Chapter Two
Getting some supplies was easy enough. Many of the buildings along Main Street all offered something to sell: food, weapons, clothes. Patrick got a few more magazines for the service rifle, the only gun he had now, along with a new 10mm pistol, a dozen stimpacks and several days worth of canned food and bottles of water and some Nuka Cola, and a leather backpack to carry it all in.
Waskada turned out to be a ride that took most of the night, and Patrick was forced to camp out a mile or two north of the raider camp. The road, an old provincial highway, was terrible, with the pavement having cracked, broken and even disintegrated in the over one hundred years since the War of 2077. The few weeds that survived the post-war cleansing of the world struggled to emerge through the old asphalt, but gave a bit of green to the otherwise dusty expanse.
Sleeping a few hours, Patrick woke up the next morning to see a bright dawn to the east. Opening up his pack, he pulled out some of the Brahmin jerky strips he got, and started chewing on them. After a few bites, and the downing of one of his Nuka Colas (warm and flat, but not that irradiated), he saddled Demon, and continued to the town.
Waskada was once the center of the small oil industry of old Manitoba, with never more than 200 people ever living in the small village. To this day, old rusty steel pump jacks, frozen in time since the last oil ran out in 2059, surrounded the town. The oil boom that kept Waskada alive since the 1950s had long ended, but the arid land, and increasing costs for everything from machinery to fertilizer to fuel made farming even more difficult. Even before War of 2077, only a few stubborn residents remained, trying to etch a living from the soil. However, the war, and the fear of the radiation from Minot, forced the evacuation of much of the town.
After a few years, it became clear that the radiation barely touched the area, so settlers returned once more in 2104, and began farming again. Assiniboia would come in 2169 when most of the old South-western Manitoba agreed to join the new nation. However, its location close to Saskatchewan and North Dakota, and the rich prize of Melita to the west and Metigoshe, the district capital, to the east made Waskada a prime target for raiders. An increasing number of attacks, deaths and destruction ultimately dwindled the population down again, until the final attack the year before captured the last few holdouts and either killed them or made them slaves. But despite the protests from Melita, neither the RAMP nor the Army had sent any forces to deal with the raiders, instead tolerating the loss of another town as the price to pay for peace.
But that peace was now dead.
Patrick was walking straight into the nest of the beast, to find his brother and the other kids. He was the only one to do it, he knew, because after him, would anyone else care enough, or have the drive to do it? Patrick knew the answer, and he didn't like it.
Tying Demon to a pole that used to carry power lines a mile north of the town, Patrick pulled out his new 10mm pistol and slipped it into it's holster on his belt, slung his service rifle off his back and chambered a round, and made sure the leather armor was on right. It was risky, being the only person walking into a hornets nest. But at least he knew how to hunt, years with Grandpa having taught him all he needed to hunt animals, along with a few years shooting in the militia shooting at targets. And humans, or at least raiders, are simply two legged animals. Ones that may breath and talk like Patrick, but were animals. Animals that he could hunt to extinction.
So he told himself.
He slowly crept toward Waskada. The old trees in the town that were planted by the first pioneers were still standing despite the passage of time and nuclear war, and even were still struggling to force some rusty red-green leaves to grow. It was always amazing how resilient the world can be, and as a farmer, Patrick knew that all too well.
His limited Militia training taught him that the high ground and cover was best, but raiders didn't care for tactics, or any strategy but brute force. That would give him an advantage.
As he came closer, he could hear laughing and shouting. He paused and crouched low into the thick folliage, and carefully studied his surroundings.
Straight south of him from in the line of old trees was a large red brick building with stucco highlights, which looked like a school complete with the two story gymnasium on the north end. It looked almost exactly like the school he had gone to in Melita, only the one in his hometown was a bit larger for more kids when it was built before the War of 2077. It was, most likely, the one building in the town to be large enough to hold most of the raiders, with the exception of the old ice rink, which, if his map was right, was on the other end of town.
He carefully made his way closer to the row of dead trees, and he could tell that the school was, indeed, the raider base. Tents of patched cloth and animal skins filled the old baseball field, while the main building itself had graffiti in paint and what Patrick was sure was dried blood all over it, all of which screamed "We are Badass, and We Will Kill You!" A half dozen or so men and women were around the buildings, all with some form of weapon, be it spear, sledgehammer, axe or the few lucky enough to have guns.
Patrick at last made it up to the closest tree, and even from there, he could hear bits of conversation.
"So, the fucking kids are dealt with… got a few, sent the rest on," one raider, wearing a patchwork of armor bragged.
"Yeah, that was a fucking brilliant idea… the militia wasn't a problem at all," a female raider whose top part didn't do much to cover her up - and Patrick had no idea how she could live in Assiniboia's weather - boasted to others.
Patrick scowled. He was too late to find all the kids. He carefully aimed the rifle toward the raiders closest to him, but didn't fire yet.
One of the raiders took out a thing out of his pocket, and put it up to his lips before giving a sharp inhale, and then a giggly sort of laughter. "Shit… this Jet is good stuff!" one of the raiders bubbled. "I feel like I'm flying…"
Another raider grabbed a small canister of what must have been this new drug, and inhaled it herself. "Oooooooohhhh… yeah…."
Patrick nodded to himself. Excellent, they would get drugged up enough that they shouldn't even notice that they were dead, if it came to that.
One of the raiders, the one that didn't take the Jet, stood up. "You fucking students. Why you get hooked on that shit? Whiskey and booze is good enough to get buzzed."
The first Jet user giggled. "Oh c'mon, you shithead. Don't lie to me, you flew before. C'mon, do it again!" He got up, and forcefully pushed his way to the tee-toller. "Take it!"
"Fuck off!" the second raider shouted, shoving the Jet addicted raider to the ground. He was sort of dazed, but before he could jump up, it seemed as if his body began to sag, and he resigned himself to laying on the ground. Must have been the after-effects of the drug, Patrick thought.
The raider just shook his head, and walked to the tree line, almost straight at Patrick. He ducked deeper into the bushes, and watched as the raider, with only a knife on his belt, and a whiskey bottle in his hand walked toward him, unsteadily making his way over the dead grass and junk that had piled up in the 141 years since grass grew long and green.
The raider stopped a few feet away from Patrick, turned toward a tree, and pulled down his pants to relieve himself. Patrick grinned, and took the chance, jumping up behind the raider. He clamped his free hand over the raider, and stuck the pistol to the brain of the raider.
The raider gasped, and tried to swear, but Patrick held onto him too tightly. The raider was so surprised that a foul smell started to waft up.
"Okay, bastard. I'm only going to say this once, so listen," Patrick said, doing his best impression of what he would think someone would say in this situation, after listening to all those commando plays and Captain Mark stories. "I'm looking for some kids that were taken from Melita yesterday. Now, you tell me what happened to them, and you can keep your head. If you try to scream for help, or don't help, I'll send you to whatever God or spirit or volleyball you worship." Patrick pulled his hand from the mouth of the raider. "Your choice." Patrick slowly removed his hand
"I… I… wasn't part of the attack," the raider gasped. "I was told… to… stay here and…"
"I don't care," Patrick scowled. "I only want to know where the kids went."
The raider gulped. "They were split up; some we kept, some we had to send to this fucker from… Branson? Brantford?"
"Brandon?" Patrick offered.
The raider nodded. "Yeah, Brandon. The Syndie guys up there and that. They took half the kids, the best ones that they wanted. Paid us with drugs and booze and shit." The raider was calming down a bit now. "Some we sent to this place down south, no idea what it's called though. The rest are locked up in the big house over there. I think, last I know. Trained to join us, or die. That's how we are all here, you know."
Patrick loosened his grip on the raider and his pistol dropped when he heard that, knowing how cruel the raiders would treat the kids to make them join. It was just long enough for the raider to try to reach for his knife, turn around and take a swing at Patrick with a loud grunt. The edge of the knife caught the leather armor, but didn't go through. As the drunk, uncoordinated raider tried to swing again, Patrick, in shock at the sudden attack, quickly levelled his pistol at the raider, and taking a breath and bracing himself, looking away to only keep the raider in the corner of his eye, pulled the trigger once, twice, three times, all three impacting the skull of his attacker. Blood, brains and bone flew out and splattered over the trees behind him, and the man crumpled to the ground, dead.
Patrick stared at the body of the raider as he fell. Patrick could almost feel the jerky and cola he consumed early trying to force his way up. He had killed animals before, some to get rid of nuisances, some to butcher to feed his family, and he shot at raiders when in the militia.
But this… this radier… this person… was just a few feet away when he killed them.
Sure, the raider had tried to kill him, but at the same time they were a human...
"What the fuck?" A voice shouted on the other side of the tree line. Patrick snapped out of it, and looked up to see one of the drugged raiders, the woman, look over, and the two made eye contact.
"Oh crap," Patrick said, his voice breaking in terror, as the female raider started screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Intruders, fellow students!" the raider barked out, trying to pull out her spear. "Let's make Principal happy!" Patrick couldn't afford to let them all gang up on him, so he pulled up his twelve shot pistol, and fired four more shots at the raider. Two missed, one hit the left leg, and the last shot impacted the chest with a brutal, wet slap. With a groan, the raider fell over.
But now more were coming. Patrick wouldn't have time to reload his pistol, so he quickly slammed it in his holster, and grabbed his service rifle. He lifted it up, and braced it on his shoulder as two more raiders, one guy with a spear and a girl with a pistol, came charging up to Patrick.
Patrick fired at the gun wielder first, as she would be the more dangerous threat. The first bullet cracked past her head, but the raider didn't even duck. Patrick quickly worked the bolt, and fired again. This time the bullet caught that raider on her side, and she feel down, screaming bloody murder as her guts spilled out, but she managed to get a shot off before she fell. It did hit Patrick, but it only went through the front of leather armor, barely skimmed his shirt, and out the back, without hurting him at all.
The spearman threw his spear, which harmlessly landed a couple feet to the left of Patrick after he slide to the right. As the raider tried to get his fallen comrades gun, Patrick fired and missed, but made the raider stop and duck for cover before reaching the pistol. Using the bolt and ejecting the old case to let a new bullet into the chamber, Patrick fired again. It also missed, but not before the raider got the pistol. Patrick ducked behind an old picnic table that he then pulled onto its side to protect himself as the raider began to fire the full clip of bullets in the 10mm pistol into the wood, making splinters flying around but no bullets got through. Working the bolt again with his free hand as best as he could, this time Patrick, looking over the edge of the table, took aim as the raider's gun clicked empty, fired, and the raider went down with a gasp.
Patrick paused for a moment, and looked around. In less than three minutes, he had already killed three people. Of course, they were chem indulging, homicidal murderers that wouldn't hesitate to kill him, but it still lives that he had taken...
He couldn't dwell on it. Not now. Patrick reached into his pocket and pulled out a charger clip with five rounds on it, and pushed the five bullets in. He pocketed charge to hand load later. He then also reloaded his 10mm pistol with a magazine from another pcoket. But having all the bullets he could when he was going to charge into enemy territory was better than having to do it when he was going to be in trouble.
He pushed the table down, before running over to the spot where the other raiders had been. Just as he reached the spot, bullets began impacting the ground and whizzed through the air, signalling that, no, Patrick wasn't done yet.
He crouched low behind a large log that had been used as a bench, and carefully looking up, he could see three raiders, two with guns and the third with an axe, approaching his spot.
"Come out, you fucker!" one shouted, aiming his hunting rifle where Patrick was. "Not gonna put up with this bull…"
Three bullets from the 10mm when he got close enough through his chest stopped the loud mouth in mid-sentence.
Well, turns out you are, Patrick thought
The two other raiders dashed right at Patrick, the one firing his weapon haphazardly. However, when he pulled the trigger, and nothing came out, the raider slowed down to a pause while struggling to reload it. Before he could even get the second bullet in, Patrick had fired four more shots from his pistol, with three hitting the raider in the leg, and and knocked the raider down and out of the fight.
An axe crashed through the dead wood less than a foot away from Patrick's face, making Patrick drop his pistol. "Heeeere's Johnny!" the raider called out, as he tried to pull the axe out of the wood.
Patrick grabbed hold of the axe, and, when the raider had lost his balance trying pull on it, the Assiniboian kicked the log at the raider, crashing into the raider's legs and knocking him down. Patrick jumped up, and aimed his rifle it at the raider's head.
"Holy shit man!" the raider cried out, panic and fear in his eyes. "Who the hell are you?"
"One really pissed off brother," Patrick replied, and fired the gun, making the raider lay still with the back of head exploded on the ground.
Patrick paused, and sighed, chambering another round into his rifle. He picked his pistol up, and started reloading it. With that, he looked up at the school, and took a deep breath. The rest of the raiders must be in there. A couple bullets fired from a window at Patrick seemed to confirm it.
He quickly ran up to the school, ducking behind tents and benches and even the hulk of an old car that had been dragged to this spot year ago and left until he managed to get to the door to what was the library as bullets flew through the air. One caught Patrick's sleeve, another just past his head, but none hit him. Patrick started to breath heavily, but he covered his mouth to prevent anyone from hearing him.
"Where the fuck did he go?" a raider cried out, Patrick only able to hear her because of a broken window. Now Patrick stopped breathing all together.
"I dunno, he must have went around front!" another raider shouted back. "Go see!"
Patrick let himself breathe again as two sets of footsteps ran away. He grabbed the door handle, and carefully opened it, and slid inside, hoping to not attract any more attention. He noticed a thin string across the front door, and it must have been attached to something loud or dangerous, so he did his best to avoid the tripwire. He stepped over it, and made sure his back foot didn't catch it either.
Inside, Patrick began creeping through the halls. He could hear a bunch of talking, some chains clink, and a gunshot, followed by a scream that suddenly went silent.
"I've fucking had it with these useless Students!" one deep voice bellowed. "Kill that fucking Assie all ready, or you all are in Detention!"
"Yes Principal!" a couple of clearly scared raiders shouted back, before a bunch of heavy, running footsteps raced from the gym.
Patrick's blood ran cold as he realized that they were talking about him. He dashed to the side, where a janitor's closet stood, and hid inside. The door was broken, but if he could hide long enough to allow them to split up…
Four racing footfalls echoed through the empty hallway, and he saw two of the raiders run by to the Library and outside, while the other two ran the other way to the main entrance on the south side of the school. Patrick took a short sigh of relief, and slipped out of the closet. Now that they were split up, maybe he could deal with both separately, though only once he found the kids. And maybe this "Principal" guy could help with that.
Patrick quietly walked over the broken linoleum tiles and past the mounds of junk and stuff that the raiders had piled everywhere. Various classrooms all had old mattresses or sleeping bags on the floor, which must have been where the raiders slept. Another room had a bunch of computers, none of which had the familiar glowing screens that showed them working. Patrick looked out the closest door to see a clear hallway, and he crept as quietly as he could down the hall, past more classrooms until he reached the large double doors that lead to the gym.
He carefully glanced through one of the doors, which had fallen off one of its hinges after years of misuse, and noticed one particularly strong, well armoured and heavily armed raider pacing about, growling. That must have been Principal, and he wore a dirty old tie and business jacket much like a principal would have in the school back over a hundred years ago. One dead raider with chains around him was lying in a large pool of blood in front of a nice couch, which must have been the "throne" for Principal.
Patrick grinned, picking up his rifle. One bullet to the head, that was all that was needed. If this guy is out of the picture, then finding the kids should be easy. He carefully aimed, leading Principal until right…
…there.
Patrick pulled the trigger, and the gun roared out as a bullet went flying. But the moment that Patrick picked to fire the gun, Principal had just bent down to look at the dead raider from before and picked up one of those Jet canisters, and the bullet impacted the cinder block walls with peeling white paint harmlessly. He suddenly stood up, and looked to where the bullet had come from.
"You fucking Assie!" he roared out, quickly inhaling the Jet and pulling out a massive, hand made sword from the bumper of a Old World car. The Principal charged straight at Patrick, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Patrick tried to get his gun up in time to fire again, but the onrushing wall of drugged up muscle and anger got to Patrick first, and he swung the sword, crashing through the doors, busting the broken one off the last hinge and crashing to the wall.
Patrick was knocked onto his back from the force of the crash, and while the raider's sword was embedded in the door, Patrick took the moment to run.
"You can't fucking run from me, you bastard!" Principal screamed yanking the sword from the door, chasing down Patrick as fast as he could
Patrick dashed back into the computer room, and slid under one of the tables with computers on it. Principal came roaring in, and smashed the sword into the nearest desk. Wood, metal and broken vacuum tubes and electronics splintered and crashed to the floor as Patrick kept silent under another desk on the other side.
"Come out you fucker!" he shouted, crunching over the broken tiles, glass and metal. "You're a bad person, hurting my students, and you need to go to Detention!"
Patrick took a deep breath, and reached for his 10mm pistol. He pulled it out of his holster and aimed it at the raider's foot. When he was close enough, Patrick pulled the trigger. The blast was ear shatteringly loud under the desk, but the bullet flew straight and true, impacting Principal above the ankle. The sickening crunch of bone and flesh, as well as the scream of pain that the raider gave out gave Patrick all the notice he needed that it worked. He slid out the opposite side and aimed the pistol at the raider, pulling the trigger twice more into Principal's chest, making the maniac gasp. Blood flowed from the wound and from his mouth, before he fell face first to the floor, dead.
Patrick took a moment, leaning against the desk to catch his breath, the adrenaline that had been racing through his system gone. He eventually got up, stretching and groaning as his body complained at everything he put it through, before spent the next fifteen minutes looking through the school, trying to avoid the other "students", for any sign of the kids. However it was clear that there was no sight of any of the kids here, much to Patrick's disappointment. He knew he couldn't look too hard yet, as dozens more raiders had to be lurking about, and if he stumbled on a group of them when distracted, he was as good as dead.
Patrick worked his way back to the entrance of the school, and he noticed a couple raiders just standing around. One was carefully smoking a cigarette, which was either one of the ridiculously expensive Pre-War ones, or one of Assiniboia's attempts at a substitute. Judging from the harsh smell, it was one of the newer ones.
"So this guy just comes in and kills a bunch of us? Is he like an elite Rampy guy or something? One of those Dragoons they talk so much about?" the second raider asked the smoking raider.
"Hell if I know. Of course he won't be able to deal with me," the smoking raider said, flipping a well-used combat knife in the air and catching the handle.
The second raider rolled his eyes. "Why do you use a knife? C'mon, a gun is so much better at killing things!"
Patrick thought of the irony before lifting up his 10mm pistol and firing twice at the chest of the second raider making him cry out and fall over. The smoking raider dropped his cigarette, and spinning around and grabbing, quickly threw the knife in his hand where the bullets came from. The knife impacted an old corkboard that was just a few inches from where Patrick was, making him duck, and slide further down the wall.
The raider pulled another knife from his belt and ran over to where he threw his first knife, and looked around the corner. The raider came face to face to a pistol pointed at his head.
"Yeah, why do you bring a knife to a gunfight?" Patrick asked, motioning with his other hand to drop his weapon
The raider dropped the knife and raised his hands, surprise and shock on his face.
"Alright, quick question, and you can go. Do anything stupid, your brains are all over the wall, got it?" The raider slowly nodded his head. "Alright, where are the kids you took?"
The raider swallowed deeply "We split 'em up. Some went down to our bigger camp in North Dakota, some went to Brandon, some went to this place that they called… uhh… Steel, I think? Don't know where it is, some weird guys in big metal armor gave us guns and shit to get the kids."
Patrick growled. "Alright, know which way did a boy named Zach go?"
The raider shook his head. "No clue. No one keeps track of the names."
Patrick growled again. "Fine, thanks for your help." Patrick flipped the gun in his hand and winding up and smashing the butt of the gun into the raider's skull, knocking him out cold, a trickle of blood oozing out of the cut on his head. It was better than killing him, Patrick thought to himself. Just a concussion, just unconscious...
After the raider crumpled to the floor, Patrick walked to the front door and glanced through the cracked glass doors. He could see some raiders had fairly new and well-maintained pistols and shotguns, and all with combat knives or other melee weapons, and two carried the pre-war R91 American assault rifle.
"That's a rare gun up here," Patrick thought to himself. He had only ever heard of those kind of guns, and only saw a picture drawn in a book once. The few that would even be working in Assiniboia would all have been from Fort Headingly, or scattered with the few military patrols that were set up to scout for "rebels" and "communists" the day the bombs fell. But they looked too new, like they had been just made or found in a Vault.
Patrick shook his head. No way he was going out that way. He will just have to go back the other way.
Patrick crept carefully along another hallway before he got close to the Library doors he walked through before. It looked like no one else was around, so he walked through the old library back out. It looked all clear, but then his boot caught the wire he avoided before and forgot about, and with a loud snap, it broke in half.
KLANG KLANG KLANG KLANG! A bunch of bells off to the side went off. Patrick gasped as he looked down to see the tripwire.
Patrick looked around in panic, realizing that he would have just announced where he was to all the raiders around the old school. Though he had managed to clear most of the back playground, he had no idea how many raiders will be charging around the bend…
Patrick looked around, before noticed the old glass and iron frame of a greenhouse on the side of the tall brick wall of the gym. It was the best hiding place he could think of, and he quickly ducked inside amongst the decades of rotted plants and tools.
"What the fuck was that?" one of the raiders with the assault rifle shouted, coming around the south side of the building with four other raiders in tow.
"The alarms, Teacher," another replied. "Someone must have got in."
"Well, get in there and find out what that was!" the one with the assault rifle, clearly the leader of this group, barked back, pointing his gun to the Library door.
Patrick nearly yipped in terror as two of the raiders, both with long machetes, trooped through the school, looking for the intruder, not knowing he had already been inside, and was now watching them from only a few feet away.
His relief was short lived as one of the raiders raced back to the assault rifle-toting raider. "Principal is dead, Teacher!"
The assault rifle raider stood in shock. "Fuck, how did that happen?"
"Shot to death, but we have no idea who would have had the balls for that."
Teacher scowled. "Fine. As of this moment, I'm taking the title of Principal, and we are going to find whoever the fuck is doing this. And get those kids out of this fucking town!"
"Where to, Teac… I mean Principal?"
"I don't fucking care! Saskatchewan, Rugby, hell shove them up your ass… just get them moving out of here!"
Patrick frowned as the raiders spread out, quickly trying to fulfill the new orders they had just received. Patrick knew he had to stop them, but he wasn't going to be able to do it with the leader standing right in front of him…
"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" another raider came up. It was another guy with an assault rifle. "What makes you think you can make yourself Principal? You know the other guy was going to make me next in line."
"As if, you fucker. Why did you think you were put in charge of the attack on Melita? Because you are a fucking coward, running at the first sign of resistance."
"Coward? Coward?" the second raider shouted. "I'll fucking show you coward!"
He lifted his assault rifle and flipped off the safety, firing his gun on full auto straight into the self-proclaimed leaders body. Twenty-four .556 rounds impacted his chest which exploded into a mess of blood and flesh. The first raider looked shocked as his body shuddered, then fell over. The impact with the ground forced the raider's finger to pull the trigger, and that assault rifle emptied its clip of twenty-four bullets, all of which was aimed at the greenhouse that Patrick was hiding in. Pottery, glass and dirt shattered and exploded around Patrick, who ducked down as low as possible.
"Good fucking riddance," the second raider said, walking over to his now dead rival. He picked up the other assault rifle, and examined it.
Patrick was shaken, but uninjured, much to his surprise. It seemed that maybe Reverend Jamison was right, and God had taken a liking to him. But his mind clicked into action, realizing that the raider was now vulnerable with two unloaded R91's in his hand.
Grabbing his pistol, Patrick jumped up and fired three times at the raider's stomach and leg. The raider screamed out loud and fell, dropping the guns as he clutched his stomach.
Patrick jumped out of the greenhouse and stood up over the fatally wounded raider. "Well, your reign as leader of this band of raiders isn't going to last too long."
The raider looked up, blood already starting to run out of his mouth. "Y-you… were the one that killed Principal?"
Patrick shrugged. "If that's what you call him, yeah. I killed him. Now, listen to me. I've already killed nearly a half-dozen of you guys already, and I just want to know one thing; where are the kids that you took?"
The raider spit blood at Patrick. "Why the fuck should I tell you? You've already killed me, destroyed the one family I had, vicious and brutal and all. And you want me to help you now? Fuck off, Assie. You're not much better than us anyway."
With that last statement, the raider fell backwards, his eyes rolling up in his head and he died.
Patrick stared at the body for a few minutes. Was he really as bad as these raiders? Sure, he killed a bunch of them, but they would be doing the same thing to him if they saw him, right?
Patrick forced himself to look away, and walked back into the school. Before he did, however, he reached down and picked up one of the assault rifles, and scavenged the bodies of the two for some bullets. The extra firepower would come in handy.
He tried to push the thought of how he killed them all in cold blood out of his mind, and for a moment, he thought he might be able to do it.
As Patrick entered the Library, he could hear a couple raiders running from the other direction.
"Principal! Principal! We need a key for the… What the fuck?"
"What, that wasn't the Principal, they were just Teachers," the second raider replied.
"The Principal was killed, and my Teacher said he was next in line."
"Fuck off! My teacher said he was next in line."
"Well, they are dead now… so who is next in line?"
"Uh… I don't know. I am!" the second raider said, pounding his chest.
"Fuck off, you couldn't lead a Brahmin to water," the first raider said.
The second raider swung a fist into the jaw of the first raider. "I'm going to make you my bitch when this is done for not listening to me!"
Patrick crept away as the two raiders began fighting, and into the school again. He needed that key the first raider mentioned to unlock wherever the kids were, so it must have been in the school. Not a single person was left, all the other raiders must have left, though cries, gunshots and screams of the dead and dying must have meant that the raider band was tearing itself apart as the leadership was incapacitated.
Patrick wandered through the school, looking in classrooms of until he got back to the body of the Principal in the computer room. However, there wasn't any keys on him, so Patrick had to go look some more, much to his disappointment. He ended up back in the gym where the Principal had made his throne room. He looked around, but didn't see a key, before he noticed an old ham radio with a microphone and headset
Patrick walked up to it, and put on the headset. All he could hear was static, so he carefully began to twist the knob. Garbled words gave way to the ABC broadcast, just another song at the moment. He twisted the knob a bit further until he reached a channel with no static, but also no voices. Patrick carefully pushed the button on the microphone.
"Hello? Anyone on this channel?
There was a moment of commotion, then a loud squeal. "Who the hell is this? This is official Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police Radio Channel, if you are not authorized…"
"My name is Patrick, and I'm in the Waskada School. Raiders are tearing themselves apart right now because I killed their leader. I'm looking for the kids that were taken from Melita and area the other day, and I could use some help."
There was a silence on the end. "Okay, are you high on that Jet shit right now? Now get off this channel…"
"Listen, I need some help…"
"Get the hell off this channel right now!"
"Constable, what the hell are you screaming about?" a new voice chimed in.
"Some retard is blocking this channel, claiming he's killed the Principal of the gang in Waskada, and that a bunch of kids are kidnapped and stuff like that."
There was a silence. "This is Lieutenant Joseph from the Melita RAMP Detachment. Please tell me your full name."
"Patrick Morrison," Patrick replied.
"Well Goddamn. I swore when Mayor Jamison told you to go do this that you would be dead by now. Where are you?"
"I'm in the old Waskada School, in the gym. The raiders are killing each other right now because I killed the leaders and the ones next in line. Some of the kids are still here though, according to a few I interrogated."
"Sir, you don't actually believe this guy, do you?"
Lieutenant Joseph, after a moment cleared his throat. "Patrick, get out of there. Head north along the highway until you meet me. I'll be there as soon as possible. Constable, get a radiogram to Metigoshe, and tell him it's urgent; prepare to send forces to Waskada. Direct the reply to my personal radio. Joseph out."
Before the dispatcher could argue, Patrick turned off the radio. He stepped back over the Principal, and walked out of the school. Not a soul stopped him, though gunshots and screams told Patrick that nobody was going to worry about a better dressed Assiniboian leaving the area. Patrick walked out of the town just before a massive explosion erupted; the old grain elevator, once standing tall over the town even in a dilapidated state, was now burning and sending thick clouds of black smoke high into the sky. Patrick smiled, knowing that he was pretty much responsible for that. He still didn't know where the kids were, but the RAMP should be able to help with that.
Pip-Boy 3000 InfoTracker Note #3223
NewsNet Update; September 6, 2217
Raiders Attack Small Town, No Response from Winnipeg (ABC News)
MELITA: Raiders have reportedly taken over the small town of Waskada, only a few short miles from one of the largest outposts for Assiniboia in pre-war south-western Manitoba and the town of Metigoshe, administrative center of the district by the same name. Waskada, a farming settlement of about 100 people, was brutally attacked, and all the inhabitants were either killed or forced to flee. Calls for help by both towns for either Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police or Army of Assiniboia help was sent to Winnipeg. However, as of reporting time neither the Department of Defense or the Interior has not said if they will help or not. Previous raider attacks on this area have not been seen by the RAMP or the Army to warrant a larger force to be sent out, and ABC News defense analyst Kevin Murdock says that the threat from the Brotherhood of Steel near Fargo is of greater concern.
Mayor Lloyd Jamison of Melita, speaking to ABC reporters by radio, said that, while his town is safe with walls and a strong militia, it will be dangerous for farmers in the area to work on their land, and the dangers to trading caravans, river boats on the Souris River and the weekly Unified Assiniboian Railroad train could serve to isolate the town.
"If we don't get some help soon, dozens of innocent lives could be lost. Melita can defend itself if need be, but we can't take back Waskada. And until Waskada is secure, nothing in this area will be."
This attack has been the latest in a string of raider attacks on the southern border of Assiniboia, but it is the first time that an entire town was taken. We have reached out to the RAMP and the Army for an interview, but there has been no response by press-time.