Chapter Ten
When Patrick emerged from the whole in the ground, the entire town of Vault H was, for lack of a better word, in ordered chaos. The sound of fighting, running feet and even charging Sleipnir's had woken up several people, who in turn woke up others. Several people were out on the street, wrapped in warm clothes as the cold night air to find answers. Without much information, rumors were quickly spreading, ranging from the Overseer dying of a heart attack to him being captured by bandits. Whatever the story, Vault H was, more or less, leaderless. The men and women he had put in charge of security, engineering, health, and all the other departments to manage a small town were competent, but had never been given any real responsibility in helping manage the town, and there was already a power struggle breaking out in trying to solve the question of who was now in charge.
Patrick and Derek were glad they were leaving as they were. Patrick had changed back into a comfortable shirt and denim pants and a nice thick parka, as well as his trusty Brahmin leather hat, and was glad that he was out of the tight spandex suit. Derek, who took a parka offered by the Vault security forces when he was released, was just glad to be out of jail. He didn't go hungry or anything, but the concrete walls and steel bars were not a fun place to be in for long periods of time, especially for someone that spent most of their life living with others on the land..
Patrick was also glad to hear that Demon was put on the train with the RAMP men that came down to here, so at least his trusty, if temperamental steed, was still available. Derek's sleipnir Aradesh was also here (or rather hadn't left since Derek was locked up), and seemed eager to continue traveling.
"So where are we off to now, Patrick?" Derek asked as they waited in the train station, carefully looking over the RAMP issue .44 Magnum revolver he had been given by one of the RAMP officers after they found out he only had a hunting rifle. Need something else for when you are in close combat, they said, so Derek took it reluctantly.
"South, into Red River America," he replied.
Derek froze. "We are going into the Evil Land?" he whispered. "Where the metal men that drove out my people, and the evil people that enslaved my tribe are from?"
Patrick patted his companion's hand that was clutching the chair handle with such force his hand was now white. "Don't worry, it's not where those Dakota people were from. It's Assiniboian territory, has been for years. We are just going down to the Great American Caravan Company, investigate, and come back. I promise."
"I don't like it," Derek said, nervousness oozing through his voice.
"You'll be fine, I promise. I'm here, and most likely we go down, talk to them, get some information, and sort out what happened here at Vault H. Nothing too bad." Patrick turned away from Derek, a frown crossing over his face. Of course, when he first came to Vault H, he thought it was just for that water chip part. Doctor Gladys Johnson promised to look out for the blueprints, but it was more likely Patrick would have to find it himself, in some Vault that may or may not exist down in the old US.
But since then he had to go to Winnipeg, nearly got blown up, and back again to bring down the slimy scumbag of an Overseer that was in charge of Vault H. There was never anything easy apparently.
Patrick wished that thought hadn't crossed his mind.
The train was more or less on time for once, and Patrick and Derek were out of Vault H before noon. The locomotive was a steam powered Royal Hudson engines, painted in gaudy red, white and blue, with some stars, maple leafs and bison painted on the side. Patrick asked the conductor why that was, and the young man, almost too excitedly, explained that this was the first train for the UAR that had been built with material from the old US, so it was made a primarily American run and operated locomotive in the otherwise Assiniboian system.
"This here is the one and only 'Double A Express," one of the fastest trains to ever run in the Dominion," the conductor enthused. "The entire crew does their best to show that we Old-World Americans can take a place in Assiniboia."
Eventually, after some more unbidden, random facts and statements that Patrick wasn't terribly interested in, the conductor carried on down the car to an old lady who, for the third time in an hour, asked what time the train was going to arrive in Atwood.
When the train arrived in Atwood half past one in the afternoon (and on time, which would undoubtedly give another reason for the conductor to brag about how great the Americans running the train were), Patrick and Derek stepped off their car to stretch their legs on non-wobbly ground, and maybe get lunch. As much as the conductor liked to gloat about the Double A Express, there was no dining car on this trip, much to both Patrick's and Derek's annoyance.
"I haven't eaten since I got out of the jail," Derek complained as he felt his stomach rumble.
"Don't worry, we should be able to find a place to get some food here," Patrick answered.
As they stepped out of the station, a building that was put together from scrap metal, wood and stone salvaged from the ruins of other buildings, they were greeted to the sight of an Old-World franchise restaurant, Atomic Joes. The faded and rusty red and white sign that was suspended up in the air had the J in Joe made out of a hockey stick (as Atomic Joe was the nickname of some Pre-War hockey player, whos actual name had long since been lost) advertised that it's food was "Rad-baked" and "Forever Perfect."
"What does that even mean?" Derek asked after Patrick read the sign.
"I dunno, some old world marketing ploy, most likely. Like the Canuck Co. stuff you still see," Patrick replied.
"What's Canuck Co.?" Derek asked.
"That's a story for another day," Patrick said, before he paused opening the door. "Where have I heard that before?"
It was packed as Patrick and Derek walked in. Most of the stools and tables were occupied: some farmers in one corner with black coffee, a couple businessmen in another with sandwiches and donuts, a young woman with a still functional portable typewriter, pounding away as she was writing something or another, taking a sip of her drink, which looked more like something he had seen come out of the wrong end of a Brahmin than a tasty beverage.
Patrick and Derek finally found a couple spots and climbed up into the front bar that went around the area where the waitresses worked.
"Heyo, welcome to Atomic Joes, can I take your order?" a bored middle-aged female voice asked Patrick after the two got settled. The woman was thin, her hair was done up so high Patrick was afraid it might get caught in the fan that whirred above them, and her apron was as clean as it could be, though coffee stains and a smudge of ketchup and mustard remained forever imprinted on the white cloth.
"Can I get a Brahmin Steak Sandwich and a Nuka Cola?" Patrick ordered, before turning to Derek, who shrugged, not knowing what. "Make that two."
"Any baked goods made with the Patented Rad Bake Oven?" she asked, resignation and disgust at having to call it exactly that for years on end seeping through.
"Sure, two donuts. Surprise us," Patrick said.
She turned around to place the order, leaving Patrick and Derek alone. Patrick looked around some more, and noticed a radio only a couple spots down from him. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, which still ticked, and showed that it was a minute after two.
Doing his best, Patrick strained his ears to hear the news
"…RAMP spokesmen would not disclose the name of the Auxiliary who helped uncover evidence of corruption at Vault H, and declined to comment if this operation had anything to do with the explosion at RAMP HQ in Winnipeg a couple days ago," the authoritative voice of Brad Horshaw said, relaying the news to the world.
"Well, nice to hear that the RAMP is doing something for once," the man who sat in front of the radio said to the man that sat on his left, who was also sitting beside Patrick on the right.
The second man kicked the first man. "You don't want to say that outloud, you dolt," he said in hushed tones. "What if he or one of his goons was here?"
"Who's he?" Patrick asked, leaning toward them. The two men looked at him in shock at having been discovered, before turning away and doing their best to ignore Patrick.
Patrick sat up, confused at what just happened. He turned around to Derek, to see that he already got his sandwich and was biting into it with gusto. Patrick shrugged, and looked down to see his sandwich was also in front of him. He slid his plate over to be closer to him. As he did, a piece of paper under the plate caught Patrick's eye. He picked it up, and looked at it.
In barely legible handwriting was "Get out of town ASAP." Patrick was now more confused than ever, and looked up to see the waitress, no longer bored or weary, but actually terrified, staring at Patrick and Derek in horror.
Patrick folded up the piece of paper and stuck it in his pocket, and grabbed the Nuka-Cola bottle in front of him and took a swig. He wasn't planning on staying long, just enough to get food and out.
The door opened again, and this time the entire diner fell in silence, with only a couple people from out of town still talking, and even they stopped when everyone else did.
Patrick let his eyes travel to the door, and he saw three men, two in the red painted combat armor of the RAMP, with assault rifles on their back and permanent scowls on their faces, and the other, tall and handsome and in a red outfit similar to what the old RAMP would have wore, with the gold chevrons of a sergeant on his shoulder.
"Is there a Patrick Morrison here?" the man in the middle asked, putting his hands behind his back as he walked into the diner.
Patrick winced as his name was called, as if he had just been shot in the gut. What now? He really didn't want to speak up, as he really just wanted to eat and get the hell out of here.
But the RAMP sergeant, looking around the diner and finally noticing the two men that he had never seen before at the counter, briskly walked over, and tapped Patrick on the shoulder. "Are you Mr. Morrison?"
Patrick took a deep breath. "Yes," he replied quietly.
The sergeant cleared his throat. "I said, are you Mr. Patrick Morrison?"
"Yes," Patrick replied louder this time.
The sergeant spun Patrick around until he was face to face with him. "When you talk to me, you address me as a superior, got it, Auxiliary?" he demanded, venom dripping in his voice.
"And I would recommend you don't lay a hand on me unless you have a death wish," Patrick snarled back. He was actually surprised at the outburst. "I just want to eat my fucking sandwich."
The combat armoured men had already unholstered their assault rifles and was pointing them at Patrick, while the Sergeant and the Auxiliary glared at each other for a long while, the atmosphere so tense that it would have taken a battery operated Ripper to cut through the tension, before the RAMP officer laughed. "Good, backbone! It's nice to see someone with that around here for once!"
Patrick was now even more confused, but the sergeant pulled himself together and extended a hand. "Sergeant Kirk Black, Atwood RAMP Detachment." Patrick took the hand, and shook hands with the man. "Hurry up and finish eating, we need to talk."
The Sergeant and the two deputies that followed him around left the diner. The room was quiet, staring at Patrick in amazement that he not only talked back to the RAMP officer, but survived.
Patrick turned back to his sandwich, but he quickly found out he had lost his appetite, the uncertainty of what was going on overriding any hunger he was feeling. With a grunt, he pushed the plate away from himself and climbed off the stool, and walked out of the still quiet restaurant. Derek, having polished off his sandwich and scarfed down his donut as if he had never eaten before, followed Patrick, taking sips from his Nuka-Cola in a surprisingly calm manner, and swiped Patrick's partly eaten sandwich to eat as well.
Sergeant Kirk Black was standing outside, talking to the two gruff men who seemed to be always attached to him. They nodded and saluted after the Sergeant gave them their orders. He then spun around on his heel and looked at Patrick and Derek who approached him.
"Ah, so you are the Auxiliary the radio has been talking about, huh?" he said, crossing his arms in front of him, that smile still plastered on his face like some old-World advertisement. "My friends in Winnipeg have nothing but praise for what you have done so far. It's that can-do attitude that I need right now, as I have a small problem I haven't been able to deal with myself as well as I could have, with my limited men here."
"What is it?" Patrick asked, already knowing his trip down to the Great American Caravan Company was being sidetracked. Why did it seem like every town he ended up in brought up another problem for him to deal with?
"You see, we have a band of fugitives running from the law riding in the river valley to the east. Three or so people, all guilty of a myriad of crimes, including robbery, murder and, most problematically, Undermining the Dominion."
"Basically you mean treason, right?" Patrick asked.
"More or less, yes." Sergeant Black took out a nail file from one of his pockets and started to scratch at his fingernails, rubbing out any imperfections he noticed. "They broke out of the jail a week ago, but I've been unable to get any reinforcements, as almost every available officer has been sent down to Fargo and Fort Carville. The Brotherhood of Steel is seen as a bigger threat than some rabble-rousers advocating the overthrow of our great nation!"
Patrick grunted, and forced himself to nod. It seemed odd that Winnipeg didn't seem concerned about treason on a major transportation route between old Manitoba and the eastern part of old North Dakota. Unless there was something else going on here, which was slowly making Patrick more uncomfortable as he thought about it.
"Well, I guess I could take a look into it," Patrick said. "It's going to screw up my schedule to get down south though, for my assignment."
"Don't worry about that!" Sergeant Black exclaimed, beaming. "I can arrange boat transport down there when you finish your job."
Patrick gave another half smile, but the same feeling he got talking to the now deposed Overseer was the same as he was getting talking to this RAMP officer, the feeling of getting into something that was going to quickly turn out to have been a lie all along, and would result in Patrick having to face the barrel of a gun.
And he didn't like that one bit.
The Red River was one of the few rivers that flowed north in all of North America, draining into what would have been Hudson's Bay, if a huge glacier now having frozen it solid. There are stories that the bay, along with all the old lakes of Old World Manitoba, were still flowing, as if the entire glacier was simply a maze of paths and waterways to link up all the lakes and rivers. Someone had called it Swiss cheese at one point, but Patrick had no idea what that guy was talking about. While he had cheese before (Brahmin milk was good enough for that), it seemed silly that there was a kind of cheese with holes in it. Plus, who was the Swiss they named it after?
The riverbank along the swiftly flowing river had its own hazards. The water only a few feet away was ice cold even in May, and the mud was thick and did it's best to pull Patrick down into the muck. He grumbled, before cursing as he stumbled on another root of an old tree that was still trying to cling to the side of the riverbank, to avoid being like its brethren that had already fallen and been washed away by the river. It was a good thing they tied up their sleipnirs to an old fence post before they climbed down here, where Sergeant Black said the criminals could be found.
"You could almost use this mud to make houses with," Derek remarked, deftly avoiding all the pitfalls that Patrick found himself in. "Let it dry in the sun, could make an entire town with this."
Patrick was too busy trying to avoid being swallowed whole by that mud to say anything. His backpack, weighed down with ammo, his guns and some packages of food and extra clothes, didn't make it much easier.
Eventually he managed to reach a spot where the recent snowstorm had yet to melt, leaving the mud virtually solid, strong enough for him to walk on. He looked down at his boots, the brown Brahmin leather even more brown thanks to the mud, and his denim pants, formally a decent black, was a caked on muddy brown from his knees down. Patrick sighed, knowing his feet would be the same color. He would need to find a shower after he was done this, he knew.
"So, Patrick," Derek said, surveying a large branch in his path, "What do you think about what we are doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"Looking for these people that the RAMP man told us to find?"
Patrick thought about it for a moment. "I… I don't know, to be honest. If they were as big of a threat as Sergeant Black made them, then Winnipeg could have easily sent some people to Atwood to take care of it."
"What if the Sergeant is lying?"
Patrick wanted to say that couldn't be the case, but he wasn't so sure. Something just seemed… slimy about the RAMP guy in charge of Atwood. But the Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police prided itself on being paragons of virtue and reliable upholders of the law. They would never have let the Sergeant progress that far, no?
"I don't know about this," Derek continued. "Why don't we just get on a boat and go south?"
"Because I'm an auxiliary of the RAMP," Patrick said. "I can't just choose what laws to uphold and which ones to ignore." Patrick turned around and continued walking down the river bank. "And, well, the Sergeant may not be my superior, but he is a full fledged officer, so I kinda have to…"
Patrick slipped on the mud at that moment, and lost his balance. As he fell forward, he could feel a piece of twine snap, and as he landed face first into the mud, a shotgun fired right where Patrick's chest would have been.
Derek wiped around, racing over to Patrick. "PatrickMorrison! PatrickMorrison! Are you okay?"
Patrick tried to lift his face up out of the mud, and eventually he was able to sit up, and used the cleanest part of his jacket to wipe the mud out of his face. A wet cloth, icy cold from the river, was pushed into his face.
"Oh, thank you Derek," Patrick said, rubbing his face.
"Who is Derek?" a man with a gruff voice asked. "That tribal over there?"
Patrick paused scrubbing his face, before peaking up over the cloth down the barrel of a shotgun.
"I think we have some talking to do," the man said, motioning Patrick to stand up. He turned around to see a large woman with a rifle pointed at Derek, who was just as surprised as Patrick was.
Yep. Something's gone wrong here. And I'm stuck in the middle of it, Patrick thought as he was led away.
Patrick and Derek were herded along a path along the river that he hadn't even noticed before they ended up at a small camp precariously perched next to the river. It wasn't anything fancy: just some scrap metal, old tarpaulins and logs cut down from along the river to form a base. It wasn't very stable, and if a sudden rain or flood came (which wasn't that uncommon in Assiniboia, anywhere along any river), this little camp would vanish, without a single trace to reveal it had been here.
There were three people here: the big man and women that hunted Patrick and Derek down, and a third woman, a pretty, young lady, carefully reading through a Bible, murmuring prayers and lines as if she was giving a sermon.
"Alright, you snoops, what are you doing here?" the man asked after Patrick and Derek had been forced to sit down on the log floor, his voice sounding more like a gravel pit than a human being.
"We were sent here by the Atwood RAMP," Patrick said, knowing lying wasn't going to get him anywhere.
The man growled. "That bastard Sergeant… I swear I should kill that fucker!"
"Hey now," the younger woman said looking up from the Bible. She would have been the right age to be the daughter of the man and woman. "Calm down Mike."
The older man grumbled, but didn't say anything else.
The young woman stood up, carefully closing her Bible. "My name is Julie Herrow, and I used to be the Christian Minister in Atwood, as well as a trained nurse that cared for the sick and injured in town."
"Then what are you doing out here?" Patrick asked.
"Because I spoke against Kirk Black for his abuse of power in a sermon," Julie said with a sigh. "Well, I didn't do it directly, but he's smart enough to know my message about how disobeying God's law leads to bad things was aimed at him."
"Isn't the Church supposed to be non-political?" Patrick asked.
"The object of the Church of Assiniboia is to not step into political issues, to use God's word to influence people in Man's government. However, that does not mean we should be doing our best to educate and enlighten those that follow us. Corruption, greed and dishonesty is illegal in both Heaven and Assiniboia, and it's my duty to call out and right such wrongs." Julie shivered, as if someone had just walked over her grave. "I worked hard on that sermon, spending over three months anguishing over the passages to use, the proper wording, and making sure it was always hidden until it was time to give it. Unfortunately, men like Sergeant Black can't be shamed into correcting his behavior, and he has the entire town in fear."
"Can't you talk to Winnipeg, to the Church there about what's going on? Even to the RAMP?" Patrick asked, shocked at what he was hearing. Could it be true?
"I've tried," Julie said, sadness on her voice. "But the Church dislikes getting involved with these issues, as the Church is, more or less, sponsored by the government. I will admit that the Dominion has done it's best to support hospitals, schools and ministries in the distant towns of Assiniboia, but that the cost of our near muzzling on any issue not religion related."
"And I'm guessing the RAMP can't do anything, can they? You don't have proof?"
At this Mike roared out loud in laughter. "I used to be in the RAMP, damn near 20 years, and used to be the man in charge of Atwood. Then Sergeant Black managed to worm his way in and take my post, saying I was the one who was corrupt, the one who allowed the BoS to set up bases north of the old American border in the First Brotherhood-Assiniboia War. So he managed to get me dishonorably discharged, kicked out of town and now put me on the run. The RAMP think's Sergeant Black is their golden boy, like he's the statue on the top of the Legislative Building."
"But why did he want a post in Atwood?" Patrick asked.
"Because it's the safest place in the nation. Winnipeg has too many gangs and criminals, not to mention the politics, so if he got on the wrong side of someone, he'd be dead. Atwood is also far away from the borders of Assiniboia: no raiders will barge in, no crime rings, no Brotherhood bastards to deal with. As long as he does his job and fills out all the paperwork, no one in Winnipeg gives a damn. Hell, out here in the middle of nowhere, he could run a big black market smuggling operation." Mike reached into his pocket, and pulled out some papers and handed them to Patrick. "And in fact, he did."
Patrick looked at the papers, and could see handwritten receipts for "miscellaneous goods," and some rather large sums of Assiniboian pounds, much more than Patrick had ever seen in his life.
Patrick tried to hand them back, but Mike waved him off. "Keep them. You might be able to do something with them."
Patrick nodded, and tucked the papers into his pocket, his fingers trembling, and it wasn't just because of the cold wind coming off the river. He then turned to the middle-aged woman, still pointing a shotgun at Derek, though not as rigorously as before. "What about you?"
"Mabel… she's had it the worst of all," Julie said, her voice wavering. "Her daughter was raped a few months ago by the Sergeant's deputies. I tried to help her, to tell her it wasn't her fault, and that God would still love her. She later killed herself a few weeks ago. When Mabel tried to get justice, Sergeant Black instead charged her with perjury and defamation, as well as for killing her daughter. I kept her safe for a while in the Church, as all churches are a safe haven for those that feel persecuted and violated. But the Sergeant's deputies didn't care, tore the place apart looking for her. I managed to get Mabel out of town before that."
Patrick listened to his in horror, his image of the RAMP in near ruins that someone like Sergeant Black could have gotten so far up the ranks. "How… how could this happen?" Part of Patrick wanted to throw his Auxiliary badge into the river right now, and forget he had ever done that.
Mike shook his head. "Power corrupts. That's the long and short of it. A few can handle the power and turn into selfless heroes. For many, they allow themselves to use the privileges they receive to better themselves, but are still good people. Some, however, let it consume them."
Derek growled for the first time since they were "captured," his fists clinched. "Even the Great One would pardon me if I would have killed him if I knew this."
"I would have settled with punching him in the face and locking him in a hole for the rest of his life," Patrick said.
Julie rested her hand on Patrick's shoulders. "I can't blame you. You aren't from around here, are you?"
"Melita area, way to the west," Patrick replied.
"News like what happened here in Atwood would be unlikely to reach Winnipeg or Mord-Wink, much less Melita. The DBS has a tight policy on the 'bad' news they can give, and almost never about the RAMP unless it's too big to keep under wraps. And other networks, of course, might be interested, but going to Winnipeg is a dangerous proposition." Julie stood up. "So we've been hiding, hoping we can find a way out of here, out of Assiniboia."
"Why don't you just go to Winnipeg, heck even to Melita?" Patrick wondered. "I'm sure you can blend in there, away from Sergeant Black. Winnipeg is a big place after all."
"No." Julie stated. "So long as he is in the RAMP, we can't risk living anywhere where the RAMP has legal authority. That's why…"
A gunshot echoed really close by, making everyone stop in surprise. Mabel and Mike twisted around, trying to find where the gunshot came from. It sounded like it was just to the south, where Patrick and Derek had been captured. Mike dashed off, followed closely behind by Mabel.
"That sounded like one of the traps they set up," Julie said, shaking her head. "I don't want to resort to violence, but they insisted on those rigged shotguns, even as an early warning signal."
"To bad it didn't work," a smug voice said behind Julie. Julie spun around, and there stood Sergeant Black in the early evening twilight, his .44 Magnum pointed at her head. There was a short gun battle down the river, followed by some screams, and then silence.
"Good thing I decided to follow you Patrick. This gang of criminals and traitors was too much for you and your tribal friend, it seems, trying to twist their lies into your ears." The Sergeant walked up to Julie, before forcing her hands behind her back and handcuffing her, while she struggled. "Come along, Minister," the sergeant said with as much vile as he could ladle onto the title, "you have some crimes to answer to."
"Wait a minute, Sergeant," Patrick said, marching over to the RAMP officer, and gently pushing the handcuffed minister to the side, and away from Sergeant Black. "If Julie is accused of Undermining the Dominion, she can't be tried in Atwood, and needs to be taken to a Dominion penitentiary, due to her being too dangerous to being held in a small town jail."
The Sergeant looked at Patrick with a condescending smear. "Where the hell did you hear that? Some little fairy come by to give you all the answers, huh?"
"It would just make sense, no?" Patrick said. "After all, if she is as dangerous of a traitor as you claim, then she might cause a riot in Atwood, for example." Patrick crossed his arms. "And what would happen if the RAMP would have to send men down to investigate a riot? What might they uncover?"
"What the hell are you talking about, Auxiliary?"
"I think you know what I'm talking about, Sergeant," Patrick said.
The radio on Sergeant Black's hip came to life, and he pulled it off his belt and and spoke into it. After hearing the garbled reply, which Patrick couldn't quite here, he turned back and smiled.
"I think I do understand what you are talking about, Mr. Morrison," he chuckled. "However, I think your case against me is short two legs to stand on now."
Julie cried out in shock as she realized what Sergeant Black was talking about, and began sobbing.
"You fucking bastard!" Derek shouted, jumping up and pulling out his .44 Magnum and aiming it at the Sergeant.
"Derek!" Patrick shouted as well, making the tribal hesitate from pulling the trigger., but then turned back to the Sergeant. "And you call yourself an RAMP officer."
The Sergeant's smiling face turned almost instantly into a glare. "Don't you fucking lecture me on how to be a Mountie, you do-good 'Auxiliary.' Out in the real world, you need to take some less than savory routes to keep the peace."
"Like charging a grieving woman after your 'deputies' took advantage of her daughter?" Patrick shot back. "Or smuggling who the hell knows what into Winnipeg?
"There is no proof of either anymore. She had her chance to argue that in court, but instead she fled from the law, making her a fugitive. And now she's dead. And my predecessor. Heart attack, I'll say."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Patrick growled.
"And what are you going to do about it?" Sergeant Black asked.
Patrick grabbed hold of the sergeant's arm with the gun and twisted it up, and Black, gasping in pain, instinctively pulled the trigger, making the gun fire into the dark sky, and then dropped the gun. Patrick wound up and hit the sergeant in the stomach, making him cry out as the air was driven from his lungs, ribs broken from the powerful blow. Derek, his gun still in hand, then proceeded to kick Sergeant Black in the groin. The corrupt RAMP man fell to the ground, gasping and groaning in pain, blood coming out of his nose.
Patrick, content the RAMP man was now incapacitated, went over to Julie. "Are you okay?"
Julie was staring at Sergeant Black. "I… I don't approve of violence," she said.
"I'm sorry, but it had to be done," Patrick said. Julie solemnly nodded.
Patrick then turned back to Sergeant Black. "I'm taking her into my custody, and will take her back to Winnipeg, and I'm going to let the RAMP there take care of her there," Patrick said. "Apparently since you are so understaffed, you'll be willing to let me do that, and take her off your hands, no?"
Patrick motioned to Derek to follow him as he guided a distraught and heartbroken Julie away from the corrupt officer. After only ten steps another gunshot fired, and Julie gasped, before leaning heavily on Patrick. "Ow… that hurts so much," she gasped out.
Patrick turned around, first to see a bullet hole through the back of Julie's coat, with blood oozing out, though it wasn't a huge amount so it must not have hit an artery. Patrick looked up higher to see Sergeant Black, trying to stand up and leaning against one of the posts of the shack on the river, before limping to the south to escape into the falling twilight.
Derek, having spun around at the same time, fired his revolver into the shadows of the riverbank and trees, until it clicked empty. He lowered his gun, and looked down. "I didn't hit him, sorry to say."
Patrick, however, was more concerned with Julie. He knelt down, sliding off his backpack, holding up Julie from the mud and gunk of the river. "Hold on Julie… Derek! Stimpak in my bag, now!"
Derek leaped toward Patrick's bag, rummaging through until he found a stimpak, and handing it to Patrick. Patrick uncapped it, and stuck it into Julie's arm. The chemicals in the medical device quickly stemmed the bleeding, and helped to stabilize Julie. Patrick dug into his bag and pulled out a shirt, before ripping it in half and wrapping it around Julie torso, to help stem the bleeding further.
"Let's get her out of here," Derek said. "Before the sergeant gets to his deputies and comes back."
Patrick nodded. "We can't go the way we came though."
"There's a path that…" Julie started, before taking a deep breath. "There's a path that will get us up the bank. It's right around here."
Patrick handed Julie to Derek, and he flipped on his Pip-Boy light, illuminating the encroaching darkness. He looked around, and noticed a small bush that seemed out of place on the riverbank. Patrick moved it to the side, but it just fell over, revealing a path that lead up the bank.
"Right here," Patrick half-shouted, half-whispered back, and a moment later Derek and Julie were up to Patrick, and they climbed up the path until the stepped onto flat prairie once again. They walked along the river, until the stumbled upon the two sleipnirs, still grazing the Wasteland Prairie as if nothing happened. Derek went ahead and untied the white and grey stallion from it's post.
"Alright, we should get you to Winnipeg," Patrick said, looking at Julie. "You should get up there as soon as you can, as the stimpak can't hold you over forever."
Julie nodded. "I'm feeling much better already, but I need to tell the RAMP what happened. Whatever happens to me now, I need to bring Sergeant Black to justice."
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to prevent him from shooting you, or killing your friends," Patrick said, before digging into his pockets for the recipets. "Might want to take these too."
"You did your best, Auxiliary. Don't worry about that," Julie said.
The two men helped the weak, injured and tired Julie up onto Aradesh.
"I can take her, Patrick," Derek said, after they loaded her up. "I will take good care of her, and make sure she get's to Winnipeg safe and sound."
Patrick smiled. "Thank you Derek. I know you don't want to go to America with me, but hopefully we can meet up again soon."
Derek nodded, and mounted Aradesh, climbing onto the saddle in front of Julie to help guide the beast, and then stretched out his hand. "Good luck, PatrickMorrison, and may the Great One guide you and keep you."
Patrick clasped Derek's hand and gave it a firm shake, before letting go and allowing Derek and Julie to ride off to the north.
Patrick watched as they went off, getting smaller and smaller in the distance. When he could no longer see them, he turned around and looked south.
He couldn't show his face in Atwood now. If Sergeant Black made it back to town, he would be hunting down Patrick and Julie, so he would most likely have to go around the town to the west, then head straight down there to the Great American Caravan Company outpost. Patrick sighed, and untied Demon, and mounted him. It was going to be a long night.
Pip-Boy 3000 Infotracker Note #287
The Church of Assiniboia: A Brief History
After the War of 2077, there were many survivors who had lost faith in God and the Word, and either left the flock to join the many cults that sprang up, or renounced religion all together. With such death and destruction from the nuclear war, and the gutting of entire nations and cities with fire and brimstone, it was understandable, though a sad reaction to the state of the world. However, there were some whose faith did not waver, and believed that, even in those dark times straight from the Book of Revelations, that God had not abandoned them, and that Jesus would return and bring those that deserved it into the light.
In the early years in Winnipeg, the various churches, mosques, synagogues and temples of many religions and of different denominations all worked together to provide charity, health, education and faith to those that needed it, to provide some hope in the times of anguish and sorrow. In those years working together, it became clear amongst the groups that they had much more in common than they realized.
While those that believed in Judaism and Islam still follow their ancient teachings as is their right in the Dominion, the various denominations of the Christian faith decided to continue working together, and formed the Church of Assiniboia to pool resources and continue to aid the poor, the ill, and those seeking a better life through faith or education. In 2096, the Dominion government agreed to fund our activities, and allowed us to establish churches, schools, hospitals, food kitchens, farms, workshops and many other activities to help the people of the nation. In return, the Church vowed to remain non-partisan and non-political, except at a local level; would not force our religion on anyone; nor turn away anyone for their beliefs.
Many of the most well known men and women in Assiniboia's history have been ministers of followers of the Church of Assiniboia over the decades, and the flock has grown to the point where 200,000 people come to services every week. The old petty grievances of how to properly worship the Lord and his Son have long since been set aside, and we allow all those that profess a belief in Christianity to worship as they choose (so long as it's not illegal under secular law). The shared values of charity, faith, teaching, healing, and enlightenment is our goal, and has been since he began, and will be our goal until the end of time.