A/N: Heh, even longer than the last chapter- this one's 11(ish) pages. :) As you can see from the title... well, it's Duncan's first experience with them. It's not a pleasant one, but his had nice results anyway. I won't say too much more... this first arc is 1/3 of the way (again, ish) complete with this chapter.

Also, a word of warning. There's lemon-ish content in this one. I will try to warn people before it happens in the A/N, but I despise being pulled from a story by a 'lemon ahead' warning in-chapter. Don't expect that from me. And if I forget to warn you and you're offended... well, it's rated M for a reason. You probably shouldn't be reading it if it bothers you.

Lastly, yes, this is a few hours (or 13ish) earlier than my usual update- but it is the update for Sunday. I just don't want to get up that early on New Year's, so you get to read it early. Have fun with it! :)

Otherwise...

Enjoy!

Chap. 6 Mutant Melee

The smell of the old house was intense, but nothing that airing it out wouldn't at least help with, Duncan thought. Almost two weeks after he'd first arrived in Big Town, he'd been allowed to enter. At first, he'd been unconscious. He could hardly fault Red, MacReady, and Princess for wanting to keep him out of the ramshackle dwelling then, especially once he found out just how irradiated he'd been. Frankly, he was lucky he hadn't melted into goo.

The last week, however, had been taken up with other things. He had joined a scav team, lead by a gun-happy man named Flash, to the southwest to pick through the ruins for decent-condition furniture. That had taken almost three full days, since they'd had to lug a couch, a bed (with an almost-clean mattress Flash was jealous of), a kitchen table, three chairs- one of which was missing a leg- and an ancient refrigerator all by cart. That, of course, had to be drawn by hand, because Big Town, while one of the largest settlements in the area, did not have a large Brahmin stock. They just couldn't afford the risk to their meat and milk supply.

Another couple of days had been spent extending Big Town's wall in that direction. That had been a project Duncan was happy to help with, since it allowed him to work with his hands and start re-developing callouses there... no matter how much the blisters hurt.

They hadn't had to move it far, they could have gotten away with just walling in Duncan's new home, but MacReady had decided that they'd need room to expand soon anyway, so they may as well move the wall to cover the entire section of town. It had the only intact roads anyway, and the homes were in some of the best condition, despite not being much lived in over the last two centuries.

And that was something Duncan was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around. It could have just been a mistake in calculation, he knew, but something about the certainty the Big Towners used when telling him the date told him they weren't wrong, and they weren't lying. He really had been asleep for a little over two hundred years.

That his family and friends were all gone was, while painful, not so difficult to understand. He'd at least known the faces, if not the names, of several people in the neighborhood he'd grown up in. He knew their houses even better.
Seeing the blasted, burned-out remnants of the town had brought home the fact that they were gone like nothing else could have. Once it had sunk in, anyway, and that had taken a while.

Still, rather than being in an unprotected house on the outskirts of town to the east of the town hall, the wall now stretched around twelve more houses than it had, and extended all the way to the rocky area on the edge of the Potomac's former course. Now, that course was twenty feet below and thirty feet out from the old shore. Duncan wasn't complaining about losing the riverfront property, though, given how much two quick dunks had irradiated him. Avoiding it completely sounded like a good idea, in fact, so being that extra thirty feet away sounded great.

As Duncan's eyes adjusted to the gloom, Red, who seemed to have taken more than a passing liking to the young man, waited patiently behind him, both just inside the door. "You recognize anything?"

He waited a bit longer to make sure he wouldn't miss much, then nodded. "The clock, the picture frame, even the fireplace. It's definitely the same place. They're long gone now, though."

Duncan heard Red shifting behind him as if she wanted to say something, but didn't know what. He ignored her, though, and stepped further into his new home. The couch before the fireplace and the aged television, which looked to have been shot several times, would both have to go. The fireplace, if it was usable, would help in the cold winters. Maybe it would be worth climbing up and checking the flue.

Duncan moved next into the kitchen, frowning. It stunk even worse in here, as if...

Yep, something had died. A giant cockroach, as long as his forearm, appared to have gotten stuck in the door of the old fridge. The old Whirltool appliance had probably stopped working properly long before, but apparently it was still used for food storage, and the roach had been able to get in, somehow, only to get stuck on the way out.

He shuddered. Duncan was well used to roaches, but this one... well, it was huge! But at least it was dead, and he couldn't hear any others creeping around. No way something the size of a large cat would be as quiet as the inch-long ones he'd been familiar with before. "All this crap's gotta go," he said, mostly to himself, but Red nodded.

"Yeah, I'll get Kimba to organize a team and help you move stuff out. I'll be right back. You'd probably have to pay people to clean if you want, though. Nobody'd do that stuff for free."

Duncan nodded, already debating that himself. In the end, it came down to cost. He knew he was all right, financially, since he had more than a hundred caps and the house would be rent-free. It also wasn't like there were utilities or anything else to pay for. But how much would it cost to hire someone for more than a month to keep his house clean? What if it took longer to find Amber and bring her back here? If she even wants to come back, he mused. It's not like I have any claim to her. She barely knows me. Maybe that's why it's been so hard to find her. Maybe I remind her of Cheryl because she was Taylor's friend. Or maybe I'm just the annoying kid who hated her brother. But I gotta try. Don't I?

With one hand on his pistol, Duncan carefully pulled open the fridge, dreading seeing more of the things crawling around. And smelling the rot, of course.

But it was clear of insects, only the foot-tall mushrooms- a florescent red- growing out of a pile of decomposed foodstuffs greeted him.

Well, that, and the roach falling on his foot. It didn't hurt, exactly, but there were things he'd rather have touching him than a giant roach, even through his boot. He kicked it aside, and, in frustration, slammed the door shut. There was a quiet poof from inside the fridge, but Duncan ignored it.

Checking the cupboards and small pantry, he found several dishes for both cooking and eating, most of which was in decent shape. The glass and metal had weathered the centuries well. They were, however, uniformly filthy. More work to do.

Moving on, Duncan passed a small bathroom with actual water in the toilet, though the sink and tub were both broken. Tentatively, he pushed the lever. It flushed.

Inwardly, Duncan was already cheering, though he only let a small smile show. If the Big Towners knew I had a working toilet, MacReady would have this house for his own in a heartbeat.

He'd been spending the last few days at the Mayor and Princess' house, after all, and knew they had only a small, smelly outhouse- much like the rest of the town.

Past the bathroom and it's cracked, if functional, mirror, Duncan found three bedrooms. Two were smaller, obviously for guests or children. The left had been Ozzie's room, and for several minutes, he allowed himself to become lost in memories of playing board games on the floor, leafing through a girlie mag before his nosy sister had come in and found them. That had resulted in a rather severe punishment for both of them, and the confiscation of Ozzie's entire stash.

Lost in memories, Duncan carefully rooted around behind the bed for the loose section of wall. Something in the wall itself skittered away, but he paid it no mind.
There!

Grinning, Duncan withdrew his hand. Seven magazines, including the ever-popular Cat's Paw, and the less-well-known Playtime, High-Riser, and Showcase. A snicker from the doorway made Duncan drop the faded magazines, blushing furiously.

Red was standing there giggling at him, with one hand hiding her mouth. "If you found those that quick, I guess I have to believe your story, don't I? Unless you're just using the male instinct to find them?"

Duncan scowled and turned away. She'd intended it in all fun, no doubt. Educated or not, Red was a woman with a good sense of humor who didn't take life- aside from medicine- too seriously. But she'd inadvertently reminded him of Taylor, when she'd interrupted he and his cousin in looking at his earlier stash.

And reminders of his sister were things he did not need.

"I just had to check. To make sure... I wasn't crazy."

She nodded, suddenly solemn. "Hey, Duncan... you know, you don't need that crap. If you want some company, all you have to do is ask."

Blushing even harder, he shook his head rapidly. "No! I mean... no. I... you're really pretty and all, Red, but... I just can't."

It was her turn to frown, though she did so with a sigh. "That friend of yours is a bit more than a friend, huh?"

Duncan froze. He'd certainly considered it. Amber was, after all, very pretty, and he was fourteen... well, two hundred and twenty-four, but who was counting? But would she even be interested? "I... no. She's not."

Red rolled her eyes, sighed again, and said in a would-be-casual tone, "Well, when you're done poking around, Kimba's got a team on the way to help you move things in and out. Cleaning you'll have to do yourself, 'cause I've got to get back to the clinic. Still, if things don't work out with your friend... You're a pretty cute guy, and not nearly as dumb as everyone else around here."

"Uh... t- thanks?"

How did you take a 'compliment' like that, anyway?

Still, even as Duncan finally started moving to pick up the scattered magazines, he heard Red mumbling about all the good men being taken before the door to the home shut unnecessarily loudly.

Working on auto-pilot, Duncan never even noticed he was still carrying around the stack of mags when he entered the master bedroom. Instead, he casually put them on the dresser and started going through the drawers of the large, wooden furniture. Likely, he would keep that.

It wasn't in perfect shape, but seemed to work fine. The drawers each slid out fairly easily, and seemed sturdy enough. The clothes, though, were moth-eaten or worse. They'd all have to go.

In the closet next to the dresser was a similar situation. Two dresses- that might fit Amber if he ever had cause to give them to her- and one business suit he distinctly remembered Ozzie's dad wearing once (it was hard to forget puke-green clothing) were all that remained, though he could see tatters of cloth piled high on the closet floor; the remains of less-durable outfits.

The bed was large, and comfortable enough (though it had long since been stripped of blankets), but there was the slight problem of the human-sized bloodstains on both sides. Nope, it had to go. The frame was stury enough, though, so he could probably keep that instead of the other, rusty one they'd scavenged. Maybe use a mattress from... no, not Ozzie's room. He knew why the mag stash had been so close to his bed, after all. Maybe from his sister's room. Two twins would fit a king sized frame, right?

Duncan sighed. Either way, there was a lot of work to do before he could leave Big Town after Amber.

(O)(O)(O)

Duncan flopped onto the bed, exhausted. The king-sized frame was leaning up against the wall, so he was on the usable twin bed they'd combined with the new (relatively) mattress and Ozzie's old frame. His sister's mattress had been infested with large rodents, so he was left with really only this one option. Sooner or later, though, he knew he'd be able to find or buy a second twin or a king-sized mattress to go on the larger frame.

The rest of the house was, while not clean, about five hundred times better than it had been. The 'new' furniture was moved in- the bed had been the last thing- and he'd arranged for Pest, who was apparently Kimba's little sister, to clean his house weekly. If she did a good job while he was gone (or if he didn't return in six months), she'd be allowed to live there while he was gone as well. That had been the teenage girl's idea; she felt her older sister's home was 'stifling' and 'restrictive'. Privately, Duncan wondered how the girl even knew such words. She'd probably picked them up from Bittercup, the craziest person- including Raiders- Duncan had yet to meet since leaving Vault One-Hundred.

Still, even the new fridge looked like it'd work, if he had power. The home's nuclear power source- installed before Ozzie's family had ever moved in- was gone, entirely missing. Doubtless it had survived, but someone had taken it instead. Duncan didn't have the know-how to hook up a new one if he found one, but there was probably someone in Big Town who did. Or maybe he could tie in to someone else's power... it wasn't like he would be around much lately.
How hard could it be to run a power line?
Maybe he could even get the old water heater, which he vaguely remembered had been electric, up and running. Maybe.

Duncan sighed. It had been a really long couple of days. But now his backpack was once again ready for life on the road, and he had an official base of operations... or at least a place to crash when he got tired of wandering around looking for Amber. Maybe even a place to bring her back to. A part of Duncan couldn't even believe his luck. He'd started out with practically nothing. In the hole, even, considering what he'd lost.
Yet here he was, not even out of the Vault for a month, with a home- crappy and ancient as it was, it was still his- and enough money- caps- to pay for at least a month's worth of cleaning and upkeep. Maybe he'd be able to make it after all, in this crazy, deadly new world.

A sense of profound relief washed over him at the thought.

For the first time since he'd woken, Duncan actually allowed himself to relax.

As he slowly sank into the bed, his mind began to replay images, mostly of the last few days, but some from ages past.

Red, hitting on him. Or at least propositioning him. She was indeed pretty, if way too tall for him. Bittercup, despite being a nutcase, was smoking hot in a petite way, and she'd come on stronger even than Red when he'd first started moving in.

If it hadn't been for Flash, and Pappy, and Timebomb's warnings about the girl, he'd probably have given in... and come out with some sort of disease.

There were also images of Daniella, the girl he'd thought he wanted to marry way back when. She'd been very nice, and while not extremely pretty, cute in a quiet way. She was probably gone now.

Of course, Amber. He barely knew her, true, but Vault-suits didn't exactly leave a lot to the imagination as far as figure went, and she had a great one. The fact that her eyes were his favorite shade of honey-brown didn't hurt, and that she at least had seemed to like him...

And of course, the girly mags. Some long-faded memories from the first time, when they'd been caught by his sister, and the newer glimpses he'd caught when Red had seen him pulling them out from the wall.

When Duncan woke the next day, there was a wet spot on the mattress, and a sticky mess in his new (purchased from Kimba, who ran the local 'store', mostly as a go-between for the town and the various trade caravans) black jeans. He still hadn't been able to find underwear.

He groaned in frustration as the early morning light filtered in through the still-boarded-up window. His morning condition was still going strong, so it must have been a while ago that he'd made the mess.
At least, he thought with a faint smile, the dreams- mostly featuring Amber- had been worth it, even if the guilt he felt at thinking about her that way didn't help.

With a sigh, he stripped down to the skin and stepped into the bathroom, reveling in the privacy afforded by having his own place. He could walk from the bedroom to the bathroom totally naked without any worries someone would see the sticky, drying goo around his crotch. And that, he thought, was a wonderful thing.

The ancient sponge and tepid (but supposedly rad-free) water in the bucket that Princess had- with great relish- given him as a 'house warming gift' were not so clean when he finished with his quick sponge-bath.
Sure, it wasn't a hot shower with soap and shampoo, but it left him cleaner than he'd been since... well, probably since he'd left his Medi-Lounger.

Of course, his 'exciting' night combined with washing himself carefully did nothing to help his 'condition'.
In fact, if anything, by the time he was done cleaning himself he was worse off.
Duncan gave another frustrated sigh before dropping the sponge into the bucket- it sloshed slightly onto the floor- then taking himself in hand.

He hadn't gotten very far, aiming himself into the toilet, before he remembered...

He could make this go much faster with a little visual aid.

The fact that he could then not feel guilty for thinking about Amber while rubbing one out was just a bonus.

Mind made up (besides, it was just after dawn, he had time...), Duncan quickly strode back to the bedroom, still idly stroking himself.

The stack was just where he'd left them, on the dresser. He grabbed two, which both happened to be Cat's Paws, and moved over to sit on the bed.

The pictures, while faded by the passing of many years, were still visible enough for his fourteen-year-old (was that even true, any more?) mind.

As a result, it didn't take long for the gooey mess to splatter all over one of the pages of the magazine, covering the red-head's face and tits.

He groaned in satisfaction and fell to the side, panting, for a few minutes before picking himself up, grabbing the sponge from the bathroom, and cleaning the mess. The long-dead red-head was really hot, and he'd probably enjoy doing this again later. Worth saving the image.

When Duncan actually got around to leaving Big Town an hour after dawn, there was no one to see him off.

That was probably a good thing, since if they had, they would probably have wondered what changed since the night before, when he'd been so grim and tired, and this morning's apparently chipper, stress-free Duncan.

(O)(O)(O)

Unfortunately, Duncan's good mood did not last long.

He had just finished crossing the bridge north across the Potomac, since Dusty had told him two days previously that the Brotherhood of Steel often crossed the river here and followed the north side as the river turned south to skip some of the more dangerous territory between Big Town and the town of Megaton, their last stop before going to their home base, which they called The Citadel.

Part of him thought it would be better for him to take the riskier, faster route, but his gut told him he'd find Amber sooner if he just traced their path.

But, as the green, caustic substance sizzled and hissed as it lay on the section of road Duncan had just about stepped onto, Duncan had to wonder if this was really the right choice. He hadn't even seen what-

There.

He'd already seen Deathclaws, zombies- what the Big Towners had called ghouls- giant flies, and crab-monsters. But this... this was a horror beyond any of them.

It was like a monster straight out of a nineteen-sixties horror film, only far more grotesque. It appeared to be stitched together from several different bodies, in a Frankenstein-ish way, but there didn't seem to be any stitching at all. It was as if the creature had grown using eight hands- not feet- for legs, with three two-foot tentacles for tongues, which lashed angrily back and forth. And, of course, the gob of green acid it had just spat at him.

"What the fuck are you?" he asked, more to himself than the creature. It didn't respond verbally anyway while he pulled his pistol from the holster and took aim.

Human-like face or not, it had still tried to attack him, and, whatever it was, it was not human any more.

Not, Duncan thought as he crouched to steady his aim, that being human would stop me any more... it wouldn't be the first one I'd killed.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three rounds all struck the thing's torso. He saw the flesh ripple, bleed slightly, and then close up through muscular action. One bullet, he saw, had even gone completely through it's ribcage to strike the road behind it. That larger hole did the same thing.

Crap. Now what?

Just before another gob of acid hit him, Duncan rolled to the side, abandoning his pistol for the moment. However, his bad luck continued to ride. The acidic attack had landed directly on top of the pistol, which, even keeping one eye on his attacker, Duncan could see immediately start to corrode and melt at high speed.

"Damn it," he groused, "That was my dad's! That's it... you're dead, whatever you are."

Fortunately, the thing, which continued to spit the goo at him while it approached, didn't cover ground very quickly, despite it's several arm-legs. They didn't appear to be very well coordinated. As a result, it was pretty simple for Duncan to turn and run backwards to gain some distance, occasionally lunging left or right as he went to keep it from hitting him with it's acid.

Fifty feet further back, Duncan stopped and turned, catching his breath for a moment, before shrugging off his backpack and pulling off the large, green cylinder, which was folded in half, before snapping it together and bringing it to his shoulder.

As soon as he'd done so, another hand idly reached into the depths of the pack and pulled out a smaller, red-tipped and finned cylinder, before sliding it into the larger one.

Glad he appeared to be out of the beast's range- he didn't want the acid destroying his backpack-, Duncan crouched once again and waited while the targeting system loaded.

As soon as the reticle appeared, he lined it up on the thing's feet and pulled the trigger.

With wide eyes, knowing he was about to see something he'd always wanted to as a boy, Duncan tried to memorize every detail of the smoke trail, the explosion- he'd hit dead-on, right below the thing- and even the gobs of bleeding flesh that scattered in every direction.

Heh... this rocket launcher was totally worth everything I traded for it!

Good mood restored for the moment, Duncan disassembled the launcher and put his backpack back on. Casually, he reached for his pistol, wanting to be ready in case he was attacked again, only to remember...

Damn. His father's nine-millimeter pistol was worthless, now. It wasn't likely even a spring survived, much less the ammunition. The clip had melted to slag.

But Duncan was not the type to mope around, he would much rather be moving. So, last memento of his father or not, the young man shrugged, set his face in stern expression (he hoped), and tried to decide what weapon he'd be using until he could pick up another pistol.

I have that baseball bat, the laser rifle but not much ammunition. The rocket launcher's awesome, but those missiles are expensive. Even with the bunch I picked up by the crab-thing, I don't want to waste them.

By the time Duncan had settled on the double-barreled shotgun he'd picked up from the woman who had almost killed the Deathclaw, it was past noon. Unfortunately, before he could reach for the squirrel-sticks Red had packed for him (Duncan was surprised, the first time, how tasty the stringy meat was. Rather like jerky, plus the occasional patch of fur), the sound of a crying woman caught his attention.

Hell. Can I get a break? Please?

Only after he asked the question did Duncan realize two things. Both that he sounded very whiny for just a moment (if only in his head), and that he had just come off a break. One almost a week long.

His shoulders heaving in a massive sigh, Duncan drew the shotgun with his right hand and tightened the straps on his backpack with his left as he moved toward the only structure nearby, which, coincidentally, lay in the same direction from which he'd heard the crying.

As he closed on the dilapidated church (almost all of the roof and about a third of the walls were completely gone), Duncan noticed an old, weather-beaten and sun-faded sign. Hallowed Moors Cemetary and Church.

"Huh. Didn't they bury like, six Presidents here before the War?"

"I hear you... I hear you! Stop hiding!"

Duncan froze in his tracks. That... that was not a friendly voice. It sounded, more or less, human. It spoke English, anyway. But it was somehow wrong. Not in the same sense that the many-limbed creature had been, but just as wrong all the same.

Worse, he could hear foot steps. Heavy ones, approaching his direction.

Whatever it was had about the mass of a Deathclaw.
But they were, by all accounts (except wild stories from the west) unintelligent, incapable of speech of any kind.

The thing stopped on the other side of the sign, not five feet from Duncan's crouching form. His heart hammering in his chest, the young man waited for it to notice him. Doubtless, it wouldn't be that hard to hear his heartbeat, as loud as it was.

However, the creature, after several tense seconds, grumble to itself, "Ah well. I was hopin' for a fight..." before shuffling away.

It took thirty seconds for Duncan to work up the nerve to peek his head around the worn sign.

At once, he jerked back, moments before a high-caliber bullet whistled past him. The same voice yelled, "Found you! Ha ha ha ha!", just before the heavy thud of boots sprinted towards his position.

"Super Mutant. It's gotta be... it's almost human, but... oh hell. No time for debates, Maddox, get your ass moving!"

Just before the rifle-bearing freak came around the sign, Duncan whipped around the far side. "Hey, where you go, puny human? I hungry!"

He was unable to repress the shudder. Apparently, Raiders weren't the only ones that ate people around here. As quietly as he could, Duncan crossed the length of the sign again and raised his shotgun to fire, point-blank, at the creature's mostly unprotected back.

The report was loud, and the kickback significantly stronger than either his pistol or even the rocket launcher. It threw him onto his back, which probably saved his life.

Because the Super Mutant- Duncan was certain this was one of them- was not even staggered by the several pellets shredding into it's back. The meaty fist that swung around in a backhand would have taken off his head, had he not been too low for that.
As it was, it punched a whole right through the sign, knocking even the four-by-four board holding it up flying away.

For just a moment, Duncan's viewpoint froze. Adrenalin was suddenly playing heavily with his perceptions, to the point where it seemed the Mutant was moving extremely slowly, frame-by-frame rather than in 'play'. He took a moment to analyze his opponent, glad both for the extra time he seemed to have been granted, and the detachment the sudden influx of chemicals into his brain granted him.

Violence was always easier when you didn't worry about the results.

The shotgun barrel came up again, this time centered just below the thing's throat.

When he pulled the second trigger, the thick-tendoned, yellowish flesh ripped away, forcing the thing backwards several steps before it regained it's balance.

"Holy shit," he groused, rolling over, backpack still on, to bring himself to his feet quickly. "Is nothing around here gonna die with just one shot?"

"Ow... neck hurt!"

The Mutant had dropped it's rifle, bringing both hands up to it's shredded neck.

It glared hatefully at Duncan for a moment, before keeling over onto it's back, twitching a few times, and then laying mostly still, though it's chest continued to rise and fall rapidly, laboriously.

"Sorry," he said to it as he walked up, "I don't take kindly to things trying to eat me."

The Mutant, if it understood him at all, didn't respond. The hatred didn't fade from it's eyes even after Duncan reloaded and stowed his shotgun, and took the baseball bat he'd kept from the three Raider sisters, smashing the thing's face several times, until it was unrecognizable.

It was several minutes before Duncan was able to calm down. The brief stint of ultra-violence over, he felt instead a great wash of fatigue. He could see why no one seemed to live out in the middle of nowhere. Banding together was probably the only way your average person could survive. Being alone, out in the wastes, was a good way to die.

He heard the crying again.

With a groan, Duncan pushed himself up off his knees, grabbing the monster's hunting rifle- a thirty-aught-six, he thought, and a different caliber than his own, or any ammunition he had- before checking it's magazine.

Three shots, and the Mutant hadn't any more that he could see. In fact, aside from the gun itself, most of it's gear would be useless to him. The boots, even, were cobbled together from several smaller ones. Still, the rifle had penetrating power his shotgun apparently hadn't. He strapped the smaller weapon to his pack again and loosened the strap on his own rifle. It would probably serve him better for now once the larger rifle was empty than his shotgun.

Because the sinking in Duncan's gut told him there were more of these things around.

"Fuck," he whispered, ducking back behind the entryway of the church.

His first glance was enough. There had been three of the green-skinned hulks in there, and one of them, he was sure, had a minigun. He was wielding the squad-support weapon easily, like it weighed almost nothing, and gesturing for the two mutants- both smaller than him- to get the woman on the far end of the building 'ready to dip', whatever that meant.

The woman only began to cry harder, begging for release, or for them to just kill her and eat her.

Whatever 'dipping' meant, it must have been bad.

He couldn't just let her suffer that fate, could he?
Placing his own rifle on the ground so he could pick it up quickly, with the safety already off, he moved into position. The minigun would probably go right through the ancient wood of the church, so he'd have to do this from a prone position. More stability for his shooting would only help.

Duncan took a deep breath, still low to the ground, and moved eight inches to the right.

Sight, Aim a little lower for the kick, Exhale, Trigger.

Boom. Another headshot.

Duncan couldn't stop the malicious grin from spreading over his face as he watched the closest Mutant, one of the smaller ones, head explode.

Of course, that didn't stop him from moving. He had already ducked back behind the door when the mutants turned their bulbous, no-necked heads toward his door.
The larger, more brutish one, growled. "You find him! I guard female human."

"I kill!" the other mutant answered, before sprinting to the far side of the church and firing into the distance.

Duncan had several seconds to wonder just how stupid these things were while it unloaded the clip from it's own rifle into the waste.

"I kill him!" the smaller Mutant- small being a relative term, since Duncan was sure it was over eight feet tall- said cheerfully.

"Good. Get ready for-"

The brute was interrupted by Duncan's rifle this time, since his body blocked the young man's view of the smaller mutant. The heavy bullet tore into his back just below the neck, and when the larger mutant turned to his position, he was able to see the nine-inch hole it had torn in his torso as it exited.

"We are unstoppable!" it groaned, raising the minigun.

In horror, Duncan had to wonder if that was true. There was no way a human could survive a hole that large in the center of it's chest. But despite the copious amounts of blood pouring from the hole, it seemed to be standing tall.

The smaller one lumbered from behind the larger, raising it's rifle like a club over it's head, as the minigun began to spool up.

Again, for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still.

Bang.

The smaller mutant fell back, rifle spinning end-over-end, a clean wound going in it's right eye, taking most of it's head with it as the bullet ricocheted around in it's skull before leaving out the top.

Tracer rounds began to flash from the minigun's six barrels, moving toward him no faster than a thrown rock.

Duncan had time, since the thing's aim was high and to it's left, to fire off the last round of the larger rifle before throwing himself left, prone on the ground.

He didn't see what he'd struck, but heard it, and heard the monster grunt with pain.

"That's it, human. I was gonna kill you quick, but now you get to suffer!"

Despite the gaping hole in it's torso, the thing was quick, far faster than the smaller one had been. It was to the doorway before Duncan had grabbed and raised his own rifle.

All he'd be able to hit would be it's feet, it was just too close. His torso didn't bend that far up.

Suddenly, he was jerked up into the air.

The brute had grabbed his backpack one-handed and hauled him up with no more difficulty than his dad had picked Taylor up when she was one.
Rancid, fetid breath washed over Duncan. The thing's teeth, twice the size of a normal person's, were green and rotting. That probably didn't help. Nor, he thought for a moment, did the bits of flesh stuck in them.
"It's dipping for you. You tough... I make you suffer. You be one of us!"

An involuntary shudder rushed through him. So that's what 'dipping' was. It was somehow related to making more of the Super Mutants.

Duncan could see, now, why the woman had preferred to be eaten. "You're forgetting something, chum," he growled, doing his best to sound intimidating when his feet were dangling two and a half feet off the ground.

"What that, little human?"

"You didn't take my gun away."

The beast looked downward to the space between them just in time to catch his rifle's bullet in the mouth.

The thirty-aught might have been a larger bullet, and a soft-tip to increase flesh damage, but his

.308 rounds were jacketed for penetration. It wasn't quite as large a hole, but it ripped clean through the thing's skull from top to bottom and front to back without losing much in the way of speed. In fact, the bullet was still moving rapidly when it struck the bell in the church's steeple with a loud clang.

"We... are... the..." it moaned, already slumping to the ground.

It was a testament to the thing's determination and strength that Duncan was deposited almost gently on his feet, rather than dropped like any human would have been with a bullet to it's brain.

"Hey, you! Can you help me, please? I don't want to get dipped! Thank you for killing those things, but I can't get out, I'm tied up!"

Duncan was brought out of his adrenaline-rush by the woman's worried, terrified voice.
"Hold on," he answered, "I gotta check for any more real quick. Just sit tight."

She immediately started sobbing about how cruel he was to kill the mutants but leave her tied up.

The woman was still crying while Duncan vomited three times upon coming across the netting-bags of mixed meat-and-bones (he was sure most came from humans), which had, apparently, been left to rot in the sun judging by the smell.

She was laying on her side on a cardboard 'bed', whimpering, when he sneaked in through the hole at the back of the church the second smaller Mutant had unloaded his clip through. The area was clear, he could afford to relax just a little, get the woman free.

"Hold on," he said quietly, "I'm untying you now. Don't freak out."

She froze. "Are... are you a Raider?"

Duncan spat in indignation, "Hell no!" he yelled, "I'm not a Raider. I'm not raping you and killing you, am I?"

As the ropes fell away under the newly sharpened edge of his combat knife, the woman jerked away, crab-walking back to hide in the church's small bathroom. "Are you?"

Her voice trembled.

Duncan took a few moments to watch her calmly as he slipped the knife back into it's booth sheath. She was tall, almost as tall as him, but not as tall as Red by a long shot. Her skin was even darker, almost black, but her hair was silver-white. Despite that, the woman didn't seem to be very old, maybe a couple years older than him. Her clothing was ratty and worn, and she was unarmed. Likely, she wouldn't last long if he didn't help her out more. But then again... Big Town wasn't far away, just across the river, and he'd just killed what lay between them...
But no. He had survived largely through the generosity of others.

He would have to help her out as much as he could.

"Look, my name's Duncan. I'm not gonna hurt you. What's your name?"

"S- Stitch."

Another odd name.
"Where you from, Stitch?"

"South. I came from The Citadel."
Duncan nodded, "Heard of it, never been. You one of the Brotherhood?"

She nodded, "Is that a problem?"

He shook his head. "I came from... from way before the day before yesterday."

The woman giggled. It was a pleasant enough sound, but Duncan, for the first time, seemed not to be interested in the woman physically.
Maybe he was finally getting used to his hormones, and not every woman he came across would make him think... well, about that.
He stood, offering a hand. She flinched back, but took it hesitantly as he approached. "I'm really not going to hurt you," he said as he pulled her to her feet.
She winced, then staggered, clearly she'd been tied up for a long time, given the welts on her wrists and ankles, and the swelling in her hands and feet.

"Let's get you some gear so you can survive the trip, then I'm gonna get you on your way."

She nodded. "The Muties, they took all my stuff. I was able to salvage a few chems. You can have them for saving me, if you want."

He shook his head. Chems weren't his thing. "No, you keep them. You'll probably need them more. Listen... help me search the church, okay? I don't wanna be here if any of those things come back from a patrol or whatever.

She nodded, suddenly worried.

Several minutes later, Duncan, with a great deal of trepidation, packed another Micro-Nuke into his backpack, padding it from the other with a Big Book of Science he'd found in the podium.

The rifle the smaller Mutant had emptied into the wastes Duncan had given the woman, who had explained it was actually hers. On that same monstrosity, they had found twenty-six rounds, which she loaded happily, before throwing the strap over her shoulder. "Had a plasma pistol, but the thing broke. That's how I got caught, I'd have fought to the death if I could. Bastards killed the rest of my patrol. Even with our Power Armor and good weapons, we just got... overwhelmed."

That threw Duncan for a loop. The things were stronger than a Power Armor wearing soldier? "Wait, you mentioned a patrol. Was it a patrol that had a civilian girl? Brown hair, Vault-suit, number one hundred?"

She shook her head, "No, but I saw that convoy about a week ago. They were heading east. We relayed new orders for them before they headed back home. They had a brunette with them, but she wasn't wearing a Vault-suit that I saw."

Nodding, Duncan pressed, "Where were they headed? It had to be her."

The woman's eyes narrowed, "Look, man, I'm grateful for you saving my ass, but I can't give away military secrets like mission orders."

"I don't give a damn about your mission!" he suddenly shouted, "I just want to find my friend!"

Ignoring the rifle the woman had suddenly leveled at him, he threw the object- he thought distantly it might have been a dose of Psycho- at the nearest wall. It shattered.

"Calm down. I'd hate to have to shoot my savior."

The woman's stern tone helped bring him back from the madness he could feel creeping in.
It had all been too much.

Everything that had happened since that enjoyable afternoon in the arcade...

But for now, he was still himself.
"Sorry. I just... she's the only thing I have left from home. I just have to find her. Please?"

The soldier shrugged, "Whatever. Even if you can fight, I doubt you'd be able to take on a whole patrol or threaten our op anyway. They're headed to reinforce the Canterbury Trading Post. It's had several large raider attacks lately."

Duncan smiled, "Thanks. So... where's the Post?"

It took her the remaining twenty minutes they spent searching the church (Duncan was very happy to see her come out with six frag grenades- three of which she gave to him) to give him directions he thought he might be able to follow.

As he and Stitch parted ways, he to the east and the soldier to the south, Duncan's good mood was once again restored.

No more idle wandering... he had a real, solid lead, and a definite trail.

I'm coming, Amber. Hold on.

A/N2: You like? Let me know!

Stitch will have some small bearing on the story much later, but is a minor character overall. Yes, she's a 'wasteland captive', but... there's no mention of where said captives do or do not come from. It's entirely possible a BoS patrol could get overwhelmed. In fact, that's likely, given how skilled some of the more advanced Mutants (Masters, Overlords, etc) are with energy weapons.

The bit about dead presidents... purely fanon (as far as I know). Hallowed Moors doesn't seem to exist in real life, at least as far as my cursory check revealed, so I doubt there's real presidents buried there. And no, it's not important at all.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing these events? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma! And EVERYONE loves good karma! (Don't they?)