A/N: Heh, as longas the last chapter- this one's 11(ish) pages too. Might even make it worth the wait between them. :) Some good things (rare, aren't they?) happen for Duncan this time- even though he's not sure about most of them at the time.
And yes, the title is another powerful hint as to what... but no, we won't be seeing Amber for a few more chapters yet. :)
Enjoy!
Edit: Apologies... but it's not my fault. This chapter was a decent length (5+pgs) before I finished it off, I could have posted as-is. However, due to FFnet not allowing me to even log on (or respond to reviews, so sorry about the delays there... or favorite stories, etc etc...) I haven't been able to post. Totally not my fault, though I still apologize. I'll have it up ASAP.
Chap. 7 Not so Lonesome Dove
Duncan had only left the Hallowed Moors cemetery and the Brotherhood soldier he'd freed behind ten minutes before when he, quite literally, ran into trouble again.
He'd just skirted a small rock formation, and put his hand on a stumpy tree to peek around it in an effort to not be caught unawares by any more of the Super Mutants he'd seen around the cemetery.
Unfortunately for him, it was at that precise moment that the tree moved.
"Tong, you feel that?"
The voice was low, guttural, and right above Duncan. It wasn't quite the same as any of the other Mutant's screams, but he knew right away that it was, indeed, one of the same 'species'. He withdrew his hand at once and started crab-walking backwards with one hand, while drawing his shotgun with the other.
Whoever or whatever "Tong" was, Duncan didn't want to know. Fortunately for him, the Mutant he'd touched was facing the other direction, and the contact had been light enough that it didn't apparently register as a threat... for the moment, at least.
"You find it, Tong. Find what touch leg. Kill!"
Duncan was only about five, maybe six, feet away when the command was uttered. At once, he rolled over, rose to his feet, and started sprinting away around the rocks.
"I see you, human! Tong and Mash will eat your hands!"
Fortunately, the Mutant didn't seem to be armed with any of the ranged weapons those he'd met earlier had. At least, there were no gunshots as he made a tactical withdrawal.
Duncan flew past a small chimney in the rocks, paused, and jerked back into it before using the narrow sides to shimmy upwards. If he could get up out of the reach of Mash and Tongs, he might just be able to handle them both easily...
He made it. The Mutant had only just come around that edge of the rocks, with a wooden board covered in nails on one end, when Duncan's last leg slithered up out of the chimney onto the top of the rocks. Duncan risked glancing over, but withdrew his head at once. The nail-board had crashed into the rocks less than six inches below his face.
He was up above the Mutant, yes, but if it started climbing... or if it had any kind of ranged weapon, he was probably a dead man.
"Tong! Human go up high! You spit at him!"
Crap... spit? Is it one of those... those things again?
Duncan groaned when he saw the pink, fleshy hands and long tongues of the creature come into view next to the Mutant. At once, it hissed passed it's six tongues- three more, he noted, than the first one he'd seen had- and began hacking and coughing, as if it's throat was full of phlegm.
Duncan only just ducked in time; this one launched it's acidic goo quite a lot faster than his previous encounter with the hideously mutated creatures had. As it was, he could still hear and feel a light sizzle that small droplets had made on the shoulder of his new (very relatively new) t-shirt. It was probably beyond worthless, now. He should just suck it up and find some good armor, like what Kimba or Dusty had... if he lived long enough to do so.
"Tong, you spit bad. I show you how!"
Duncan would have laughed at the Mutant's attempt to hit him with it's own loogie, were he a little more experienced. But he wasn't, and wasn't quite sure if the thing could spit the same kind of acid. So he took cover, only to grimace at himself, glad no one was watching, when an audible splat struck the rock several feet below him. "That how! You spit that way, Tong!"
The creature, whatever it was, gave a low whine, and spit again. This time, the goo sailed clear over Duncan's prone form, far enough he didn't even hear it land. Wow. I'm glad the first one didn't have that kind of range... I'd have been toast!
Come to think, I might still be. I can't use the rocket launcher at this range, I'm out of rounds for the big rifle, and my pistol barely even hurt the last one. Would... the shotgun work?
It was worth a try; it wasn't like Duncan had many more options. He loaded two shells after unsnapping it from it's holster-strap and moved up to a crouch. He wanted to be able to duck out, fire, and duck back before the pink monstrosity could draw a bead at him.
It wasn't like the thing seemed to be running out of it's green saliva- or whatever- anyway.
Safety off... right. Aim low... Bang.
He'd missed, but had also unloaded both barrels. A moment before he ducked back, he was pleased to see both the pink thing and the Mutant get a face full of buckshot. At least the green one staggered slightly.
"That it! Human die now! Tong, you climb up and eat human! No more spitting! It spit hurts more!"
Duncan snorted. It truly was stupid... in a way. Obviously, it was smart enough to communicate with the... thing. It could give orders, if crude ones. It even had a rudimentary grasp of tactics. But it hadn't yet figured out it could probably climb up itself.
Still, several slapping sounds were heard, and Duncan frowned. It almost sounded like the hands were coming up the...
Oh shit. It is climbing up!
Frantically looking around, the former Vault-dweller scanned the rocks. It was about twelve feet on a side, and the lowest drop- the far side- was about nine feet. He would, if necessary, be able to jump down and run, as long as he came down safely. Or...
Or you can use the advantages you have. Buckshot at range hurts, but buckshot at close range disintegrates. That's what you said, right, dad?
Resolutely, hoping this plan wouldn't get him killed, Duncan reloaded the shotgun, ready to give the thing both barrels from a lot closer this time.
He peeked out over the chimney once, about five seconds later, and jerked back again. It was almost all the way up, moving faster than he had. Apparently the hands were better suited for vertical movement than horizontal.
Duncan took two steps back, crouched again, and aimed. As soon as the head appeared...
Boom.
The double-crack of the shotgun made Duncan jerk backwards again, though he was more prepared and didn't fall. A moment later, a soft, wet thump was heard.
"Tong! You not dead! I not let you be dead! You my friend, Mutant's best friend!"
The tone made Duncan pause.
Clearly, despite the animalistic, almost bestial nature he'd seen in the Super Mutants so far, they were still capable- somewhat, anyway- of feeling sorrow and remorse. Even affection, apparently.
Just... not for humans.
"Sorry I killed your pet, or whatever, but you tried to kill me first!" he called down to the Mutant, watching over the edge as it knelt next to the pink corpse.
It was still twitching spasmodically, but it's head, six tongues and all, was essentially gone. Duncan nodded to himself with satisfaction and withdrew his rifle, taking the time to reload and re-strap the shotgun as he did so.
He'd just gotten the rifle out and ready to fire when the Mutant turned his face up to stare at the young man.
Duncan recoiled. He had never seen a face so full of righteous loathing...
"I kill human!" It's roar was very loud, and it lunged upwards, straight at him.
The thing's muscles must have been truly powerful, because even so far below him, it was able to get it's shoulders up onto the ledge in a single jump. It hadn't, fortunately, reached him yet. Instead, it continued to snarl while it's feet scrabbled for purchase.
Duncan, forcing himself to remain as calm as possible, nodded once to assure himself he was doing the right thing, and pulled the trigger.
The Mutant's nose disappeared.
Again.
It's throat was half-gone, but it still came after him, if a little weaker.
One more.
Left eye. No more struggle. Instead, he heard it whine, almost piteously, "Why you... kill... Tong...", before slipping down the chimney to land atop it's 'pet'.
Having learned his lesson from earlier encounters, Duncan immediately started scanning the area, out to the horizon, while reloading the .32 rifle as quickly as possible.
Nothing... he seemed to be clear.
To the north, a long way off, were a few small smokestacks, some kind of plant. To the east was a train yard, though it was mostly wrecked. Several cargo cars were laying around the area, but they looked like a decent place to rest for the night if he needed to. It'd take an hour or two to reach anyway, from what he could tell of the surrounding terrain.
To the south was the river, though it was already turning further south itself. West was the direction he'd come from, so no use checking there...
Nope. Having checked anyway, just to be safe, Duncan found no sign of pursuit.
The train yard it is. After I see if that Mutant had anything useful, anyway. Take what you kill, Law of the Wastes. Sounds mean, heartless even, but damn it if it doesn't make sense in a world like this.
(O)(O)(O)
It was a surprisingly peaceful, almost relaxing, hike up the hill toward the train station. In fact, Duncan had actually put the safety on the shotgun back on, though he didn't holster it. Not having an actual holster for the short-barelled weapon made it difficult, and while he'd been lucky so far, removing weapons from the straps holding them to his backpack was not something he liked doing in combat.
He was covering ground at a brisk pace, breathing hard, but not excessively, when he crested the hill and got his first view of the yard.
Over a dozen cargo cars were strewn over a few hundred yards, about half overturned. There were no engines he could see, only one cargo box-car after another, in faded yellow or washed-out orange. Or maybe that was just rust.
To his right, the twin buildings where the rails ran underground before reaching the main switch yard further south were a couple dozen yards away. Duncan took in a deep breath, checked the sun (almost mid-afternoon, if he had his directions and time of year right), and started moving again.
Before he'd taken more than a few steps, though, loud noises to the southeast sent him ducking for cover behind the closest boxcar.
"Damn it, Reggie, I ain't goin' that way! The damned merc said it was that'a'way, so we gotta go that route! Ain't no good tryin' further east, that's fuckin' Slaver territory anyhow!"
The voice was male, human, if a little rough. Nothing like the Mutants he'd heard earlier that day, though. The answering voice was also human, but female. Cold, hard.
"Suck it up, Wally. Slavers don't bother Mercs 'less they're hurt, and we ain't hurt! We'll be fine. I don't wanna take an extra four days to find this magic tree-place, if it even exists!"
The voices were getting closer as they argued. Duncan flicked off the safety, and hopped up on the slightly-twisted connector of the cargo car. He exhaled slightly in relief that it didn't bounce noticably; likely the struts and shocks had fused with the passing years.
The first voice again, "Fuck, Reg! You wanna get caught by them Paradise Falls crews and get raped fifty times afore ya even get to the camp? Huh? I'm tellin' ya, it's safer ta go westerly!"
The woman growled and hissed, but before she could retort, a third voice, another male, but much calmer, interrupted. "The client asked for speed. We go east. If Reg gets caught, it's her own tight ass on the line. I don't wanna hear no more about it. We stick to the plan, though. Get to Oasis, take what we can, get back to the client."
Just then, the trio cleared the end of the car. The first two passed by without noticing Duncan, but the third took half a step beyond the car before turning and crouching at the same time as drawing a rifle and aiming it directly between Duncan's eyes.
"Hey, Kid... you might wanna be puttin' that shotgun down before we get all... annoyed."
"Lower yours, and I'll lower mine. Nice and slow. I don't want trouble, but I'm not lettin' you get the first shot off if you want some."
By this time, the other two had drawn their own weapons and leveled them at Duncan. The apparent leader smirked, "Kid, you know you aren't gonna last if you keep that 'tude of yours. Lower it. Now."
Duncan was unable to keep himself from flinching at the cold tone, but his shotgun didn't waver. "No. Same time, or I start shooting. I've been through too much shit lately to be in the mood to be nice here."
The strangers hesitated a moment before the leader nodded slowly, "All right. On three, then. One... two..."
The woman made a sudden move, and Duncan pulled the trigger.
Out of the corner of his eye, he wasn't able to see clearly what she'd done, but he was entirely too tense to care. For that brief moment, he was more concerned with the leader, who had been blown backwards, missing large portions of his torso, to land several feet away, half-against another box-car.
The other male growled and fired, but the shot only tore into the rusty metal over Duncan's shoulders. The woman, though, didn't draw the small pistol on her belt. Instead, she'd drawn a two-foot length of lead pipe capped by a t-joint, each with another end-cap on it. She swung it wildly across, and would have struck him in the nose, had the kick from the shotgun not knocked him backwards off the train-car coupling.
The impact of the ground knocked the wind out of Duncan, but he was able to focus long enough to readjust his aim and fire at the larger threat. The second barrel was, more through luck than anything else, pointed right at the other man's neck, so by the time the shell left the barrel, it went straight for his face.
After the echo had passed from the narrow space between the box-cars, the man slumped to the ground, missing most of his head.
The woman, though, seemed undeterred. Far more quickly than Duncan would have expected, she jumped directly over the coupling with an overhead swing. She'd have, again, hit him in the face, but this time it was purely reflex that saved him. His head jerked left, and the heavy pipe grazed against his right ear on the way by. "You little bitch!" she cried, "You got any idea how hard it is to find a crew that'll take on a woman? Huh?"
"No fuckin' idea, lady. Don't give a damn. Back off, I don't wanna have to kill you, too."
The woman, perhaps remembering that he had already unloaded both barrels, or perhaps from sheer arrogance, sneered while bringing back the lead pipe for another strike. "Fuck you, kid. You can't handle even me, you just got lucky with Fade, and Wally's a punk-ass-bitch. In fact, I got you right where I-"
She whimpered, then fell sideways against the boxcar, allowing Duncan to roll away. He'd gotten his fingers around the baseball bat and yanked it as hard as he could out of the strap and across her chin. It'd been a glancing blow, he knew, but had to have hurt badly.
Scrambling to his feet as she did the same, Duncan scowled. "Look, lady, I don't know what your problem is, but your friends are dead. I got no beef with you. Get the hell out of here, and you can live."
The woman elected to risk her life again. Duncan privately thought the risk might not have been as great as he'd expected, because now that she was aware he could actually handle himself, had quit screwing around. That in and of itself wouldn't have been that bad, because even with no real muscle mass, Duncan still had a foot or more height and fifty or more pounds on her.
But she was fast, wickedly fast, and it was all he could do to bring the baseball bat up to block the first and second swings of the pipe.
The third, a quick jab he hadn't been ready for, slipped between the bat and his arm to bruise his ribs. At least, he mused in his mid-combat adrenalin-enduced time dilation, the ribs didn't sound or feel broken. He could breathe, at least.
In retaliation, he brought his knee up, trying to get her between the legs. Unfortunately, he'd misjudged her height, and got her in the gut instead. It wasn't hard enough to wind her, but it forced the woman back far enough for his bat to be effective again. Before she could recover, he swung.
With a sharp crack, it connected.
The woman fell sharply.
He raised the bat again, just in case, but she didn't stir aside from a feeble groan. After a minute of silence, Duncan sighed and allowed himself to relax.
Unwilling to prove himself a total bastard, Duncan had checked the woman's pulse, found it strong, and then moved to both of the men. He could, at least, put them out of their misery if they were, somehow, still breathing.
Since they weren't, he went to work stripping them of anything useful. Unfortunately, as his gaze went to the unconscious woman, he felt a surprisingly strong twing of compassion. "Can't just leave you here like that Raider, can I? Damn... what the hell am I gonna do with you?"
It took several minutes for him to work out what he was going to do, and another fifteen to do it. He'd drug the woman, Reggie, he thought, over to the shaded area beneath the buildings where the rail lines went underground, and left her braced against the doorway, with her pipe in one hand and her pistol, still loaded, in the other. In fact, he left her gear alone, and only took half of what he could have from the other two men. He left the ruined armor of the first, folded up the damaged but not worthless armor of the now-headless corpse next to her, and left all of the weapons, but took the ammunition he could use. It wasn't much, just a few rifle rounds from the leader, and a few wads of pre-war bills, as well as almost a hundred caps between them. The 'mission orders' he left with Reggie, just in case she wanted, for some reason, to continue. He could barely read the illegible scrawl by "Tokana" anyway.
He was just putting the finishing touches on the pile of equipment he was leaving for the woman to help her out with her own difficulties when she woke up, when he spotted the sign on the door above the woman.
Maresti Train Yard and Switching Station. No public admittance. Authorized personnel only.
That name sounded familiar.
Maresti... Maresti... it was something he'd heard after coming out of the Vault. After he left his family...
Family. "Shit! I gotta get the fuck out of here! If these guys are Family..."
Duncan started running the next moment, and didn't stop until he'd crested the hill to the east, after having scrambled straight up the near-vertical rock face. Hopefully now he'd have at least some cover if he'd been spotted, or the woman woke up...
(O)(O)(O)
"Helloooo! You there! Can you help me, please?"
The call immediately caused Duncan to draw his rifle and aim it up the hill to the north, where a weathered radio tower stood. Standing on a rope bridge between that hill and another, smaller, but even rockier one, stood an old woman in a gray shift. She was waving slowly, looking straight at him.
"Trap... could be a trap. Can't go up that quickly, can't go into the ravine for sure. Perfect ambush spot."
Yet, the woman didn't seem worried, gleeful, or even concerned. She seemed... normal. Content, although apparently she did need help with something. "What- What do you need help with?" he called.
A few seconds later, the woman pointed up at the tower, "The transmitter came loose in the last storm a few weeks ago, and I haven't been able to climb up there to fix it! Can I ask you to? I'll pay you, of course, though I don't have much!"
Duncan's eyes narrowed slightly, though he still wasn't terribly concerned. The offer of pay seemed to make it both more and less likely that it was a trap. Yet, a second glance at the tower showed that the small dish on the rusty old tower was, indeed, hanging askew, swaying slightly in the breeze. "I can try, maybe! How can I get up there without going through an ambush-spot, though?"
The elderly woman chuckled, but gestured back the way he'd come, "Just go 'round the hill there and follow the slope up, young man! I'll have some coffee ready for you too, just come right on in! Best leave your weapon holstered, though. I'm an old lady living by her own for too long, and I've gotten a might jumpy in my years!"
Satisfied that the woman was neither totally harmless or planning an overt attack, Duncan lowered his rifle once more and turned back the way he'd come, keeping eyes, ears, and nose peeled in case there were Raiders or worse up there, skulking around in the rocks.
However, when he reached the bridge the old woman had been standing on, he found exactly what she'd said he would. Just her own weathered features and the gently swaying rope-and-wood bridge itself. Duncan was at first hesitant to cross, not only because he'd seen too many holofilms involving plummets to the death due to rickety bridges just like this (but made of materials several hundred years newer at the time), but because it had occurred to him that, despite the woman's apparently sincere smile as she waited on the far side of the bridge for him, that the bridge itself was a prime spot for ambush. It was narrow, not something he could safely sprint down in one direction or the other, and he could see just a hint of a structure behind the wall of the cliff beside the old woman. There could have been a dozen men back there for all he knew.
But even as his heart thudded in his chest, Duncan moved forward. He was no coward, and didn't really think the old woman was luring him into a trap, but he'd been living pretty high-strung ever since he'd woken up in the Vault to see his sister, and almost everyone else inside, dead.
Still, even though his finger was on the trigger of the .32 rifle, the fact that the old woman had preceded him across the bridge once they'd met up assured him.
He wouldn't put it past raiders or worse to fire upon her as well, but she seemed so relaxed about it all that he just didn't think he had any real reason to worry.
Those feelings were confirmed for the most part when the pair crossed the bridge. The house itself sat in the back of a small hollow, with the radio tower and bridge- the only possible entrance without scaling the rocky cliffs- on the other. "It's just up there, dear. I've got a small ladder inside the house to get you started, but it only reaches about half-way. Let me hand you a few screws and the driver, too, before you go up."
He nodded absently, already staring upwards. Duncan was still careful to scan as much of the shack's interior as possible when the old woman went inside. It would've been foolish of him to assume ambushers couldn't be hidden inside, even if the hollow itself was clear.
When the woman returned, she guided him to a pair of small indents were worn in the hard-packed ground. The ladder appeared hand-made and a bit old, but still sturdy. Duncan was surprised to see actual iron nails, something that was rare in the bits of construction he'd seen since waking up. After the ladder was placed, he checked it twice for stability before taking the flat-head screwdriver and six screws, each as long as his middle finger, and slowly began climbing upwards. He hadn't said a word to the woman since arriving in the hollow, but she didn't seem to mind.
In fact, she had been chattering endlessly. It actually worried him a bit; doubtless she was a little... off, after spending what was probably several years alone. Still, he doubted she was violent. Like him, one hand stayed near her side-arm, but her easy smile and the wrinkles around her eyes, wrinkles that reminded him of his grandmother on his mother's side, who had always been a laugher.
But as he worked one-handed (the other keeping a careful grip on the upper sections of the tower once he got higher than the ladder would allow), he was able to hear quite easily over the whistling of the breeze in the tower, the woman's name, Agatha, her deceased husband's name, George, seven children, eighteen grandchildren, five cousins, and that each of them, in both of the younger generations, had inherited from her side of the family a great love of music and song. So much so that, even scattered as they were now throughout the Wastes, each was known at least locally as a prime entertainer.
As he was screwing in the last bolt, the one which had actually broken first, judging by the amount of rust on the remnants, Duncan casually asked what her talent lay in musically.
He regretted it at once, of course.
By the time he'd climbed down, five minutes later, he had learned that the Wasteland's great savior, "The Lone Wanderer", whose name she had never heard though she'd met the young woman twice before her untimely death. In fact, Agatha was happy to proclaim, the hero's second visit had been made with the sole purpose of helping out an old woman with a lifelong dream, despite having to battle hideous monsters, including, according to what Agatha had been told by the Wanderer herself, Deathclaws.
It was that visit that, she explained, had renewed the purpose for the radio tower. Because it was then that the Wanderer had given to her something an ancestor of hers- she believed a great-great- grandmother- had carried with her upon entering Vault Ninety-Two. In fact, ignoring Duncan's grimace, Agatha insisted he allow her to play for him as thanks.
His repeated statements that he wanted payment as thanks apparently fell on deaf ears.
However, after the young man had followed the old woman into the house, his eyes widened. Because no matter how strange, how unbelievable, Agatha's story had been, the case sitting on the table nearest what was obviously the recording station (judging by the radio equipment, the music stand, and chair were strong clues), were undeniable proof.
"That's..."
She nodded, smiling, "The Soil Stradivarius. Yes, that's it... the very same. It's very old, and absolutely priceless... but only worth something if you can play it, of course."
He nodded, numb. Weapons and some buildings were one thing, but this... he'd never been a fan of classical music (what fourteen-year-old was?), but he could understand the artistry that went into not just the music, or the skill with which it was played, but the very instruments... at least, instruments like he could see through the barely-scratched window into the case itself.
"So... are you more interested in hearing it now?"
He jerked, and looked up to the old woman's knowing smile. He turned a little red, but nodded. "S- Sure."
Agatha smiled widely and moved over to the case, putting in a four-digit passcode into the digital lock before pulling it and the bow reverently out. "The Wanderer, bless her, told me to be careful with it, too... that it was worth more than even I thought. I didn't really believe that, but a few months after I heard old Three-Dog mention how she'd died, I heard him also say that her Pib-boy's radio was playing my station as she went into the Purifier chamber... I cried for two days when I heard that. But I hope it brought her some small comfort as she sealed that door."
Duncan nodded; he'd heard at least the basics of the story during his week in Big Town. He had to agree, if the stories were true, with the general consensus. Whoever the Lone Wanderer had been, she was truly a hero. Hell, he thought, if even half of the stories are true she's a bone-fide super-hero.
And then Agatha began to play, and Duncan's thoughts fell away.
(O)(O)(O)
Early the next morning, Duncan stood atop the eastern wall of the hollow, watching the sunrise. He hadn't slept that night at all, haunted by the music he'd heard. Some of it he vaguely remembered; his father had been a fan of Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, and Chopin, though he'd claimed Tchaichovsky was 'A Commie Hack' and refused to listen to his music.
Still, though he was no fan of the music itself, the melodies, both simple and complex, flowing from the instrument, from Agatha's heart and soul (even he could tell she poured her all into playing for him), from centuries past, stirred something within Duncan.
Something he'd been worried he'd been losing forever.
Hope.
Because even if he found Amber, even if she was still alive, they were still two people who could (maybe) understand each other in a world of strangers. For all it mattered, the pair of them were as adrift as if they'd been marooned on Asterix Four, just as Captain Cosmos and Stella Starfire were before being rescued by Jangles the Moon-Monkey in his favorite episode.
The world, while somewhat recognizable, was as alien, the people even more so.
But Agatha's songs had reminded him that, despite the strangeness of it all, they had a common origin. They were not so different.
Because even he'd heard of, not the Soil in particular, but the Stradivarius violins. And if those had survived, if even one person on the entire planet still knew the old songs, could play that wonderful instrument with amazing skill...
There was hope for the future. They could recover.
Couldn't they?
They could. He had to believe it. There was just no other option.
"Are you sure I can't do anything else for you, Walker?"
Duncan shook his head at the old woman's voice behind and below him, shrugging the backpack further up on his back. "No, thanks, ma'am. You've done more than you know already."
Perhaps she'd understood, because she didn't respond. But when he turned back to climb down and leave the hollow, heading east again, she was smiling with wet eyes. "You take care of yourself, Walker. I hope you find the one you're looking for, and I hope she's all right."
Duncan smiled as well, and surprised both of them by opening his arms to give the woman a tight hug. "Thanks, Agatha. My name's... well, it's Walker now, I guess, but my parents named me Duncan."
The woman blinked, but nodded. "I suppose I understand. Now you remember... If the signal ever stops, you come up and see what you can do, there'll always be a reward, okay? Even if this old woman's dead and gone."
He smiled sadly, but nodded. "Thanks, Agatha... I will. You sure you don't need to keep some of this? I really don't think I did two hundred caps' worth of work."
She smiled again, pulling him in for another hug, "You also kept an old woman company, and told me an amazing story. Besides, I've got a feeling I won't see another year, so what use have I got for old bottle caps?"
She'd said it so calmly that it took Duncan aback for a moment. "You... what, are you sick?"
He cursed himself inwardly for his rudeness, but she only smiled as she stepped back, "No, but I've been around a long time... and I miss my husband something fierce, more every day. I just think I'm gonna be called to meet him again soon, that's all. It's not a sad thing for me."
Duncan nodded. He couldn't understand, and knew he didn't, but she seemed comforted by the knowledge- or perhaps it was the faith- regardless. Who was he to judge her beliefs? "Well, I'll... I'll see you around then, Agatha. Thank you again."
She waved and smiled, and was still standing watching him when he turned around the hill out of sight.
"Well, feet," he muttered downward, pausing to re-tie the laces of a boot that was loose, "guess you've got some more work to do. Glad the callouses are starting to build up fast. Amber's east... let's go."
Buoyed by Agatha's music and faith, his strides were long and swift as he moved up the long hill further east.
(O)(O)(O)
His good mood lasted about twelve hours. Just as night was starting to fall again, Duncan came upon a sprawling sight that reminded him of just how far mankind had fallen. Because while some small examples of the species' greatness had survived, he was staring at a vast field full of evidence of their hubris, all fallen to ruin.
Cars, buildings, busses, train cars, cranes... what appeared to be more than a square mile of junk, rusted, some smoking from doubtless nuclear fires still burning centuries later, stretched out as far as he could see in the gathering twilight.
It was enough, almost, to make him give up. Perhaps it was the fatigue, because even with all the energy he'd started the day with, he still hadn't slept the night before.
Or perhaps it was the utter desolation- despite being filled with 'stuff'- stretched before him.
But Duncan only wanted to sit and cry for all he'd lost.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you saw it, he had more important things to do.
As a result, no sooner had one strap of the pack slipped from his shoulder, than he shrugged it back up again, forced a determined look onto his face, and growled to himself, "Amber. Have to find Amber. If she wants to stop, wants to give up... then I can rest. If she wants to fight, wants to live, wants to see what we can do to... well, whatever, then I will keep going. I'll leave it up to her. She's smarter than me anyway."
Maybe it was a crutch, maybe he was lazy for pushing the weighty decisions onto someone he might never see again, but at that moment, Duncan saw no other options.
He stepped forward onto the scree slope, slipped, and began to fall.
Fortunately, he came to rest just a few feet later against the jagged edge of an old tractor-trailer's hood, shoulder first.
It wasn't a lethal wound by any means, but his left arm was all-but useless to bear weight, he guessed, as he worked to bandage it with the sleeve on that half of the t-shirt. And that's something else I'll have to replace as soon as I can. I need to get armor. It's too bad that mercenary's was too small and worn anyway.
At least, Duncan observed, the wound wasn't worth wasting a stimpack on. It bled a lot, and he was going to have a large bruise the next day, but it wasn't terribly deep. At worst, it was maybe a half-inch into the thick (relatively) muscle of his left shoulder, and hadn't hit anything major.
Of course, Duncan was no medical professional. He'd earned his first aid merit badge (along with several others in his long-ago climb to Eagle Scout), but he was no doctor. So perhaps he could be forgiven for not using quite enough material from the shirt to bandage the wound properly.
However, he still cursed himself once he heard the growls.
Yes, growls. Six of them, he thought, coming from all around him.
It took only a moment to confirm that, whatever they were, they'd likely smelled the blood running down his limp arm and dripping onto the ground. Not good...
The growls, though, were... off.
Three of them, he was sure, were canine. Dogs of some sort, probably feral. But three others... had seemed... well...
Duncan's suspicions were confirmed when a raggedly-dressed man with coarse, blood-red hair and sharpened, if black, teeth stepped from behind a bus which lay on it's side, grinning maliciously as he waved his knife back and forth in front of his face. "Come on out, boys! This kid'll be easy pickins'!"
With a sigh, Duncan loosened the strap on his shotgun, but otherwise kept his hand on the grip of his rifle. It wasn't the best weapon for a situation like this, surrounded by unknown numbers, but... It wasn't like he had a lot of options. The shotgun would, at best, take out two in one shot, had two barrels, and otherwise would be two slow to reload. At least the rifle could maybe, if he was lucky, take out one per each of it's five shots before he'd have to reload and get blindsided the rest.
A female voice behind him confirmed the rest weren't dogs, too. "Looks a little scrawny... bet he won't put up much fight. Let's get 'im quick!"
Before the others could jump towards him, an arm, thicker than his own by quite a bit, wrapped around his neck from behind, and lifted him into the air.
As his feet left the ground, the man before him snickered. "Gets 'em every time! I donno how a big lug like you's so damned quiet, Shadows, but I'm glad we let your tribal ass live when we found ya!"
The man behind him grunted, but otherwise said nothing. Instead, he flexed, further impeding Duncan's ability to breathe. Of more immediate concern, though, was the blood flow to his brain being cut off by the muscles of the man's beefy upper arm. His vision was already dimming, his cheeks were tingling...
Two more growls sounded, as mangy, red-furred canines loped into the small clearing between ancient vehicles, each drooling almost gladly at the thought of fresh meat.
The raiders, or whatever they were, shared a laugh at his expense, before a different growl sounded throughout the area.
It was higher, but louder, more menacing, than the dogs had produced, and it made the raiders freeze, including the tribal holding Duncan, though he wasn't moving much anyway, despite his weakening struggles.
"What the fuck was that?" the woman asked nervously, "Yao-guai?"
"Nah," a fourth voice said, one that hadn't spoken yet, "too high for that. Gotta be a stray dog or somethin'. This shit's probably got a pet or somethin'. More meat for our dogs, I say. Nothin' to worry 'bout."
The raider before Duncan grinned, reassured, and stepped forward to put his knife against Duncan's stomach. "Wanna bleed a bit before you pass out, ya little shit?"
Duncan couldn't draw enough breath to answer, or even spit into the raider's face.
Still, he was aware enough to be surprised when the face- all he could see through the encroaching darkness of asphyxiation- dropped from his view with a strangled cry. Red filled his vision for a moment, then a blur of brown moved up past his eyes.
Another cry followed, deeper, of pain rather than a gurgle of blood filling a windpipe.
He fell to the ground, gasping, as the arm loosened. He took in one deep breath before the large body crashed against him, knocking him flat on the ground. He was partially underneath the tribal, but was able to gasp twice and pull his legs and wounded left arm free to the sound of the raiders' and their dogs' screams.
When the shadows at the edges of his vision had fallen away, Duncan scrambled for the gifted lighter he'd obtained in Big Town, clicking it four times in growing frustration and fear before it ignited.
Whatever it was, the sounds had fallen silent, and he was still alive... was it, perhaps, sated by their deaths? Would he survive?
Duncan recoiled in terror when the flame ignited, revealing a waist-high beast with brown claws as long as his hands, a toothed snout as large as his head, and...
"D- Deathclaw..." he breathed.
But it wasn't fully-grown, and... and it was staring at him.
Not attacking...
Just staring.
Right into his eyes... as if it was trying to mesmerize him while it's parent...
Duncan whirled and drew the shotgun, but there was nothing.
No heavy breathing, no thuds of large, clawed feet on the ground.
Slowly, not wanting to spook the thing into attacking, Duncan turned again.
The mottles of darker brown on the almost tan, leathery skin...
"It's you! Aren't you going to stop following me? I mean, I get that I killed your mom, but are you just chasing me down for revenge? I got too much to do to die! After I find Amber, kill me if you want!"
But the thing didn't seem to react aggressively. In fact, it flinched away. However, after he stopped yelling at it, it took a hesitant step forward, and... mewled.
The sound, so similar to how it had cried while being washed away by the Potomac, tugged at Duncan's heart.
"I haven't got any more food to spare."
The fact that, even just a few weeks later, it was three times as big- half as tall as him, instead of not even knee-high- didn't factor into the decision at all.
But despite how he begged, pleaded, threatened, the thing, it only mewled again every time he fell silent.
Even after firing a round over it's head- it flinched again, but didn't otherwise move- the beast wouldn't go away.
And it's not like it was trying to kill him...
In fact, it had saved him.
Hadn't it?
Duncan finally looked around in the dim light of the small flame. The raiders and dogs all lay in pools of their own blood, the flesh torn as if by a knife... or three-inch claws. And he stood there, unscathed.
"You... you think I'm your mom or your dad, don't you?"
The shift in tone made the Deathclaw take another step closer. It was just a few feet away now, and he knew it could lunge at him at any time, tear into his throat with the same speed it had dropped the raider who'd distracted him from the sneaky tribal.
When he didn't move away, the Deathclaw took three more steps and leaned in. Duncan's breathing halted, but it didn't attack. Instead, a long, dry tongue slipped from it's mouth and licked the mostly-dried blood from his left arm, almost as if suckling.
"Oh, no... remember, I said I wasn't raising a Deathclaw!"
But, when the sun rose over the old junkyard again, it found the leather-skinned creature snuggled up underneath Duncan's arm, purring gently with every breath.
For his part, the Walker had allowed his head to relax against the Deathclaw's, fortunately finding a soft spot between several of the bony protrusions that crowned it's head.
When the sunlight hit his eyes, Duncan woke instantly, but didn't move. He'd only fallen to sleep a few hours before, despite being exhausted. Something about the thought of sleeping next to one of those... things made him a little nervous.
But he woke up, and maybe he could use this chance to get away... even though it had apparently tracked him for days, all the while evading the hunting parties sent from Big Town to kill it.
Duncan had taken a whole five steps when he heard the creature yawn, smack it's toothy lips together, and shuffle to it's feet. It immediately lunged onto the corpse of one of the dogs, ripping into the soft meat of it's throat.
The young man high-tailed it further east, but it had caught up to him, still licking the blood from it's lips and claws through an unmistakably pleased grin, before he'd even left the scrapyard.
"Right... well, if you're walking with me, you need a proper Big Town name... how about it, Deadmeat?"
It whined.
"Uh... no? What about... Baby?"
Another whine, this one louder.
"Hm. Scratches?"
It purred. Duncan took that as a good sign. "All right... but one rule. No killing me or people I say are safe. You only kill what I want you to, okay? I don't need to be run out of every town 'cause you were killing their brahmin or people."
The spined head cocked sideways, almost like a confused dog. Duncan sighed. "You'd better not be more trouble than you're worth, or I'll have to put you down myself. You know that, right?"
It, of course, didn't respond as Duncan followed the sun east-northeast.
A/N2: You like? Let me know!
Scratches is not necessarily the Deathclaw pup's final (official) name- that name is going to be assigned by Amber. However, since I seem to have a difficult time deciding on it (Stitch was one of the names I discarded for it, for example), I'm actually going to open up my inbox for that- send me a review or PM (I'd prefer the former...) with suggestions or comments on what name you'd prefer to see for a baby Deathclaw. On that subject, yes, he's maturing rapidly- they do that. He will not be full-grown until the second arc, which will begin a few months after the first ends (which will be a few months, if only a chapter or two, after he finds Amber). It will not reach full maturity- as in, breeding age- for about two years old total, though, subject to me refreshing my memory on the life-cycle of a Deathclaw (as per The Vault wikia pages, my usual Fallout research site).
Agatha... we'll be seeing a little more of her, but (SPOILER ALERT), that's the last of her alive, I'm afraid. She's old, and more than ready to die. I'd say she's actually the oldest person in the Wasteland right now. Will that be the end for the music? Of course not. In fact, I've had plans for that violin from the beginning. :)
Lastly, for those who don't think a baby Deathclaw could take down 4 raiders and 3 dogs... Two things. 1) sneak attacks took down the first two (the knife wielder and one holding Duncan), and... go back and play Fallout 1-2. Even the low-lv little guys are vicious. 2) Dogmeat. Yes, a 'special' dog, but an animal without a Deathclaw's natural weaponry, and in FO3 he's still able to waste 3-4-5 raiders and (maybe) a merchant before you can even get close enough to help unless you approach at a dead run from the right direction. A Deathclaw pup would be able to do the same, probably easier.
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Hate me for writing this story and ruining Fallout forever for you? Let me know! Reviewing is good for your soul. +Karma -Karma! And EVERYONE loves good karma! (Don't they?)