Chapter Six
Jenna was buried, as per the custom, in a five-foot deep hole next to the biggest tree they could find, to allow her spirit to climb the tree to reach the Great One. Patrick just watched as the settlers from Chicago, despite their visible hunger and weakness, still took care of one of their own.
Patrick also noticed that the bodies of the bandits were all unceremoniously dumped into their temple, and once the other ramshackle buildings were tore down and placed around it like kindling, it was burnt down with the aid of a box of matches Patrick had in his backpack. There wasn't many cheers, as their pacifist ideology did not like kindly on killing, though there was a sense of relief and gratification that the Dakota Liberation Army was gone, and they were safe. Apparently beating dead bodies was okay, but actually making them dead was not.
Tribals were odd sometimes.
Demon was found and returned to Patrick. The "black beast," as the tribals had been starting to call him, was feared for his temper, and had already nearly killed three of them. But when Patrick's sleipnir had been brought to him, he quieted down and was more content to be with it's owner again.
One boy was sent to the forest to get Aradesh, while the rest of the refugees continued to pack their few belongings to make the trek north to Turtle Town. Most people didn't have much: just the clothes on their back, a memento or heirloom of their past, some food. The men and the older boys who had once rode sleipnirs to herd and ranch their animals saddled up again, and started to get the Brahmin ready to move. Patrick had already mentioned that since most of them were captured, that they should be returned to the farmers. He also promised to do what he could to make sure that the settlers would get something to start again, this time closer to town.
Amidst everything going on, Derek stood apart from everyone else, slowly and methodically cleaning his hunting rifle, stripping it apart, and reassembling it. When it was back together, Derek simply began taking his gun back apart again.
Patrick, getting himself away from the crowd, walked over to Derek. As Patrick got closer, people stopped coming to him, and many turned around and went back, muttering and cursing under their breath.
"Where did everyone go?" Patrick asked as he got up to the mourning youngster, pulling Demon behind him. "Why are you by yourself?"
"I'm tainted, PatrickMorrison. Because I was captured and forced to be trained as a raider, and that I've killed, I've gone against the beliefs of my tribe," he said, sighing. "It's the last thing I want, but I'm an outsider now." He looked up.
"But you helped get rid of the people that was attacking them. Don't they know that?" Patrick asked.
"Maybe. But it's complicated. They still know I'm one of them and it was against my will, but I've been taken so far from them, the path to becoming whole again… it's a long one. And I do not want to go on the path yet."
"Well… couldn't I just tell them to take you back? They seem to be listening to me. And why did they bury your mom if they won't take you in?"
Derek gave a small laugh. "My mom, although she had been tainted by the Dakota Liberation Army, redeemed herself fully by taking her own life. They might take me back, but I couldn't go back to a life of farming. Those raiders… they made me a fighter, as much as I never should have been. I'm useless for my people now, PatrickMorrison. They don't fight. They only hunt if they need to. I'm no use, even if they did take me back. But they won't. Not for a long time. If ever."
"Please, just call me Patrick. It's easier." Patrick sat on a bench near Derek. "So, what are you going to do now?"
Derek shrugged. "I don't know. If I go up to Assiniboia, what could I do? No one trusts a tribal, especially one that can shoot a gun. I remember how the people in Turtle Town treated my mother and elders when they first asked for help." He paused, and looked south, past the dead trees of the park. "Or I go south. Back to Chicago, or… Can-s-us. However that's pronounced. Of course, the Brotherhood of Steel front line there would rather kill me as a spy than let me go by." He laughed bitterly. "Funny, no? Up here, I'm Southern scum. Down there, I'm Northern scum. No in-between."
Patrick and Derek sat in silence, listening to the low moo of the Brahmin or the nicker and whiney of a sleipnir.
"You could come with me," Patrick said. "I'm on a… quest I guess you could say, to find my brother."
Derek looked up. "Really? Why would you want a simple tribal to go with you?"
Patrick smiled. "Why not? You are good with a gun, and I can always use someone to keep me company. Demon here isn't exactly easy to talk with." The sleipnir snorted as he chewed on some tough grass, as if mocking Patrick. "And you're not a simple tribal. I'm not going to let you starve or die." Patrick looked up as the boy he sent earlier to get Aradesh came back with the calm white and grey sleipnir in tow. The boy handed the reins to Patrick, took a wary look at Derek, and ran off.
"Plus, if you help me, I'm sure you can restore your reputation with your people."
Derek watched the boy with sad eyes, and sighed. "Maybe. But yes, I will come with you for now."
Patrick grinned. "Alright, we are going to take these guys up to Turtle Town, then we will carry on. It can't be that much of a problem, right?"
"You did what?" exclaimed Clarice Fairbank after they got back to Turtle Town early the next morning, fifty seven famished, tired and dirty men, women and children in tow. Patrick had went into the hotel to talk to Clarice, only to find the town's mayor in something close to rage.
"I wasn't going to leave them there to starve!" Patrick shouted back. "These people have been through enough…"
"They attacked us. And you want us to now welcome them with open arms?" Clarice rolled her eyes and groaned. "If I did that, the rest of the town will lynch me along with the rest of them."
"They were not the ones to attack you. These people wouldn't hurt a radgopher unless it attacked them first! And even then, I'd think they'd let it maul them." Patrick tried to explain. "Another group of tribals came and enslaved them. Those ones that are dead now were the ones who kept attacking you."
Clarice continued staring at Patrick, unblinking. "I don't know if I can believe that."
"Well you sure as hell haven't come truthfully either. They asked for your help before, and you gave them shit," Patrick said. "So now here I am, trying to solve your problems, and you are saying you can't help me help them now?"
"It was all we could spare."
"Says the person that offered me 500 Pounds,"
Clarice blinked. "Oh, right. Well…"
Patrick paused. "You don't have it?"
"Well… not anymore. I had to spend it to get the Sleipnir," Clarice said.
Patrick grimaced. "So, you tricked me."
"What are you talking about?"
"You took advantage of me."
Clarice recoiled. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You needed me to be your errand boy, and you got a little action on the side to, so bonus points for you," Patrick growled. "And what the hell did I get? Embarrassment, shot at, and now basically told off for trying to help some people that have had nothing but shit happen to them."
Clarice reached under the bar and grabbed a wad of rolled up banknotes, tossing them at Patrick. "Here. Five hundred Pounds, like I promised."
"I don't care about the money anymore," Patrick said, tossing it back, landing on the bartop with a thud. "Just show a little humanity and help some people."
She looked at the wad of money on the table, then turned aways. "I'm Sorry Patrick, but we can't accept them."
Patrick stood there. "So… what do I tell them? That Assiniboia is not the shining beacon it presents itself? A place where good people live, and do good things for those that need it?"
Clarice chortled. "You seriously believe that drivel?" She turned around again, facing Patrick. "Of course, you're from Melita. It's 'important, a trading post with the outside world, so it gets some RAMP guys and a battalion if things really go wrong. We had our RAMP officers taken away because of some pound-scrapers in Winnipeg, and we sure as hell wouldn't get two soldiers."
For a long moment they stood there, staring at each other. "Fine then." Patrick turned on his heel, and marched out the door, pulling it open on rusty hinges. Before leaving, he turned back to the mayor. "I hope you can live with this, considering what your grandfather did."
"Fuck you!" she screamed, grabbing a bottle and throwing it at Patrick. Patrick jumped out of the way, and the half full bottle of vodka crashed on the floor. Tears were running down her face.
Patrick slammed the door shut.
Patrick walked over to where the village elder, a small woman named Liza, sat on an old stool, giving instructions and guidance to the people around her.
"Liza, may I speak with you?" Patrick asked as she finished showing two young kids how to attach two pieces of leather together.
She patted the kids on the head, who excitedly ran off. Patrick knelt down to be closer to her and to keep the conversation quiet. "What do you wish, PatrickMorrison?"
Patrick bit his lip. "I have some bad news for you."
Liza held up a wrinkled hand, tough from years of labor. "Say no more. We have had a small council, and we have decided that we will go west anyway, into old… Sack-achoo-wan? Whatever that place is, we will go west, away from Assiniboia."
Patrick sighed. "I'm sorry I can't help you more."
"No need to be sorry, PatrickMorrison. You have done more than enough already to save us. Hopefully, maybe, we can go out there and build a village where we can be by ourselves, and not have to fight."
Patrick nodded. "I wish you the best in that goal then."
Before Liza could reply, an older man in rags came up, his eyes bloodshot, his body shaking as if he was suffering from drug withdrawal. "Oh Hero of our People, Savior of the North Wasteland! I wish to give you something in payment of your deeds!"
Patrick raised an eyebrow, and turned to Liza, who watched the old man with respect.
"This is Morrow, our shaman and healer. He has the ability to see beyond the present and give us knowledge for the future."
Patrick didn't say anything, but inwardly he cringed. A shaman that can tell the future? Really? Tribals believed the strangest things… And where was he when they were going to find out that they would be enslaved?
"PatrickMorrison, your tale has already been told to me by the Great One. You are a hero destined to bring down those that are corrupt and evil, bring the hidden into the light, and give voice and freedom to the poor. You are destined for great things, though the cost will be high, for you and those you love. But fear not, for your tale will bring hope to the people as long as the sun rises and the rivers flow."
Patrick looked at Morrow confused. "How…"
"I cannot tell you how to do it, nor can I tell you how it happens. But just know that you will accomplish much, even if it was not what you set out to do." The shaman bowed. "Now I must take my leave. Good future, PatrickMorrison. May the water you find not glow in the night."
The shaman walked away, and vanished into the crowd. Patrick was left to sit there, confused. Liza just turned to Patrick, a smile on her face.
"Cryptic, yes. But his prophecies have been shown to be true in the full extent of time."
Patrick shrugged his shoulders and stood up. "Anyway, I must be going. I have things I got to get done."
Liza nodded. "Take care, PatrickMorrison. We shall sing of your heroic deeds for generations to come."
Patrick began to walk away, to where Derek sat on Aradesh. Old Man Dickinson, unlike most of the other townsfolk, was so glad that the raiders were defeated that he gave Aradesh to Patrick, which was now the mount for his companion. Derek sat up and looked to Patrick.
"Where now?"
Patrick pointed to the train station, where the rusty locomotive was already starting to be revved up. "Back on the train, and on to where I was originally going to go, Vault H near Winnipeg." Derek nodded, and as Patrick climbed up on Demon, they both made their way over to the old wooden building.
The next morning the train took off, leaving bright and early at 7:30 AM. Patrick and Derek, as per the former's RAMP Auxiliary position, snagged themselves a sleeping coach on the train for the night, despite the station manager's best efforts to convince him to go back to Clarice's hotel. Patrick, using the most diplomatic words he could find, finally managed to convince the train man.
Taking the southern line from Turtle Town, Patrick, Derek and their sleipnirs made good time, taking only 12 hours to go from Turtletown, through Killarney (an old pre-war town that was now a lake-side resort), to William's Point (one of the more successful towns established by Assiniboia), where they had to switch trains. After a full day on the train, Patrick was stiff and sore, but they had to quickly change over to the next train on to Mord-Wink (the conglomerate of two pre-war towns) that was leaving in an hour. After Mord-Wink, the train line would continue north until it reached Morris, where it branched off two more ways: north to Winnipeg, and south to Atwood, which in the Pre-War of 2077 world was one of the most important border towns in Manitoba. From there, a train line would go on the east side of the Red River up to Vault H, and Patrick's destination.
Derek, having never been on anything faster than a galloping sleipnir, looked out the window of the train with wide-eyes almost the entire time, making comments of each town, farm, herd of Brahmin or pack of radgophers he saw when he wasn't eating or sleeping. Dozens of villages and small towns, built in the early years of the first settlement of this area and when the train first went through, were either gone or just piles of broken wood and concrete, streets that had reverted back to simple prairie, and maybe a broken light post to symbolize that, at one point, a town full of people once lived here. After the War of 2077, with the breakdown of law and order, not to mention easy transportation with the outside world, most people packed up and moved to larger towns, if they survived. Someday, Assiniboia claimed, they would repopulate all of old Manitoba, but that was still a long time in the making.
Patrick could only smile as the tribal excitedly remarked about everything he saw through the glass of the moderately comfortable passenger car they were in. He was just like a little kid.
Like Zach. Seeing Derek, 18 years old, and seeming like he had never seen anything before made Patrick realize that Zach was still out there. Somewhere…
Patrick looked away, not wanting to think about his brother, and the fact that he was either in the slave pits in Brandon on forced into military service with the BoS, or who knew what else. Instead, he started fiddling with his Pip-Boy, reading some of the messages that had accumulated. Most of them were rubbish, things he knew already, a couple that were a mass of scrambled letters or corrupted files, and a couple actually interesting files.
One button, much to Patrick's surprise, brought up a radio screen, and started playing some soap opera on Brandon General Radio. Patrick groaned as one female unleashed some horrifying twist on her boyfriend, which of course meant the show could continue on tomorrow, same time.
Patrick instead selected the DBS broadcast, as it was a bit after 4 PM, so the afternoon programming would still be going on.
The tail end of the DBS jingle played, which meant that Patrick had actually missed the news. He silently cursed himself for that as a deep booming voice replaced it. "From the DBS Studios in Winnipeg, this is Hot Topic with Jacob Coyote."
A raspy voice took over. "It's May 12, 2218, and thank you for joining me." Jacob Coyote, most likely not his real name, was one of the only Ghouls this far north in Assiniboia, and it was more because he was, if he was what he claimed to be, a political talk show host in Ottawa before the war, and he survived thanks to his mutation. The show only started a couple years ago, but quickly became one of the more popular programs on the channel. Even Patrick listened to it every so often, if for no other reason than DBS usually had better programming than anything else on the radio.
"Today, since it's Thursday, you know that means that we are going to look at your letters and radiograms you sent in to me, and I will be discussing it with our special guest, RC – er – RAMP Commissioner Jennifer Raymond. Thank you for joining me today."
"My pleasure Jacob," a soft voice spoke, much to Patrick's surprise. He'd thought the head of the RAMP would have been the biggest, baddest son-of-a-bitch the force had to offer; yet she sounded like a waiter at a snooty restaurant.
"Now, the first question I have, as a lot of the messages we have gotten in the past couple of days have all been about the 'Auxiliary,' an agent with the RAMP that managed to defeat raiders and bandits in Turtle Mountain. Can you tell us anything about him?"
Patrick's eyes widened as he realized they were about to start talking about him!
"Well, only a few days ago, there was an attack on different towns by a series of coordinated raiders. I don't know the backstory of the man you guys here want to call 'The Auxiliary,' but I will confirm that, yes, he is a volunteer to the Force, and yes, he actually did liberate the town of Waskada."
"And only one person did this?"
"That is correct."
Patrick gave a small smile. Sure, he dealt with the raiders in Waskada, but his brother was still missing. So it was a partial victory.
"Why did the RAMP have to rely on an Auxiliary for this admittedly dangerous role?" Jacob continued. "Could there not have been a better option than sending an ill trained Civilian in to do this?"
"As far as I can tell, the Auxiliary went to Waskada by his own volition, and was not a volunteer of the force at the time. He was asked after the fact to join as a RAMP Auxiliary."
"So what is he up to now?"
"That is classified as of now. DBS will be the first to find out, if we are allowed to reveal that what he may accomplish. But I have been told that he has already done a lot more than just defeated some raiders, and he has many skills that will be of use to the RAMP and Assiniboia in the future."
ABC then went to a commercial break, and Patrick shut off the radio.
"What the hell have I gotten myself into now?" he asked under his breath.
"What did you say PatrickMorrison? And do you have one of those talking boxes on your arm?" Derek asked, having snapped awake when he heard Patrick speak.
"Nothing, and yes," Patrick replied, surprised at how quick Derek sat up. He was a pretty good hunter, so he must not ever get a good deep sleep.
"All the talking boxes back south only spewed lies and hate," he said, looking at the Pip-boy on Patrick's arm uneasily. "But who is this Auxiliary they speak of?"
"Well… I'll tell you later," Patrick said.
The rest of the train ride to Mord-Wink was quiet, with Patrick starting to doze off, and eventually fell asleep. The steam engine came a metal-grinding, screeching halt, which made Patrick start awake.
He blinked, looking out the window to see the sign of the town they were at, flapping back and forth. Patrick noticed that it looked like two halves of two different signs that had been fused to make one new one. Made sense for a town that was basically the conglomeration of two other towns that existed before the War of 2077.
"Wind must be picking up," Patrick said to Derek.
"Rad-Storm. Tonight. I can feel it," Derek replied.
Patrick grimaced. Rad-Storms were not fun: a greenish haze of a fog from Radiation Alley came north every so often, with bright flashes of lightning and either rain or snow, depending on the weather. And since Patrick could see frost on the window, it meant it was going to snow.
"Well, as long as we keep going, then the Rad-storm shouldn't bother us," Patrick said.
"Saying things like that outloud is a great way to jinx things, PatrickMorrison," Derek said.
As if an answer to a question that wasn't even asked, the conductor, with a thick bushy mustache, polished brass buttons and dark blue coat came by then, clearing his throat.
"I'm sorry folks, but the train will be having to lay up here for the night," the conductor said, his British accent giving the statement a powerful authority.
"Oh." Patrick said, his heart sinking. Derek smirked.
"There's a broken down engine further up the line, and this engine is needed to pull that other one back," the conductor continued. "The train will be continue on to Mord-Wink tomorrow, but the UAR will put you up in the local inns and hotels overnight, so gather your belongings, please and thank you!" The conductor tipped his blue hat and carried on.
Patrick turned to Derek. "Don't say a thing."
Derek continued to grin, packing his few belongings, and following Patrick off the train.
The climbed onto the platform, and Patrick instantly regretted not getting a winter jacket, or even an overcoat. The wind had a cold bite to it, and he swore he felt a snowflake land on his cheek.
The other passengers, about four dozen men, women and children or so, quickly streamed into the train station, and from there were directed to places where they could sleep for the night by uniformed UAR staff.
"Did you see this?" one woman asked another woman just a couple or so years older than her, pointing a bulletin board on the wall. "Lots of missing people posters there."
"Eh, I bet most of them are just folks that wanted to leave this crappy town," the older woman sniffed.
Patrick glanced at the wall, and noticed that most of there were young men, and they weren't exactly all from around Mord-Wink.
Patrick and Derek were directed to Don and Hanny's Hotel once they found out that Patrick was affiliated with the RAMP (though Patrick didn't tell them he was the Auxiliary mentioned on the radio). Their sleipnir's, the railroad workers assured, would be taken care of.
The hotel was a two story brick building, one that was aged, but clearly built after the War of 2077, but had a recent fresh coat of paint and it seemed to be holding together fairly well. Inside, the entrance was cozy, comfortable and decently furnished, with electric lights and couches and chairs that were all of the same style and didn't look like they had been made over 140 years before. Several other people with their suitcases mingled in the entrance, while two men worked behind the main desk to sort sleeping arrangements for the sudden influx of stranded train passengers. The men looked almost like copies of each other: same height, same tall, lanky frame, same extremely white and pale skin, and even the same style of black hair. Only one wore a blue suit, the other a green suit.
"Hello, and welcome to Don and Hanny's Hotel. I'm Don," man in the blue suit said, giving a very large smile that seemed almost too friendly. "How can I help you?"
"Just a room for the night, please," Patrick said, showing off the RAMP badge he had been given.
Don looked at the badge, nodded, then over the papers on his desk. "We only have a few rooms available, and they have only one bed. Will that be fine for you gentlemen?"
Patrick looked over to Derek, who gave a shrug. "I… guess so," Patrick said, looking back to Don.
Don turned around to the wall, which indeed only have a couple keys on the many pegs, and grabbed one. "Room 16, on the first floor. Just down the hall, and to the left. Dinner will be prepared for 7 pm. Some of the best meat you will ever taste," Don said with a rather large smile.
Patrick felt a bit awkward and uneasy, but he took the key and followed the instructions he was given.
"Bad vibrations here," Derek said. "It's almost as if the Great One is screaming at us to leave."
"Yeah, something seems off here," Patrick admitted. "But with the Rad-storm and the lack of a train, I think we are kind of stuck here."
They found their room, and unlocked the door and walked in. The rooms looked just as comfortable as the lobby, including electric lights and a somewhat new bed and chairs.
Patrick took the chance to go take a bath, the first one in almost a week, while Derek tried to get some rest. When Patrick got back, wearing clean clothes that had been folded at the bottom of his suitcase, Derek was still lying on the bed.
"There's… something," Derek said.
"What do you mean?" Patrick asked.
"Something feels odd here. I just can't think of what it is."
Patrick shrugged. "I don't know. Don did seem a bit too friendly, but you can't accuse a person who runs a hotel of being too nice."
"Or he's a wolf in brahmin skin," Derek said, looking around nervously. "Maybe we should go somewhere else."
Patrick was about to say something when his Pip-Boy began to chime, and a moment later a siren began to wail. It was a steady blast that went for a few minutes.
"Well, that's out of the question. The rad-storm is here," Patrick said. He could already hear the rumble and crack of thunder. A green haze began to creep along the ground and the air outside.
There was no going anywhere tonight.
Derek decided not to go for supper, leaving Patrick to make the trek to the dining room by himself. This time, it was the other man, Hanny, in his green suit, that welcomed Patrick and the other guests.
"The cooks are just finishing up," Hanny said when an older, well dressed man and woman asked when supper would be. "If you would just find a seat, you'll be served soon."
Patrick found himself at a table with the man and woman, Mr. and Mrs. Frederick from Winnipeg out visiting family at Killarney, and another man named Philip Harsford, an executive of the Rediboine Trading Company who had an air of pomp and superiority. Patrick introduced himself as well, and that he was with the RAMP. Patrick remembered seeing them on the train, but they were in the First Class compartment, while he had to make do with Second before.
"Ahh, so like that Auxiliary fellow the DBS has been talking about?" Mrs. Frederick asked. Patrick nearly choked on the glass of water he was drinking. "Do you know him? Are the stories true?"
"Oh honey, don't pressure the young man," Mr. Frederick said.
"No, no, it's fine," Patrick replied with a small croak. "But something like that, yes."
"So what do you do with the RAMP?" Mrs. Frederick asked.
"I'm sorry, but I can't say," Patrick replied, much to the woman's disappointment.
"I think it's all a joke," Philip announced, interrupting. "I bet the raider camp was all made up. It's all just to make the politicians in Winnipeg give money to the RAMP so they can waste it. Something that the DBS made up to make everyone else suck up to the government."
Yep, he's from the Rediboine Trading Company, Patrick thought, with a scowl. Rediboine may be the largest caravan and shipping operators in Assiniboia, but the company seemed to accumulate those that questioned authority, conspiracy theorists, and those that would rather listen to the "real facts" that were really anything but.
Didn't help that they also once basically controlled Assiniboia, so not very many people trusted them anymore, which is why people that didn't cared what other's thought would join them, forming a vicious cycle.
Patrick wanted to say something, especially about how he killed a bunch of those raiders that took his brother, but a waiter in a black suit came up, with four plates precariously balanced on his arms, which he placed in front of the diners. So instead of beating down the Rediboine trader, he attacked the steak with a gusto, along with the mashed potatoes, vegetables and salad. It had been a while since he had such a good meal.
Small talk continued through the meal. The Frederick's were from an older family in Winnipeg, and had a large house on Wellington Crescent, and Mr. Frederick was also Major Frederick, having retired from the Army several years before. Most of what Patrick knew about Wellington Crescent was that it was where the richest people in Assiniboia lived, and it was the setting of a soap opera that his grandma listened to all the time.
Patrick wasn't sure if the gossip Mrs. Frederick talked about was as outlandish as what was on the radio play, but he wouldn't have been surprised. Mr. Frederick just sat there and smiled the entire time, looking over to Patrick saying that only a fraction of what his wife said was actually true.
After a dessert of some of the best cake Patrick had tasted in years, he excused himself and went back to his room, full and tired after a long day. When he pushed open the door, he was surprised first of all of the lack of light in the room. Second, he realized that Derek wasn't in the room.
"Where the hell has he gone?" Patrick muttered, turning around to find himself face to face with Don, creepy smile and all.
"Damnit!" Patrick exclaimed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."
"I'm very sorry for that," the man in the blue suit said, the creepy smile still on his face.
"But I'm glad your hear. My… companion. He's disappeared."
"Huh, that is odd," Don replied. "I haven't heard of anyone leaving. Did he know anyone from around the area?"
"Highly doubt it. He's a tribal from the old Peace Gardens," Patrick said.
Don nodded. "Well he should be around the hotel somewhere." He gave that grin again, making a chill go down Patrick's back. "I'll talk to my brother, see if we can't find him for you."
"Uh, thanks," Patrick said. Don backed out of the room with a slight limp, closing the door behind him, and plunging the room into darkness.
Patrick grumbled, groping along the walls to find the lightswitch. When he found the little lever, he flipped it, and turned back around.
It was then that Patrick saw that the room was a wreck. The bed was a mess, missing a couple sheets, while Patrick's 10mm pistol was on the floor. Patrick picked it up, opening the magazine to see that four bullets was missing. He looked around, seeing three in the wall toward the door, and after a moment he saw one in the roof as well. The mirror on the dresser was broken too.
Patrick also noticed a small trail of blood along the floor, as well as a ripped shirt, half of which was still covered in blood.
"This isn't good," Patrick said, holstering the 10mm in his pocket, grabbing a couple more magazines from his backpack, along with his 44. Magnum revolver. He dashed out of the room, and down the hallway back to the dining room.
Mr. and Mrs. Frederick and Philip Harsford were still at the table, talking. Mr. Frederick looked up to see Patrick nearly running to their table. "What's the matter?"
"Something has gone wrong. The man I was traveling with, Derek, has disappeared, and it looks like it had been a fight in our room," Patrick explained.
"We never heard anything during dinner, did we?" Mr. Frederick asked, to which his wife shook her head.
"I remembered seeing him at the station. Tribal was he?" Mr. Frederick asked. Patrick nodded hesitantly, but the man let it sit there. Patrick knew many folks that would have just said "good riddance" then and there, but Mr. Frederick was not that kind of man, clearly.
"Huh, this sounds like trouble," Philip said, though much more excited than any normal person should have been under the circumstances. Rediboine people were oddballs, for sure.
"If it isn't too much trouble, could I get your help to find him? I'm sure he'd still be in the hotel, with the Rad-Storm coming," Patrick said.
Mr. Frederick turned to his wife, who after a moment nodded. "Very well, I will help."
"And I'll come too," Philip said, a grin on his face. "I'm always up for an adventure, even if it's in a dingy hotel."
The three men left the dining room, and searched each floor in turn. However, no one that they met had seen anyone else, most having been eating at the time. The staff were notoriously tight lipped, not saying much of anything at all.
"This whole place gives me the heeby-jeebies," Mr. Frederick said. "It's nice and all, but the people are just… off."
Patrick nodded. "Ain't that the truth? I had Don, the guy in a blue suit, just appear behind me, as if out of thin air."
Philip growled. "It was him. Him and his brother. I just know it."
"And what evidence do you have of that?" Patrick asked.
"It's in my gut. I just know it," Philip stated.
"Good enough to just accuse someone of being in the wrong, but you need evidence," Patrick replied.
"And that is why you let yourself be lead around by the lap dog RAMP and their Winnipeg masters, eh? Because you'd rather just ignore your feeling for what they just say is right, even if it's wrong?" Philip blasted back, going on a fine tuned rant that he must have used time and time before.
"Hey! Easy you two!" Mr. Frederick said, stepping between them. "We still need to find Derek, and get to the bottom of this. Maybe Don or Hanny could shed some light on what happened, now couldn't he?"
Patrick nodded. "Let's go."
They walked up to the front desk, where Hanny, impeccable green suit and all, was busy organizing things on the front desk. He looked up as the small group of men walked up. "What can I help you with?" That creepy smile again
"I'm looking for a missing person," Patrick said, flashing his badge. Hanny's smile slipped.
"O-of course officer," Hanny said. "What do you need?"
"Do you know what happened to my partner, Derek?" Patrick asked.
"Don't know who that is," Hanny said. "But I hope you do find him."
Philip growled, reaching for a pistol that was under his jacket. "Oh don't you give me that! Where the fuck did you take him?"
Patrick turned to Philip, furious, but Hanny gave a high pitched scream. "Okay! Okay! We took the tribal, alright? Just don't shoot me!" He said, cowering.
"Just as I thought," Philip said. "Get out of there, and take us to him."
Patrick, Mr. Frederick and Philip marched Hanny through the now empty dining room and straight to the swinging doors into the kitchen. Cooks and staff were busy cleaning after the meal for the night, and some were preparing to call it a night, laughing and chatting as they worked.
"Hey! What are you doing here?" a female cook barked, pointing at Patrick with a knife. "Get out! Staff only!"
"RAMP business," Patrick replied, pulling out his badge, and not so subtly revealing his pistol on his hip. "And Hanny here is letting us look around here, right?" The green suited man nodded meekly, before directing Patrick to the freezer door. He walked up to it, pulled open the door, and gasped at the sight.
Derek was there, arms and legs bound, mouth gagged, hanging from his tied up feet from a meat hook. His eyes were closed, and it looked like he was dead. And there was several other people, all in various states of mutilation, hanging in a row. Arms, legs, heads, and bones of all sorts laid carefully, neatly in piles and rows in the ice box.
"Good God!" Mr. Frederick exclaimed, staring at the sight inside.
Patrick could feel his supper coming up as he realized that the delicious steak he ate that night was actually human. Patrick bent down and felt at Derek's neck.
Derek's eyes shot open, and he looked to Patrick, Patrick fell backwards, trying to catch his breath. But he realized that Derek was still alive. Patrick slipped the gag off of Derek's mouth.
"PatrickMorrison," Derek wheezed as he tried to breath. "I-I should have went with you for supper."
Patrick shook his head. "No. Because I really wish I didn't have what was on the menu now." Patrick reached for his pocket knife, and cut the rope around Derek's arms, and then the one around Derek's feet. The tribal fell to the ground in a heap, tired and exhausted after hanging upside down for so long, his legs and arms bruised where the ropes were tied.
Patrick lead Derek out of the freezer, and into the kitchen. Mr. Frederick had been sick already, vomiting to the side. Philip held his gun to Hanny's head, and Don was standing at the other end of the kitchen, having come in when he heard the commotion moments before
"You all do know that cannibalism is illegal in Assiniboia, right?" Patrick asked.
"That is just an old-world morality issue that had long since gone," Don replied from the side of the room, walking up to Patrick. "What use is the morals and beliefs of a world that has long ago been destroyed?"
"And why should we be restrained from using all the resources of the world to rebuild? Even our own bodies?" Hanny asked.
Philip growled. "Because fucking human decency says you shouldn't kill someone just to eat them!"
"And you are all under arrest," Patrick said. "As soon as the Rad-Storm is over, you are all going to face justice." Patrick turned to Hanny and Don. "Post-War, Assiniboian Justice."
Pip-Boy 3000 Info-Tracker Note #89
A Traveler's Guide to Assiniboia: Weather
By: Ben the Roving Ghoul
One of the most unique things that you will find when you go up north is the weather. Of course, for any person that has lived in the old United States, you'd be used to the sand and desert conditions, which I discuss in my other books. Assiniboia, and in fact the majority of old Canada, is totally different.
First, there is almost no deserts. Crazy, I know! The main reason for this is a giant glacier far to the north, and the cold air that comes from it, which, when it touches the warmer, hotter air from the south, creates a band of odd weather in a strip of land about 200 miles from the glacier into old America. It forms something along the lines of permanent spring: rain and snow, warmth and cold all can happen within a week, sometimes within hours of each other. So if you go north, make sure to take clothes for any possible weather combination. However, it rarely gets above 70 degrees Fahrenheit, or about 20 Celsius, and only on rare cases would it get to -4 F, or -20 C.
This weather also means an interesting ecology. Hardy grasses cover most of the land. In the more northern reaches you'd find great forests of mutated trees that are quick growing and good construction materials, though not so good for burning. Crops have to be genetically modified to be able to withstand the extremes of the weather of Assiniboia. However the growing season is year round, and because of the modifications to plants and seeds, crops are much more productive. Except for a short period of time after they it becomes ripe, there is little risk that inclement weather could damage the food supply. Besides, most cities, like Winnipeg, have massive greenhouses that feed the city anyway.
However, there is a great danger in Assiniboian weather. To the south of Assiniboia is a huge expanse of irradiated hell called Radiation Alley, the site of an old-world missile base that was hit in the Great War. Storms from this area, called Rad-Storms, can move north, endangering many unwary travelers and persons. In the towns of Assiniboia, sirens and bells will be used to alert everyone of the danger, so keep an ear out, and make sure you know what to do!
Next Chapter: The Animals of Assiniboia!