Chapter Thirty-One
Kildonan was a city on fire. Gunshots and smoke filled the air as Patrick and Vince dashed between the cover of houses and stores along Regent Avenue that were on the verge of collapse after decades of neglect or fighting between different gangs. The two men stumbled on people: old men, young children and mothers with wide, scared eyes, hiding from the fighting in an old house, terrified of everything that came nearby. Patrick and Vince didn't have time to stop, instead running further along the wide, broken street that was towered to their left by the wall of cars, steel and rubble that formed the Kildonan Wall
A small group of gangsters, either drunk or high on Psycho and Jet, or just terrified for their lives, fired on Patrick and Vince when they tried to cross a small street. In return, the sober but adrenaline pumped duo would return fire, then make their escape, heading further east, leaving the would-be bandits wounded and fighting amongst themselves.
It took over an hour of on again, off again fighting and trying to avoid a possible ambushes or attacks by disoriented gangsters and residents just trying to defend their homes before they finally got to the mall that was once known as Kildonan Place.
But when they got to a checkpoint in the smaller wall along Lagimodiere Boulevard that surrounded the mall, Patrick froze just a few feet away from the guarded opening into the wall.
All of them wore green armbands.
"Oh shit," Patrick said, eyes wide in fear.
"What?" Vince asked, before turning around to look at the armed men and women at the checkpoint. After a moment, Vince realized just what Patrick meant.
"Hey!" one of the guards shouted. "What are you doing there? Get over here!"
Vince and Patrick, realizing that this time they were outgunned, outnumbered and with no surprise or anything on their side, sulked closer.
But instead of being shot right then and there, the guard motioned them through the door. "Hurry up and get inside!"
Now Patrick was very confused. "What?"
"Are you residents of Kildonan?"
"Uhh… not exactly," Patrick said. "I'm from Assiniboia…"
"Okay, don't care. Get in!" Another guard was already opening a door. Patrick and Vince glanced at each other, and the older, one-eyed man gave a shrug, so they walked through the gate.
Inside was a mass of humanity: hundreds, if not thousands of people milling around, camping out on the old pavement or grass, talking amongst each other. Everyone was quiet and sullen. Somewhere a baby wailed, and women and children cried.
A man in a nice, if dirty suit and a green armband came up. He had a clipboard in his hand, and a 10mm pistol on his hip. "Can I help you?"
"I… uh… what's going on here?" Patrick asked, confused.
"You don't know? The Mallers have always been a welcoming place, unlike some of the other gangs here in Kildonan. We've always opened our doors to allow anyone here, and with what's going on outside…" the man's voice trailed off, but he shook his head.
"Do you know what is going on?" Patrick asked.
"As far as we can tell, a shootout near the dock turned into a huge bloodbath, and all of Kildonan is now in a state of anarchy."
"Well, we were involved in that shootout," Vince said. "And it looked like some of your green-armed thugs were part of it."
The man blinked. "What?"
"Six or so people with green armbands were shooting at us when we were at a gun store."
The man blinked again. "Who shot first?"
"Well, they captured us, and were about to shoot but the store owner started it."
The man took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "Okay, I think we need to talk to Ricardo about this, ASAP. Follow me."
Patrick and Vince followed the man with the suit through the crowd, winding around small groups and cutting through an impromptu soccer game between little kids and teenagers that their parents and other adults cheered on. They got to the Mall itself, and after the man told the password to the guard, they were let in.
The inside of the mall was like any of the old world malls: large, cavernous expanses of concrete, wood and tile, with the front of old shops falling apart and fountains either empty or half full of stagnant water where fountains would have once shot water skywards to the delight of young children. Somewhere, an old PA system continued to play soft music, as if the previous 140 years of the post-apocalypse had never happened, with just the occasional loud screech and static as holotapes skipped and songs blurred to remind people that things had changed. But unlike the Shoppers Mall in Brandon that was just a big barracks, the malls on the inside of the old Perimeter Highway were designed to become giant greenhouses. Patrick had always heard the stories of them, but never got a chance to step inside one before.
Inside the old stores, specially designed hydroponic stations had been set up, with food growing under the lamps and water soaking the different fruits and vegetables and certain grains with a fine mist. The Morrison farm, like many small farms throughout Assiniboia, might be able to provide wheat and other grains, along with Brahmin and other meat to their local areas and even ship them to Winnipeg, this was industrialized agriculture to a fine-tuned degree, designed to feed thousands of people with crops and food that otherwise would be impossible. Lots of robots, along with dozens of people in dirty clothing not far removed from what Patrick would have worn while working on his farm milled around, checking gauges and measuring different plants, with some doing the hard work of harvesting food that would be rationed or sold off. The building was warm, humid, and often mud and water seeped from the different rooms and stores into the hallways.
But alongside the indoor farms was a lot of armed men and women, all with green armbands. Some looked at Patrick and Vince with suspicion bordering on the paranoia, but with their escort, who was clearly someone of a higher status in the Mallers, they were left alone.
They walked up an old escalator and onto the second floor, then turned down another hallway. Here the man in the suit was stopped again, and he gave a different password. They were let in once again.
Unlike the quiet serenity of the greenhouse part of the mall, this part was a madhouse. People shouted, radios blared, and somewhere a loud jangling sound could be heard. People, some in suits and dresses, some in the hap-hazard leather and metal armor ran about, barking orders and calling for other people.
Patrick and Vince's guide lead them through the mad melee of people until they got to a decent sized room. Seven or eight people were standing around a table with a map of Winnipeg, with a lot of pins stuck in where Kildonan was.
"No, I don't care what the Eaglemere guy demands, I'm not backing down!" one man, in a suit that didn't seem to fit him very well, and seemed a couple sizes too big shouted into a telephone receiver. On closer inspection, Patrick realized he was wearing a bulletproof vest under the jacket. "You tell him that I will talk with him with my men on my side of the damn line!" he slammed the receiver down, and spun around to see the man that lead Patrick and Vince. "What the fuck are you doing here Matt? I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on the refugees!"
"Ricardo, these two men here have some… news to tell you. About the fight that started this at the gun store by the docks."
Ricardo looked at Patrick and Vince. "So? What is it? Spit it out! I don't have time!"
Patrick bit his lip. "Uhh...well we were ambushed."
"By who?" Ricardo demanded.
"By people with your armbands," Patrick replied.
Ricardo stared at Patrick. "What?"
Patrick then explained to Ricardo what had happened, and why they were here, and then handing over the Brotherhood dog tag they found.
"How the hell did you manage to even take down a Brotherhood agent? It took 14 of my own people to kill just the one that tried to assassinate me."
"I've done it before," Patrick said.
A lady in a full suit of metal armor looked him over. "Who are you?"
"They call me the Auxiliary," Patrick said. That brought a moment of quiet to the otherwise noisy room.
"Huh. So I guess the Asses do care. Sometimes," Ricardo said, then spat on the floor. "Okay, so if what you say is true, Auxiliary, then it's worse than I feared. The fucking BoS has agents all throughout Kildonan. Not many, but just enough to cause the chaos already going on. This is just what Assiniboia needs as an excuse to march in and take over."
"What if it was an Assiniboian plant?" someone asked. "You can never trust the damn Mounties."
"What would they gain to have a huge area, just north of their capital, tearing itself apart? Not only that but the damage could start spreading out more," Patrick replied. "Plus, most of the army is in the south to get ready to fight the Brotherhood, or in Brandon already. Why get into a third fight?"
Ricardo chewed on his lip. "Alright then. I can talk to the other gang leaders, see if we can hammer out a peace. But before I do that, I need a 100% assurance from the RAMP that they will not interfere. The last thing we need right now is some Redcoats charging in on Sleipnir's to 'restore order.' That will just lead to a bigger bloodbath. So if the Mounties stay out, and I get a chance to get in contact with the bosses, then we can get this damn firefight under control."
Patrick nodded. "Is there a way to get out of Kildonan that isn't through the docks? Because I'd rather not fight through the city again."
"Yeah. We got a few tunnels under the wall," Ricardo said. "Jack! Lizy!" he barked, two of the armed soldiers nearby looking up. "Blindfold these two and take them through Tunnel… 3. Make sure they can't see shit."
"May I ask why?" Vince asked. "I'm already an eye short."
"Because I don't want the Mounties to find out these tunnels. Got it?" The way Ricardo spoke gave the impression that there would be some bodily harm if they continued this line of questioning.
Jack and Lizy lead Patrick and Vince out of the room - where they started shouted and the old telephone jangled off it's hook again - down the broken escalators, but instead of going through the mall, they went down a different hallway to a door that lead to the basement. It was at this point that they were stopped, and two green bandana's were pulled out of their pocket (Patrick idly wondered where all those green bandana's came from) and tied it around their head to cover their eyes.
Satisfied that they were blinded, one of them opened the door, and another grabbed hold of Patrick's shoulder, and began to push and guide him through the door. After a few steps Patrick realized the ground was sloping downwards: not enough to make him fall, but enough to be noticeable. It was also uneven, and Patrick could hear dirt and gravel crunch under his feet. The walls and ceiling were also pretty small, and Patrick's shoulders brushed up against the walls, making dirt and stones fall, and at one point his hat was nearly knocked off. The person who was guiding him adjusted the hat though, and a bit later made him turn to the left, and then the right a bit after that, and then the left again.
There was a loud fwump and cry as Vince tripped on a large rock, but the gangster quickly got him up.
"Shut up! People can still hear us!" Lily, the female gangster half whispered, half yelled through clenched teeth. Vince shut up.
Finally, after a long, quiet forever, the ground started to slope up again, before it flattened again. Then Patrick was stopped by the hand that guided him the entire way.
"Wait here. We'll check to see if the coast is clear."
Two pairs of footsteps walked past Patrick, and then he heard a creaking door. There was a long silence before the unoiled door's hinges creaked again, followed by the footsteps.
"Alright," the man said, grabbing Patrick's shoulder. "Gonna take you on a ride to your drop off point for the RAMP to pick you up.
Patrick nodded, and was roughly lead again, going through the door. He heard a Sleipnir snort, and another wooden door hinge open.
"Alright, into the Fusilier. Let's go!" Lily said.
Patrick wasn't able to find his footing that easily, but when he finally found the bottom rung, he was able to climb up. Vince followed soon behind, along with one of their guards. The Fusilier smelled as if it had carried brahmin meat, unrefrigerated. He heard Vince make a bit of a gagging sound, but, despite the overpowering stench, Patrick even smiled. It reminded him of home, so long ago and far away from where he was now.
The door was closed again, and a moment later there was a muffled tongue click and the wagon lurched forward.
The Fusilier rumbled along the streets, hitting potholes and bumps, and swaying from side to side as it turned, first one way, then that. The loud squeaky wheels, the clip-clop of the eight legged Sleipnir pulling the Fusilier, and the muffled rumbling of people hawking whatever they were selling, children squealing and shouting in excitement and other Fusiliers and sleipnir's rumbling along, as well as Brahmin and every other sound of a large settlement coming through the wooden walls.
"Alright Auxiliary, you can take off your blindfold now." Lily said. Patrick reached behind his head and pulled off the bandana.
The sleipnir drawn Fusilier had no windows, so it was dark, which only made the smell of old, raw brahmin meat stand out even more. Patrick flipped the flashlight on his Pipboy so he could see better.
It was just Patrick, Vince and Lily in the wagon. She still held her gun, but it wasn't pointed at either of the two men, so Patrick hoped that meant she was protecting them, and not actually on the verge of shooting them.
"Where are we going?"
"To the Forks. There is always a lot of people there, as well as Fusiliers and shit, so you'd easily blend in, and no one will be the wiser. The Mounties you'll meet will most likely be plain clothes, if it's anything like the way we did this before. But they will take you to wherever you need to go."
Patrick shrugged. But then the wagon lurched to a halt, and Patrick had to brace himself to make sure he didn't fall over. The sounds of people was a lot quieter, and now it sounded like a lot of sleipnir's was around, like they were in a stable.
"Alright, let's go," Lily said, as the doors were unlocked.
The bright light from the outside nearly blinded Patrick, who had to blink a lot to get his bearings straight. Two men in clothing that wouldn't appear that uncommon from an ordinary person, but each with a holster that held a .44 Magnum not unlike Patrick's was standing there. Vince followed right behind.
One of them came up, and pointed to another Fusilier, this one an unpainted one with a couple windows on each side, though covered with a thin wire mesh that would allow some air through, and dust and tiny insects, but not much else. "Alright Auxiliary, you and your friend, in you go."
"Uh, badges?" Patrick asked. "Just, you know, to make sure?"
The two men looked at Patrick, shrugged, and reached into the pockets to pull out their gold coloured RAMP badges. Patrick nodded and the badges vanished.
Patrick and Vince walked to the next wagon and climbed up into it. One of the RAMP officers climbed up behind them into the Fusilier, and the door was closed behind him. The wagon then began to roll.
Like before, the Fusilier rumbled along the road, taking this turn and that one, bouncing over roads and pavement that hadn't been fixed in over 140 years. The sounds of sleipnir's and wagons, then of people began to disappear. A train blew its whistle, a rush of steam as it pulled into the train station that was near the Forks, but soon that sound also began to disappear as well. After a while, only the sound of the wind, along with the creaking Fusilier and Sleipnir hooves could be heard.
Suddenly a dull sound of rotars and engines could be heard, growing louder and louder by the moment.
"That sounds familar," Patrick thought, trying to look out of the window, but he couldn't see anything.
"Vertibirds," the RAMP officer riding with Patrick said.
"Really? Assiniboia has vertibirds?"
"Nope, their Enclave. We have a base near the Airport…"
"We?" Patrick asked. The officer seemed to tighten up.
"Sorry, meant that Assiniboia - we - have a base at the Airport that the Enclave is using. Allow them to refuel and fix their stuff and all that."
Patrick raised an eyebrow, and Patrick could tell the person was nervous, but he let it slide. But something seemed wrong.
"We should be there by now," Patrick finally said to the guy in the back after another fifteen or so minutes of riding in the Fusilier.
"Don't worry, we'll be there soon. Just have to take some detours, make sure no one is following." But the guy was looking a bit uneasy too, and was often glancing out the window next to him.
Patrick sighed, and glanced out the mesh screen at his head as well. The first thing he noticed through the thin holes was the lack of people. He didn't see a single person outside, though he heard some birds take off, squawking at the sleipnir drawn wagon for disturbing them. But the next thing he noticed was that the buildings were, for the most part, in ruins. No windows remained in any of the buildings, doors hung off hinges, and many houses were little more than rotted wood, concrete chunks and rusty metal.
"Where the hell are we?" Patrick asked, turning to the man in the wagon with them.
He answered by drawing his gun and pointing it at Patrick. "I have my orders to make sure you don't interfere."
"Interfere with what?" Patrick asked.
"With the rebirth of America," the man said with a grin.
"America?" Vince said. "America is dead."
"But not the Enclave," the man with the gun said, still smiling. "And the Enclave is America. And the Enclave will make America great again. Starting with Assiniboia."
"Wait, you're trying to take over Assiniboia?"
"Try? There is no try. We will do it."
"America's been dead long before the bombs dropped all those years ago," Vince said. "And it sure wasn't great back then. The idea of America was always the Land of the Free, Home of the Brave and all that crap. But I've heard the stories all over North America of how, before the war, the rich controlled the government, cut their taxes so they didn't have to pay for anything, and then waged war with China, took over Mexico and Canada, and then used the army to kill protesters in the street when people realized their resources were running out and they were going bankrupt, and then dying of disease and even starvation. It wasn't an American dream: it was a nightmare."
"The Enclave will fix it all. There will be no more riots, no more hunger, no more war. Just peace, freedom, and power." The Enclave guy said, reciting the brainwashing he had ever since he was born. But his face was turning red as Vince continued to argue.
"The last time I heard that, somewhere down south, it only lead to the rise of a madman who destroyed not just his home, but a half dozen other settlements that were on the verge of civilization. There is nothing but ashes and bodies there now. And that's exactly what you will do here!" Vince was nearly shouting right into the Enclave soldiers face now. "I may have only one good eye, but I can see clearly what is going to happen. You will set the world back decades, a century or more if you destroy Assiniboia, and try to remake your twisted, demented idea of America!"
The Enclave soldier snarled, and in a flash turned his revolver around and swiped it through the air, connecting with Vince's skull. Vince groaned, then collapsed on the floor of the wagon.
Patrick reached for his own revolver but the Enclave man was quicker, and managed to tackle Patrick before he could grab the .44 Magnum.
The wagon came to a stop as Patrick and the Enclave man fought. The back door opened and the second Enclave agent came in, and joined in beating up Patrick. One fist to the gut knocked the air out Patrick, and he folded up like a switchblade on the floor.
"Let's drop them off here," one of them said, wiping blood from his nose. "They'd be as good as dead out here."
Patrick tried to struggle, but he was unceremoniously shoved out of the Fusilier, falling to the broken pavement and spraining his ankle as he landed on it awkwardly. He tried to stand up, but at that moment the unconscious body of Vince was tossed out and landed on Patrick, knocking him down again with a cry of pain, and his head smashing against the road with a sickening crack, and all Patrick could see was stars in front of his eyes.
The man driving the Fusilier climbed back into it and whipped the Sleipnir into action, and with a startled whinny the wagon and riders raced off.
Patrick's head hurt. That was almost an understatement: it felt like a super mutant was using a sledgehammer on him. He was disoriented and confused, trying to piece together what happened. Not only that, he was pinned down by an unconscious man and he couldn't reach his hip.
"Well… fuck," Patrick groaned. "Could today get any fucking worse?"
As if an answer to his question, there was a loud howl, with more echoing through the rubble of the old abandoned street. That didn't sound good at all.
"You just had to say that, didn't you Patrick?" Patrick asked himself, groaning as he tried wiggle his arms out, and then to push Vince off of him so he could try to get up. It took a bit of work, but he managed to roll Vince off of him, and stood up. His ankle hurt, but he could still walk.
He looked up down the street to see a very large dog, skinny, mangey, and growling at Patrick. The mutt looked dangerous and vicious, it's fur puffed out to make it look bigger and more intimidating. And it was then that Patrick remembered riding in the Fusilier that had carrie Brahmin meat at one point, so he most likely smelled delicious.
This was quickly becoming one of the worst days he ever had.
Patrick reached down for his hip, but the .44 Magnum that had done him so much good for the past few weeks was gone.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Patrick screamed at himself under his breath, looking around to see if he could find anything as a weapon, while also keeping an eye on the dog as it came closer and closer, snarling and drooling in hunger.
Patrick looked around again, then saw something from the corner of his eye where an old car sat. He gave a small grin, and glancing back to the slowly approaching, snarling dog, he counted to himself, before he sprinted toward the car.
The dog began to bark and chase after Patrick. He just managed to get to the car before the vicious mutt caught him, and he grabbed the rusty tire iron from the back and swung around, managing to catch one of the dog in the top of it's head. It yelped and fell down.
But it sprung back up and grabbed hold of Patrick's leg and began to shake. Patrick screamed as the teeth bit into his leg, but a couple smacks with the tire iron over the dog's head made it let go and retreat again, but just far enough to be out of reach of Patrick's swing. Blood began to pour from the wound, soaking into the dirty clothing he was wearing and dripping onto the road.
The two combatants looked at each other: the dog snarling and panting heavily, and Patrick, tired and injured, starting to think that, maybe after all this time, this was the end.
The dog snarled and began to ran back at Patrick, and took a leap through the air to go toward Patrick's throat.
BANG!
The dog continued to go through the air, but it smashed into the car head first just a foot away from Patrick's head. A large bullet hole in it's head told Patrick it died instantly.
Patrick, his entire body shaking, looked over to see Vince, Big Bertha in hand, smiling.
"That's enough excitement for today, is it not?" Vince said.
Patrick got himself up and limped over to Vince. The leg he was bit on was the opposite leg of his sore ankle, so he wasn't moving anywhere fast.
"Well, nice to see you're awake," Patrick said, half-sitting, half-falling down beside Vince.
"Oh, I was awake the whole time. I just pretended to be knocked out by the Enclave bastard," Vince admitted. "Sorry about that, but I didn't want to startle you earlier."
Patrick glared at Vince. "I would have rather had a heart attack from you scaring me than from nearly being eaten by a wild dog."
Vince chuckled, and sat himself up. "Alright, let's see if we can get you fixed up.
Vince took a knife out of one of his many pockets and cut open Patrick's pant leg. He then cut off a chunk of his shirt and wrapped it firmly, but not too tightly, around Patrick's leg where the bite was.
"If I had some whiskey I would clean that up. Hell, if I had a stimpak, I'd just give you that. But I got neither," Vince muttered as he finished tying up the wound.
"I'm pretty sure it wasn't rabid, so I'm not going to die that quickly," Patrick said.
"So where are we even?" Vince asked.
Patrick looked around. There was a street sign on the corner that, while rusty and with flaking paint, spelt out that they were near the corner of Machray Avenue and Monreith Street. An old school that had seen better centuries lay just to the north. He then looked to the south-east, he saw the towers that rose over Portage and Main, bright and illuminated amongst the darkened ruins around them. "Well… fuck." Patrick looked at his PipBoy map to verify what he thought.
"What?"
"We're in the North End. Nobody has lived up here for over a hundred years, so it's basically a wasteland. The closest place would be the Health Sciences Center, but it's at least… three kilometers to the south. There is nothing to the north or west, and to the east is the Red River… and Kildonan."
Vince stood up, dusted himself off, and reholstered Big Bertha, before helping heave Patrick up onto his feet. "Well, we might as well go south then." he glanced to the west, where the sun was beginning to set. "And we better move quickly, so we don't have any unexpected surprises."
Pip-Boy 3000 Infotracker Note #9999/Assiniboian Emergency Notification System.
ALL CAPABLE RADIO STATIONS SHALL TRANSMIT THIS EMERGENCY NOTIFICATION TO ALL LISTENERS.
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EMERGENCY/EMERGENCY/EMERGENCY
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THIS IS NOT A TEST. THE DOMINION OF ASSINIBOIA HAS DECLARED A STATE OF EMERGENCY IN THE CITY OF WINNIPEG, EFFECTIVE JUNE 19, 2218 AT 15:08 HOURS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. FIGHTING IN KILDONAN HAS ERUPTED, WITH FIRES SPREADING QUICKLY, GUNSHOTS AND EXPLOSIONS KILLING AND INJURING MANY. DO NOT GO NEAR KILDONAN. RAMP AND THE ARMY HAS DEPLOYED FORCES TO KEEP THE FIGHTING FROM WINNIPEG ITSELF. ANYONE IN THE VICINITY OF KILDONAN SHO-
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EMERGENCY/EMERGENCY/EMERGENCY
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THIS IS NOT A TEST. ARMED SOLDIERS IN ENCLAVE UNIFORMS ARE SEIZING STRATEGIC AND IMPORTANT POINTS AROUND WINNIPEG. THIS IS AN ATTACK WARNING. ENCLAVE SOLDIERS ARE MOUNTING A COUP IN WINNIPEG. DO NOT AID THE ENCLAVE. REMAIN IN YOUR HOMES, DO NOT GO OUTSIDE. DO NOT FIRE ON THE ENCLAVE, AS THEY WILL REPLY WITH DEADLY FORCE. AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, DO NOT-
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THIS IS THE ENCLAVE. DO NOT FEAR US. WE ARE HERE TO BRING PEACE AND ORDER TO THE WORLD. DO NOT GET IN OUR WAY, AND YOU WILL BE SAFE. TOMORROW IS A BRIGHT DAY FOR ASSINIBOIA AND AMERICA.
GOD BLESS THE ENCLAVE! GOD BLESS AMERICA!