Chapter 11
The Demon Drink
"He who fails to prepare prepares to fail."
-Old English Proverb
A trail of bodies was now behind the man as he rode for Chicago. Why? He wasn't forced into acting for his own safety, it wasn't a botched robbery...
He ran out of alcohol. The only other thing he could think of to amuse himself until he came across another drink would be killing other people. He loved to take the lives of other people. It was for that reason that he agreed to help the Brotherhood Whore. He couldn't care less about the Legion killing her friend. As far as he was concerned, the friend shouldn't have stuck around for so long, because the friend only drew the story of the Lone Wanderer out more.
His next target was a Centurion named Vaughn in a camp in Chicago. Nikolai knew that Chicago was once known as "the Windy City", and presently, it lived up to its name: there were very few days where the wind in the Chicago Wasteland was not howling this way and that; howling like a few sick hounds that needed to be put down. Though he knew that the wind would play a role in his next attack, he was more concerned with his sobriety than the assassination.
In the few weeks of nearly nonstop riding it took him to get to Chicago, Nikolai actually went into withdrawal symptoms before he found a bottle that was not touched yet.
Dimitri had a saying: If Nikolai goes dry, the entire world may die.
As he rode for Chicago, he'd occasionally get the update from his companion miles away. She'd try to get him to talk to her about his personal life or what he liked to do. Why she tried to get him to open up was not easy to figure out. Nikolai knew that many considered her a "saint", and Three Dog frequently called her the "Last, best hope of humanity", but he was never kind to her, and he never intended on a friendship.
As a matter of fact, he even briefly considered killing her at the end, too, but he scrapped the idea because her dog was just one bullet away from killing him. Instead, he decided that he'd help her on her mission because he enjoyed the hunt very much, and then he'd go his own way and never talk to her again.
Only then, if she should try to find him, would he kill her, and to hell with her dog.
So, when she tried to get him to talk to her, he typically simply reported on his progress, and then stopped talking to her. He couldn't turn the radio off for fear of an important message.
She never gave up. It didn't take him long to realize that she knew what he was doing, and she was now taking it upon herself to irritate him. She'd only stop if he said he was nearing a camp.
He'd tried to trick her into keeping quiet by saying he was nearing a camp fairly often, but she was smarter than that. The girl had mapped out how long the trips should take between camps given a constant speed, time, etc. She essentially knew where he was at any moment, which made him wonder what she did with her spare time.
Nikolai wouldn't admit it to himself, but he found himself... hating the Brotherhood Whore the more she called for him. He thought he'd hit rock bottom, at least regarding her, and perhaps he did... but her incessant calling only served as a way to make him begin to dig through rock bottom. He disliked her when he met her, but he didn't openly resent her until she started bothering him as she did.
As far as a civilian was concerned, she was as sweet as could be, and many in the Capital Wasteland would kill to be able to talk with her, but Nikolai was not "many in the Capital Wasteland". As far as he was concerned, they were not friends, and only loosely could he consider himself in an alliance with her. After a few weeks, her calls became less frequent, and she seemed less playful regarding he.
Nikolai's random attacks on people left him with fewer than twenty rounds of ammunition for his Dragunov. To compensate, he now started looking for ammunition for the weapon.
He had plenty of bullets for his sidearm, but he preferred killing with his sniper rifle. It gave his murders a predator-prey taste. With his sidearm, a murder was a murder. His obsession with hunting made Dragunov ammunition become a high priority.
He was fortunate enough to catch the issue with enough ammunition to get to New Vegas, if he remained a ghost. As he rode, he made sure to only kill who needed to be killed until he could find more ammunition.
When he got to his target, the weather had already deteriorated. He reached the camp midday, and he couldn't risk waiting around for night or for the storm to pass. It was raining heavily and the wind was blowing. Nikolai didn't like his odds of getting into the camp quietly, so he opted to snipe from long distance.
He spent a few minutes searching for his target through the scope of his weapon. He was about a quarter mile away from the man he was next to kill. The rain interfered with his vision and he was looking up quite a bit to make sure nobody snuck up on him.
He found his target walking around, talking to a few Legionaries in tents (Nikolai glanced at the supplies on his horse, not the least of which being a tent). The Centurion seemed irritable, but he wasn't staying still long enough for Nikolai to get a decent shot. Nikolai had sniped in this sort of weather before, but not while in the middle of a vodka shortage.
He spent several minutes trying to adjust his aim, hoping to kill the Centurion by a "lead"- aiming a little in front of the target, so the target essentially walks into the bullet's trajectory. To do so would allow him a moment's surprise- enough to get on the horse and flee.
His scope snapped to a few horses in a makeshift stable, and he hoped that his shot would not miss.
Slowly returning his crosshairs to his target, he aimed ahead of the man, hoping to lead the target and compromise for the weather and wind at the same time. He wiped the water off his scope for it to be quickly replaced, and he took a few deep breaths. He felt his heart beating in his chest, and he squeezed the trigger between beats.
Bang!
The shot went wide, and Vaughn was instantly weaving from side to side. He pointed at Nikolai and ran to a horse, and a few Legionaries fired at him and took cover.
Nikolai, having left his horse behind a few boulders, decided to hide behind them as well. Bullets snapped at the boulder and he fired blindly with his sidearm for some kind of covering fire.
Mongrels started barking, and Nikolai growled to himself.
"That's either a dog, or my first ex-wife... ah, the bitch..."
Nikolai was promptly knocked onto his back by a mutt, and he managed to grab ahold of the dog's neck, keeping its teeth from his throat. Legionaries and other mongrels were running uphill at him. Having pocketed a few grenades off one of the men he killed miles back, He held the dog at bay with his arm, pulled the pin, and stuffed the explosive down its throat. He kicked the doomed dog off of him and into the path of the charging Legionaries.
The explosion left no trace but a spread of gore regarding the dog it had been lodged in. Shrapnel and close range managed to kill one other Legionary, and wound others still. Nikolai picked up his weapon and mounted his horse, determined to chase down the fleeing Vaughn.
In order to save time, Nikolai weaved through the camp, deliberately galloping through Legionaries, sending them in the way of others. His disorienting movements saved both he and his horse from any bullet wounds, and in his half minute or so riding through the camp, he tried to kill the horses in the stable so he would not be followed. He opened fire on them with his pistol, but the attacks only killed one and the remaining three were unharmed.
He didn't have time to go back and finish them, obviously. He spurred his horse to gallop, following the trail Vaughn's horse made in the mud. The rain continued to pour, and visibility was worsening.
Nikolai could not see Vaughn. The only direction he got was the prints of the horse in the mud just feet before him. As he ran, the weather deteriorated further. The rain and wind distracted him, and he soon found no way to see where he was really going.
The only thing that comforted him was the idea that the Legionaries behind him had no idea where to go, either.
He slowed his horse a little, managing to hear a horse in the distance. The sky lit up for a second, and Nikolai could barely make out the silhouette of a horse with a man still fleeing. The sound of thunder assisted in sending his horse into a gallop again. Nikolai drew his handgun, trying to will his eyesight to cut through the weather and give him a moment of clear visibility.
A bullet whizzed by his head, but he wasn't sure where it came from. There was no indication that his prey had stopped fleeing, but he felt that the same bolt of lightning that helped him helped his pursuers. He turned quickly and fired back in response.
His pursuers were really a pursuer. He wasn't able to see the return fire so well, but it gave him a rough idea of where to fire. He shot five more rounds in the general direction of his pursuer, and the next bolt of lightning informed him of his success, for he caught a glimpse of the Legionary falling from his horse. Nikolai didn't credit skill with the dispatched Legionary, because luck is not synonymous with skill.
All the while he'd been listening closely for Vaughn, and glancing forward every so often to ensure he stayed on track. Another lightning bolt gave away the silhouette of the horse, and Nikolai finally sped up to get to one side.
Before he could bring up his handgun, Nikolai found himself falling from his horse with Vaughn fighting for the gun. Both landed and rolled over each other in the mud, trying to get control of the weapon. Finding themselves with a stalemate, both Predator and Prey tossed the gun into the mud, and they stood again, eyeing each other.
Nikolai was trained extensively in Sambo- Russian hand-to-hand combat in the absence of weaponry. He'd practiced it for ten years, and most of his training was unneeded, for when he botched an attack, he'd typically never get a weapon out of both his and his enemy's hand.
He wasn't sure what Vaughn knew, but he found himself fighting defensively. He had a knife, but he would not make a grab for it until he had Vaughn on the ground. He blocked as many attacks by his prey as he could, but was not spared a few hits to his face and torso. He was more interested in protecting his neck and heart. Though he rarely engaged in close-quarters combat, Nikolai was known to aim for the throat when on the offensive in it.
He and Vaughn fought in pulses. They'd charge into each other for a few seconds at a time, and then they'd get back and circle. The process would repeat itself for several minutes, and the rain just kept on falling.
Neither the Russian nor the Legionary said a word to each other while they fought. The Legionary felt it unnecessary to say a word to his aggressor, and Nikolai didn't see the point in talking to prey if he didn't need to.
He and Vaughn charged each other again, and the fight went to the floor. Nikolai drew his blade, and the fight ensued. They rolled over each other, both trying to influence the blade in their own way. Nikolai stopped rolling and stopped trying to stab at Vaughn. He sliced at his eyes for a momentary opening, and quickly drove the blade into his prey's chest.
For a few moments, Nikolai kept the blade in the man's heart, watching through the rain, dirt, and blood for his eyes to glaze. The last thing Vaughn was ever supposed to see was Nikolai, panting, waiting to see him exhale his final breath.
Nikolai's knife was in his chest. It went in, and it went in deep. However, his aim was a little off. Rather than hitting the heart or otherwise important blood vessels, the knife hit little to nothing. Vaughn's hand shot to Nikolai's, clutching the knife, and Nikolai's eyes shot to the hand on his.
His eyes started to wear an expression of pain, and the expression was worse and worse as Vaughn's grip tightened. Nikolai became totally focused on the hand, trying to free himself from the grip. It was a blunder like this that let Vaughn throw a punch and knock Nikolai off of him.
Nikolai landed on his back, and Vaughn glanced at the knife in his chest. It was serious, but if he was careful, he could have it removed and be treated, assuming it wasn't plugging an artery or some such vessel.
He could've left. Nikolai was dazed momentarily from the attack, and he was essentially stunned by his target's ability to stand still. When the would-be assassin opened his eyes again, Vaughn stood over him with the knife still embedded in his chest. He fell to his knees and for a moment, Nikolai thought he was dead...
...and then a big hand slammed down on his throat and blocked his airway.
Nikolai's extensive Spetsnaz training gave him various methods to escape from such a grip. Nikolai tried to find a pressure point in Vaughn's wrist, but the mud made the grip slick and he wasn't able to do so. He tried kneeing Vaughn repeatedly, but the man was being held up by blood that, at this point, was likely mostly adrenaline. None of Nikolai's attacks were useful.
He kept gagging and kept prying at the grip on his neck, and he started to see spots. He found himself growing weaker. Was this really how his story was going to end? Would his body be found the next day, half buried in the mud? Would it be months, maybe years until he was found?
He couldn't let death take him here. Every fiber that made Nikolai Nikolai said no. With his consciousness fading, he eyed Vaughn as well as he could, trying to look for hints at any weakness. He considered the knife, and his hand shot to it, and he pulled.
Blood started rushing from the wound, but Vaughn wasn't going to let go. Nikolai took the knife again, and with his final moments of consciousness, drove it back into the prey's chest.
This time, Vaughn's grip loosened, and he fell dead onto Nikolai. Nikolai took in a few deep breaths of air and chased away the white spots. He pushed the body off of his and pulled the knife free again, holding it to the pouring rain to wash it off.
The man very rarely smiled. He might smile if he respected someone (and he typically respected people who didn't bother him, or who he killed), but this wasn't one of those times. Nikolai didn't like the Brotherhood Whore, but he hated the Legion. Until the girl came along, he hated them in a passive manner. He concerned himself more with those close to home, knowing that attacking the Legion on his own would be suicide. He knew the only way to disorient Legionaries even remotely was to attack from two sides of their territories. It was the only way to keep them guessing.
His desire for the hunt dwarfed his odds with the enemy, however, and he found himself considering Caesar's Legion the sheep to his wolf more often than not, while acknowledging the fact that sometimes sheep bite.
Nikolai whistled for his horse to come after retrieving his handgun, and in the middle of a clap of thunder mounted the beast and looked over his shoulder at the dead man.
"Good hunting."
End of Chapter
2,771 words. I think this is the halfway point of the story.
Sniping attempts that are successful will likely make shorter chapters. When an attempt is botched, expect the chapter to draw out a little more such as now. Nikolai is due to screw up a few times just like Milly (worse than this), and Milly is to successfully kill a target unseen a few times as well.
The reason this chapter took so long is because I was without power for about a week. I just got it back today, so I finished up this chapter and away we go.
Next chapter covers Milly's next attempt.