, since the later two had apparently begun to attack and eat the wounded first one. It was now still, several pieces of it missing.

"Well damn. Giant flies. I guess the crazy scientists were right... what else has mutated, then?"

Not knowing what else to do with them, but thinking he might be able to get a reward for killing mutant bugs or something, Duncan tied them together with the longer length of his former pant leg, attaching the whole thing to his backpack so that it swung behind him from the frame.
It made walking annoying, and continually screwed up his balance, but there was no way he was putting the goo-leaking messes inside his pack. Just... no.

Fortunately, he remembered to take out the clip and insert two more of the newer bullets before leaving. He wouldn't be caught empty again, not if he could help it.

"Well, Duncan, that's three fights for your life and two people dying you've seen since you crawled out from your hole. The bear-things, when Robert died. The zombies. That scientist killed by food of all things, and now these giant flies. I think you'll get on just fine in the Wasteland. Heh..."

It didn't escape his notice that he was sounding just a little hysterical as he talked to himself.

Still, one foot in front of the other.

Keep on walkin'.

(O)(O)(O)

An experienced traveler in the Wasteland might have known that Duncan was rapidly approaching the settlement known as Arefu, a day after he'd turned to follow the Potomac east in it's path. Duncan knew that he was near Seneca Heights, or at least the ruins of it, because he'd taken a girl on a date to the outdoor movie there, on his one and only date.

Looking back now, Duncan shuddered with horror. She'd been someone he'd known for all of two hours, a rather ugly girl with a personality to match. He'd only gone because his parents had set it up with hers (and driven with him to the movie, since he was far too young to drive himself) as chaperones... not that he'd have touched her.
'course, there wasn't any 'good-night kiss' or anything. I couldn't stand that girl. Whatever her name was.

In fact, however, Duncan only recognized the area by the ruins of the monorail tracks high above him, some of which still stretched across the river, who's bank he was walking alongside, while he idly wondered if there would be anything useful in the train itself, which had apparently fallen from the track during the war or the years after.

"But then I'd have to go digging through bodies... and I'm not sure I can do that. Still... well, I guess it's probably already been cleaned out. Scavengers and all, looking for anything of value is common in any post-disaster society, right?"

He shrugged, it was worth checking anyway. After all, what was he if not a scavenger himself? The corpses of three giant flies swinging behind him and smelling up the place was proof of that.

The young man was approaching the engine of the monorail from the west side as it faced north-west (and getting a good view of the train's undercarriage, since it was on it's side), when he heard a low growl.

He froze, then crouched down a moment later.

Heavy, raspy, gurgling breathing was the only sound aside from the light wind in the rocks, and the ripples of water slowly flowing by.

Thud.

Drip.

Drip.

Thud.

Drip.
Thud.
Drip.

Whatever it was, it was shaking the ground around him enough for him to feel it through his vault shoes. The dripping was also loud, and seemed to get worse on every other whuffing sound, like... like ruptured lungs. Whatever it was was bleeding badly, likely moments from death.
If he could just stay quiet, stay still, stay undetected long enough, the threat would pass.

Right?

Of course, Duncan had no such luck.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.
No thuds. Oh crap, that can't be good.

Just as the survivor of the pre-war world decided he'd have to run for it, a bellowing, shaking roar rattled the windows of the train he was crouching behind, and made the hair on his neck stand up.

It sounded almost like a lion or tiger, but not at all feline. Whatever it was was not a cat, but larger, more dangerous, than any he'd seen in the zoo.

Thud.

Drip.

Thud.

A yellow-brown snout, dripping red blood rapidly, cleared the front of the engine, a half-second before a horn did.

Just afterwards, while Duncan's eyes widened in terror and his breath seemed to stick in his throat, while the shattered stump of a second horn on the beast's left side made itself visible, along with great, sharp, bloody teeth longer than his arm, lining a jaw large enough to engulf his torso whole.

And the hand... one bloody stump, and one hand with fingers so long... longer than his arm.

But the claws...

The claws on that thing would go right through him sideways, and still have inches to stick out the other side.

"Oh... shit..." he breathed.

The beast lumbered slowly, obviously limping as it did, around the side of the train.

Blood poured from it's ruined right arm, missing from the elbow down, one eye was ripped away by what looked like a shotgun blast at close range on the same side as the missing horn, and one kneecap was clearly heavily damaged, but the torso of the thing was the worst.

The red ichor flowing from it's mouth was likely from that injury, since it had nine ribs showing, and multiple organs pulsing out the thing's life-blood all over the ground.

It snuffled, and the head swiveled towards him.

It smells me...

Or it smells the flies.

Oh crap, that was a bad idea...

Slowly, hoping it wouldn't be able to see the movement with it's one eye, and him in the shadows of the train, Duncan drew his pistol, knowing it was likely useless. If whatever it was was up and walking around as damaged as it was, it was far beyond his little gun.

Thud.

It took a step towards him, and Duncan began to pull the trigger for all he was worth.

Twelve rounds, ten of the normal (if newer), and two armor-piercing bullets, tore into the creature's chest. It shuddered and jerked with each one, and once his gun started clicking again, it was standing still, swaying.
The gurgling in it's lungs was worse.

But then it took another step forward.

Thud.

"Hell no... no... no way..."

The pistol fell from limp fingers.

"It can't end like this..."

It stopped clattering a few feet away.

"I can't... how tough is this thing?"

It was near enough now to swing at him.
The one good arm raised up, and Duncan got a view, for just a moment, of a sight very few lived to talk about.

A Deathclaw's hand, raised to tear him to pieces.

Nerves kicked back in.

He ducked and rolled, wincing again as his already-wounded leg struck a rock on his way by, and the claw buried itself several inches into the steel of the train with a screech.
It bellowed, but he was still moving.

His left hand reached behind him, grasped one of the drawstrings, and pulled.
His right was already underneath, waiting to catch the handle of the laser rifle as it fell.

As soon as he felt it's weight, his arm swung up, the gun braced against his shoulder and with his left hand a moment later.

"You'd better have power," he said to the high-tech weapon, "or we're both goners."

The beast before him struggled to wrench it's hand free, doing so just as he pulled the trigger.

There was no recoil, not even much sound.

Just a slight hum, and a loud hiss as the air was vaporized into red-hot plasma by the beam of energy that flashed from the rifle's emitter.

The first beam struck the thing's right hip, leaving a black, smoking whole.
It screamed in pain again, and turned toward him.
Duncan watched as it gathered itself for a lunge.

Just like the pistol.
Sight, Exhale, Trigger.

The second bolt of energy struck it it's healthy right eye, making it explode with sudden heat.

For a moment, the thing wavered on it's feet still, and then fell with a resounding crash of bone and flesh on rock.

It didn't get up.

After several tense minutes, Duncan exhaled loudly, "Fuck me. And that's all I gotta say about that."

There was a new sound, now, though.

Once the monster's heavy breathing had fallen still, he could just make out a sad, almost pathetic-sounding mewling.

Laser rifle raised to his shoulder due to his ever-increasing paranoia, Duncan stepped around the front of the train.
There, between the engine and two other cars, was a small nest of six eggs, each of which was bigger again than his head.
Three were cracked open and empty, one of which had a tiny, clawed body lying lifeless nearby. It had apparently not survived.

But the other three were intact.

They would grow into those... those things. I should kill them now, while they're vulnerable.

He stepped forward, skirting the body of a traveler who looked recently-dead as he did so, before scooping each of the three eggs, one of which was already twitching, into his arms.

"Sorry, kids, you're going to go for a swim. I heard drowning works well on cats, I guess it'll work well on you, too."

His arms were tired, and his limp was worse, when he made it to the river bank and tossed the three eggs inside.

One began to sink at once, tiny bubbles rising from it, but the other pair began to bob and float downriver, swept along by the current.

He didn't dare follow, not with the radiation in the water, which was still silty and green.

"Maybe the rads'll kill you before the water does. Not sure which is an easier death."

He shrugged after a moment of watching the pair move down-river and turned back.

The traveler might have had identification of some kind, something to tell any family, if he ever saw them, he was dead.

Except the he was a she.

A woman of perhaps twenty-five, with a lightly-lined face (more from laughing than frowning, if he was any judge), light, sandy-blonde hair, and green eyes.

Or she had been, before one of those eyes was gouged out by a claw still embedded in it, broken off the creature's finger, no doubt.

There was also four raking lines across her stomach, which had spilled several of her organs onto the rocks, and rendered the thick leather jacket she wore like armor useless.

"Damn... well, I guess I better see what your name is."

He took a breath to steel himself, then rolled her over with his boot. She wasn't even stiff.

"Recently dead. I didn't hear any gunshots, though, so the timing was pretty narrow, I guess. Or I was in my own little world for a while... maybe I am in shock after all."

"You know," a different, deeper, masculine voice said calmly from several feet to the south and uphill, "it's a sign of insanity, talking to yourself."

Duncan jumped and spun, swiveling the laser rifle up to his shoulder as he did so.
The man on the ridge raised both hands, "Hold on, there, kiddo, I'm no threat to ya. Just lookin' around. I'm gonna come down there, and we can talk all peaceful-like, all right? Nobody's gonna need to shoot anybody."

Duncan didn't react.

After a moment, the man pointed to his right, Duncan's left, and said, "Look, kid, if I wanted you dead, my guard would've already blown a hole in your head for pointing that thing at me. I just wanna talk, that's all."

Reluctantly, Duncan looked over atop the train engine.
Twenty feet away from him, a hard-looking woman with blonde hair and wearing what looked like steel-plate and -spiked armor was holding a sniper rifle, pointed directly between his eyes.

He gulped.
Slowly, the laser rifle lowered.
"Right, see, that wasn't so bad," the man said, "Come on down, Sally. No use scarin' the boy. Name's Harith, kid, Lucky Harith. You can call me Lucky, or Harith, or even Bob, I don't much mind either way."

As the older man picked his way gingerly down the rocks, Duncan noticed his back was hunched slightly, though he seemed spry regardless.

"Duncan," he said eventually, when the weathered-looking man stopped a few feet away, smiling gently.

"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you, Duncan. As I said, I'm Lucky Harith. My guard's Sally, no last name."

He nodded, but said nothing aside from twitching his eyes in her direction for a moment.

The rifle was in her hands still, but it was pointed outwards, away from him now, as she scanned the area like a professional.

"You kill that deathclaw by yourself, kid?"

Duncan shook his head, "No... looks like this lady did most of the work. It was missing an arm and most of a leg, huge hole in it's chest, when I got here. I just finished it off. Almost finished me off."

Harith nodded, looking solemn, "Yeah, 'claws'll do that. Best just to steer clear if you can... 'less you got the firepower to take 'em down quick. I can help with that, if you want."

Duncan looked up, "What do you mean?"

Harith pointed up the ridge, "I'm a trader, make my living buying, selling, and trading weapons and ammunition around the Capitol Wasteland. I got a pack-brahmin up there with my goods, if you wanna make a trade."

The young man hesitated.
What did he have to trade? The power-armor wearing man had mentioned trade goods. Would the books really work? What about the food? Was it even worth anything?

"You look a mite confused. Listen, how about I help you clean up this little fiasco, give this woman a proper burial and all, and then we can go talk by my brahmin. There's a little camp-site me and the other caravans use when we pass by here we can rest at."

After a moment, Duncan nodded. What did he have to lose, anyway? If worst came to worst, he'd just have to walk away if the man didn't want anything he had.

He was still a little surprised when, on top of the double-barreled shotgun and sixteen twelve-gauge-rounds he'd found on the woman, Harith also handed him his own pistol, a roll of paper with a lot of writing and drawings on it, and the hand of the deathclaw itself.
"What- what're these for?"

Harith shrugged, "Your kill, right? Law of the Wastes, you kill it, it's yours. I didn't have a chance to help with the 'claw, and the woman's dead, so it's yours now. Wouldn't feel right if I took any of it."

"Okay... but I mean, what're they for? Like, why would I want to carry the hand? And for that matter, what can I get for three giant fly bodies?"

"Bloatflies?"

Duncan shrugged, "I don't know what they're called. Just three big-ass flies that shot shit at me from their asses."

Harith chuckled, "Yep, Bloatflies. You got three, you say?"

Duncan nodded, "Yeah. Why, you buy trophies or pay for killing them or something, too?"

Harith shook his head, "No, but the meat's not bad. I'll buy 'em from ya, or trade, at least, if you haven't got any caps."
The young man frowned, "Caps? Like... like bottle-caps?"
Harith nodded, "'course. You gotta be from a Vault, huh? New... well, new-ish, suit, don't know what caps are... they're money around here, kid. You can try trading that pre-war stuff, and most merchants will take it in lieu of actual caps, but it's not exactly worth what it used to be, you know? Fact is, most times, that shit's not good for much but wiping the shit from your ass. Best thing for it, really, which is the only reason it's worth anything now."

Duncan paled.

His mother had had four hundred dollars in her pack, most of their savings, and he had that. And it was only good for toilet paper now?

"Hey, don't worry about it, kid. I'm an honest trader, and I can't make a living by lying to folks. Come on, I'll get you a bit for the flies. Might buy the hand if you don't want it, but looking at those plans I handed you, you might wanna keep it."

Duncan blinked and started following the self-professed trader up the side of the ravine, struggling to open the large roll of paper while keeping a grip on the shotgun, the claw, and the paper itself. The pistol had already been loaded and returned to it's holster.

"Uh... Mr. Harith, what- what exactly is this? I mean, I get that it's a design, but... but it looks like some kind of weapon!"

The female guard, Sally, laughed, "It is a weapon, kid. One of the best if you like gettin' all up-close and personal with your enemies. Really... I saw the gouge that 'claw put in the train. If you got any strength in you, a thing like that weapon there will go right through my armor like paper. And what it'll do to the flesh behind it? Well... you saw that traveler, right?"

Duncan gulped and nodded, "Y- yeah. So... so this is just a way to make this claw I got useful?"

Harith nodded, "Yep. Mind you, it takes a few things, as the paper says. You gotta have a brace to hold it to your arm, the claw itself, and some glue to get the two to stick, some other minor details. Screws and stuff to really hold it together, maybe some spare parts if you want the fingers to flex and bend... I saw one guy who had one, he was so good with it he could play cards with the claw. Never took the thing off, scared his buddies, who were all damned cheats, into playin' straight with him, though."

Sally laughed, but Duncan only stared wide-eyed.

He'd been curious what the trader had meant by 'pack-brahmin'.
Now he knew.
It was a cow... sort of.

Cows didn't normally have two heads and extra horns around their faces.

Still, the beast of burden seemed docile enough. Harith and Sally both walked right up next to it, the former opening one of the large bags on it's side, and the latter taking up a position near it's heads, still scanning the area for threats.

"Come on, kid," Harith said, "Let's see what I've got that you need."

When Duncan had stepped over to the trader's side and looked into the large pack, his eyes went wider still.

"Holy shit!" he whispered, "That's a lot of guns!"
Harith grinned, "I know! Best collection in the Capitol Wasteland, if I do say so myself. I got enough here to kit a small army, all 'cause of this hero from a few years back. She donated quite a bit to me back then, let me raise my quality and selection quite a bit. Let me know if you see anything you like. We can work something out. Don't forget to look in the other side, too. The middle pack's not for sale."

Duncan nodded, and then for the next few minutes, was in gun-nut heaven (not that he was one, mind).

Everything from antique (now) Chinese pistols, to 9- and 10-millimeters, a 10mm sub-machine gun, nine hunting rifles of various sizes, one of the tried-and-true FN-FAL's, commonly known in his grandfather's time as the venerable AK-47, several grenades, and... and...

Every fourteen-year-old-boy's wet dream.

Two.

Missile launchers.

"Uh... I hate to ask, Mr. Harith, but-"

"Just Harith, kid, or Lucky. Mr. Harith was my dad, see."
Duncan nodded, "Yes, sir. Anyway, these missile launchers. What would you trade those for?"

Harith shrugged, "Not too pricey. Valuable, but they're not in the best shape. They'll fire, but one's got a missing site, and the other's really dirty, especially in the barrel. I haven't had a chance to clean 'em up properly. I could let you have both for maybe a hundred-thirty caps. You might be able to fix 'em up yourself, they aren't that complicated."

Duncan's eyes widened. Was military-grade hardware that common?

"Damn, I can almost afford that. This guy in power armor gave me some caps, and I found some later... but it's not quite that much."

Harith shrugged again, "Not like you don't have more, though. There's the flies, the claw if you don't want it, I'd even buy the plans. Those always sell good, and I can make a gauntlet from the claw. 'Course, that nine-mil you carry's worth a bit too, good condition. And don't even get me started on your laser rifle. That's worth more'n twenty of these launchers, at least in bad shape like these."

Duncan's eyes widened again. "R- really?"

Harith nodded, "Yep. Now, I'm always- always- tellin' people that a safe society is an armed society. Guns keep people safe, and I like to see people safe... so they should always have lots of guns. But it's my experience that not everyone needs a lot of guns, you know? Just a lot. So if you want to unload your high-quality merchandise, I can give you a few different kinds of less-expensive kit, and you can have a lot without having a lot, you get my drift?"

Duncan shook his head.

Sally laughed again from nearby, "Damn it, Lucky, I can't understand to this day how you can bullshit like that and still turn a profit. By rights, you oughta scare off every damned customer!"

Harith laughed along with her, "Maybe, maybe. Still, kid, you just find things you like. We'll work out the details later, right?"

Duncan nodded, debating for a moment...

Before his childish side won out.

I mean...

Two.

Rocket launchers.

And he had missiles! Two of them!

He was gonna enjoy this... eventually.

"All right, kid, so you're getting the missile launchers, both of 'em, a mid-grade hunting rifle, the two missiles, some .32 ammo for the rifle. I'm getting a lot of toilet-paper, the three flies, the plans for the guantlet, and the claw itself. Sound fair enough? Oh, yeah, and I owe you three caps to make it square."

Duncan shrugged, "I guess. Sounds good to me."
Harith stuck out his hand, and they shook. A few minutes later, the promised items had been traded between them.

Harith spent a few hours as night fell showing Duncan what he'd need to do to repair the sights on the first launcher with the sight from the bad-barreled one. It was something he was looking forward to; not just for working with his hands, which he enjoyed, but because they were heavy, and once he got the part switched, he'd be able to drop the useless parts off and lighten his load.

The next morning, Harith pointed Duncan toward the nearest overpass, a few miles away, "That's Arefu, there. You wanna keep followin' the river, but when you see a boat washed up, go around south of it a ways. There's mirelurks nesting in there, and you don't wanna get close to 'em unless you want to waste all your new ammo. Hope you find your friend, kid. It was a pleasure doin' business with you. Don't die out there!"

Duncan nodded and waved, smiling, "You too, Harith! See you, Sally! Be safe!"

But before he left, Harith called out, "Hey, kid, you sure I can't convince you to part with the pistol or the laser rifle? It'd be worth a lot to me, either one."

Duncan shook his head, "Sorry, Harith- maybe next time. The gun's a... well, it was my dad's. The laser rifle saved my ass, and I think I want to keep it for a while."

Lucky shrugged and nodded, "Guess I can understand that. Take care of yourself, kid. See you 'round."

The younger man nodded, then turned, hefting his much-heavier pack onto his back, and started walking east again.

"Huh," he mused to himself an hour later, "I wonder if I should have asked them if there was a way to get holsters for all this stuff..."

A/N2: Well, for those that it wasn't already painfully clear to- He's a kid (of 14 emotionally, though he's rapidly adjusting to adult hormones since he basically skipped puberty through a medical coma/stasis) who was thrown into a whole new, much deadlier, world than before. This? It's basic training. First, a (minor, nearly no-threat) encounter that leads to big things later- that's a plot point you'll have to wait for, though, but one of my bigger, overarching things, specifically about Duncan's development as a Wastelander and adult- then a low-threat fight against clear antagonists (the flies attacked first), which was his first 'real' fight. And of course, the introduction to what most consider the Wasteland's most dangerous creature, Deathclaws. Even wounded heavily (as they are in that set encounter), they can still rip you to shreds if you aren't careful.
Lastly, of course, meeting someone who will become (related to the first major plot point I mentioned) a major character down the road, though not a main one.

Anyway- Sally's the blonde guard Harith has in FO3 (She's not named, but I figured most people have common names, just like irl). They're both aged 9.5 years from FO3's ending, but otherwise unchanged- and of course, yes, the Lone Wanderer from Vault 101 (remember, a female, who chose to sacrifice herself for Project Purity) donated all the money to fully upgrade all four of the Caravans. This will become important later, which is why I'm making sure it's said now.

Most of the other guards, though, are not important, so won't be getting names. Maybe.
Next chapter's hint: Duncan swears when he's mad... and while he knows the town's name, he never reads the sign above it.