Chapter IV:
Big Trouble in a little Town
Mitchell
"I just don't know, Trudy! He just woke up, passed his test phenomenally and then headed into town!" I exclaimed to a distraught Trudy. Her tawny and older look was red with a mixture of fear and anger all bottled up in a dangerous concoction. She continued to glare at me as she spoke:
"Look, Sunny's been missing fer hours; your friend entered my bar and left with her! She's never this late! Damn it Mitchell, what if she's hurt out there or- -"
"Don't you think about that, Trudy!" I interrupted her, drawing her head to my shoulder as she started to weep, "We both know Sunny can look out fer herself. And if you say she went with Gideon, she should be safe."
"What do you mean?" She asked, looking up at me with questioning eyes.
"I saw the look in Gide's eyes, his build, and the way he moved, but most importantly; the number of scars all over his body."
She pushed herself away from my embrace, locking her questioning eyes onto my own, and I could swear she was look through at my soul. I sighed and explained:
"Gideon has atleast two dozen scars, more or less, over his chest, back and forearms. Mind you these aren't workers scars, either."
"What were they caused by?"
"Look I'm no combat surgeon, but I remember the Troopers we took in after Boulder City. The majority of the wounds they suffered came from Legion Gladiuses."
"They were the same?"
"Almost certainly, Turdy. He also has four bullet holes, two in his left leg, another in his shoulder and one along his right arm. All from .357 repeater rifle rounds."
"You mean- -"
"Yes, whoever Gideon is or was, he bears the scars of a Legion fighter."
"You think he's NCR? Maybe a soldier or a Ranger…"
"I don't think so, Trudy. These scars; from the earliest healin' of these wounds, date goes back even fifteen years ago."
She nodded, understanding; "Long enough before the Bear showed up here. So what is he, then?"
Suddenly, our conversation was cut short by loud shouting down the hill. Then my eyes went wide, and I could hear Trudy gasp aloud. It was Gideon running up the hill with Cheyenne at his side, but what was he carrying… Then I saw the red hair. Oh God, it was Sunny.
"Doc!" Gideon shouted up at me from down the hill, "Sunny's been shot!"
With a haste I hadn't felt since I was a young man, I opened and propped open the door as Gideon came running on in.
"Get her on the operating table, now!" I shouted at him, as I moved into the back room and pulled out my doctors' bag…
"…And that's when I showed up here." Gideon said, finishing his retelling of everything that had happened since he had left my home. I felt a new pulsing pain in my forehead, a feeling I had not felt sense my days as a wondering doctor. It had been a feeling I hoped I would never have to encounter again. I looked at Trudy, who was pondering deeply:
"You said that the men who ambushed you two were wearing blue jumpsuits?" She asked. Gideon nodded, sighing deeply:
"Yeah, and they had white lettering on their coats, but it was too dark for me to see them."
"You didn't need to, Gideon," I began, my fist curling hard, "From the description; they're those fuckin' NCR chaingangs they keep up the road at that damn prison."
"That could be the reason that we haven't had any word from Sloan or Hell, anybody north for that matter." Trudy added. Then she stared long and hard at Gideon and then at me.
"I think you know why they're here, don't ya?" Trudy asked me and I nodded.
"Ringo."
"Who's Ringo?" Gideon suddenly asked. I sighed and beckoned him over:
"'bout a week before I pulled the lead out of yer head, we found a caravaner by the name of Ringo who was in pretty bad shape. Those convicts that ambushed you? Me and Trudy think they did the same to Ringo and they want to finish the job."
"Well shit," Gideon cursed, his hand moving towards the 9mm in his holster, "I killed eight on that hill. You think there are anymore?"
"More than likely, Gideon. That means we're going on full alert…" Trudy replied, standing from her chair and heading towards the door; "I'm gonna go talk to Easy Pete about getting patrols out, maybe we can put up enough of an appearance that they'll leave us alone."
With that she headed out the door, and into the night.
"Is Sunny gonna be okay, Doc?" Gideon asked, his tone betraying a sense of fear in his voice. I nodded:
"The only real damage was to her leg. No bone damage, but she's still lost a lot of blood and she still has a minor concussion. I think we should keep her in bed fer atleast a couple more days."
He nodded, understanding. However, I could still see guilt locked deep into his hazel eyes. I placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort the younger man:
"Gideon, what happened to you wasn't your fault. If you hadn't…"
"If I hadn't run off on her in my blind hate, she wouldn't have been shot!" Gideon interrupted bitterly, his head stooped low like a child who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Maybe Gideon, but you still saved her life, found out that there are deranged convicts out here and you risked your life to save Jessica."
"Jessica, you mean...?"
"Yes, Gideon. The girl you found outside of town, and you wiped out the Gecko nest without even a scratch. Hell, people are already talkin' 'bout you…"
"Really?"
"Well sure. You get shot twice in the head and yet you survived. You saved two of our townsfolk, wiped out the nest, killed three Rad Scorps, and to top that off; you effortlessly killed a group of murderous convicts. You're starting to build up a legend all 'bout you, Mr. Maddox."
Gideon practically stared at me, but then he sighed and took out his hand from his pocket.
"This belonged to anybody?" He said, opening his hand to reveal a locket, with a picture of a rather familiar young couple inside. I nodded:
"That was Thomas Rodriguez with Maria Sanchez. Where'd you find it?"
"On the body of Thomas: along with probably his deceased brother, outside the nest."
I nodded grimly; it had been heart breaking to tell their family and mother that they wouldn't be seeing their sons again. But now…
"They lived in a house across from the Saloon. You going there?"
"Yeah. I made a promise to return it to his family. And I aim to keep my promises." Gideon replied, his face hardening into a grimace as he stood and walked towards the door. Before he left, he turned and stared me in the eye:
"I'll be back, to check on Sunny."
Just like that he was gone, the swinging door the only reminder of his former appearance…
Gideon
The house just across the road from the saloon, my mind reminded me as I walked along the road in the center of town. The cold night air was chilling, but it kept me awake and focused. The darkness about me was drawn and illuminated in glowing silver from the many stars and moon above me. I had often found myself gazing at the stars, their splendor and trinity seeming to ignore the horrors of the lands far below, as though the stars were the eyes of God…
Suddenly, my eyes spotted movement from the corner of my eyes and my hands drew the shotgun in a tight grip. There were five of them, all armed. They could've been the townsfolk, but there was no way that Trudy could've gotten the town organized this quick. Besides, they were trying to hug the shadows, stay silent and covered. Okay, let's see what these guys are up to.
I crouched low, and began to tail them. They were moving slowly through the center of town and my guess was that they were trying to find some sort of highground. Then suddenly they stopped and one of them called out to his team, so I ducked behind cover within earshot. Then a second later they were moving again, but now I could tell where they were going, a gas station on a hill overlooking the town. Gears began turning in my head, the tactical side of my mind placed me in their commanders shoes, if you needed to find or prepare… something, then the best place to do it is on the highground.
They began creeping up the hill, so I followed. I kept low to the ground, shotgun in front, moving at a snail's pace. Finally they reached the crest and were getting ready for what looked like a breach maneuver, the man with a shotgun being pointman. As he was getting ready for a kick, there was a loud crack of fire, the door splintered and the pointman dropped to his back, three nine millimeter bullets still steaming from his chest. Then the moon revealed the parties true allegiance, their blue coats betraying their identity.
I needed no more proof, so I raised the 20 gauge and fired into the closest target. He dropped, so I slung away the shotgun and drew my handgun. Then more fire roared from inside the gas station and another of the gunmen dropped. Now they had their guns aimed at me, but their focus was still shifted to the gas station, so I took my chance. I raised the pistol executioner style and dispatched the remaining convicts to buy the farm downstairs.
As the smoked began to clear, a figured popped out from the darkness and I raised the .40 cal on him. Then he stepped forward, and raised his own handgun on me as well. I looked him up and down, the moon giving me enough light to work with. He wore the torn brown caravaner overalls of a Crimson Caravan merchant, a trading company back in California. He was younger than me; his tone of skin betrayed a Latino descent with flurried black hair, and a cocky smile to complete it all.
Then he spoke in a rather overconfident tone:
"Had we had us some women thrown into the mix, I think we could consider this a Mexican Standoff."
I had to control myself from laughing, but it was hard not to. This guy may have been a cocky son of a bitch, but I liked him. I raised my handgun up and placed it back into my holster, which he followed and did so as well.
"You Ringo?" I asked him. He replied with a wide grin:
"You that deadman the Doc fixed up? You have those bandages over your head after all."
I nodded, my hand reaching up to touch the sore spot instinctually. I looked up and saw the cocky bastard moving over the strewed bodies, walking towards me. He then stared me hard in the eyes and scoffed.
"Bastards thought they could sneak up on me! Double Stups, I've been expecting them for a week and here they were!"
I smiled back at him. I knew the feeling he was going through; waiting in anticipation for your foes, hardly sleeping with one eye watching the door. Finally they come, steel and skill is matched, and you get the lucky ace, you on top. It was feeling that I, somehow with all my lost memory, knew all too well.
"Don't get too cocky son, or you'll cock up your own chances of livin'."
"Know that much, dead man! Death nearly got her cold hands on me 8 and half nights ago, and it was only my rather catchy sense of luck that saved me."
"I think we all know-" I began, then suddenly I heard footsteps behind me running with all haste up the hill. I spun, the .40 cal pointing at the approaching shadow. I could hear Ringo doing likewise, but then the figure step into the moonlight and her feminine features became clear.
"Gideon! Ringo!" the familiar low set voice of Trudy shouted out, "We got trouble! Both of you come with me now!"
She spun back down the hill and I followed, the .40 cal held rock steady in my hand. I could Ringo following behind me, and Trudy ran onto solid flattop towards the towns homes. Soon we could see what the problem was as we approached one of the homes was both illuminated and ringed by armed and pissed townsfolk.
"Anybody so much as come an inch-!" Shouted a voice from inside the house before he was interrupted by another voice, a woman's voice:
"Por favor, ayúdanos! Ellos tienen los niños en la parte trasera-!" Then her voice was silenced by a loud crack.
"Shut it hag, or you'll get it in your mouth!"
Though my Spanish was rusty at best, I got the idea of what she was saying. They had more than one hostage.
"Trudy, stall them! I'm gonna find a way in." I whispered, and she nodded. She step forward and began to shout at the gunmen. Quickly I moved to a side building, and climbed up onto its roof. I moved and jump to another, until I was exactly behind the hostage takers home. Then my eyes caught movement, and I sighed. Ringo moved up next to me and stared at the building.
"You're not gonna-?"
"Yes I am."
"You loco, man! But what the hell."
The house was an old adobe home, and I could see a large crack on the roof. I braced myself and leaped, Ringo to my left, and our feet landed home into the cracked roof. Our weight crashed through and I rolled in mid air, knocking into one of the convicts. My knife was out in a heartbeat, and I felt the blade slam home into a strong piece of bone. The convicts eyes glazed over and I dropped the cadaver.
"Get back!" Someone up front shouted and began firing a 9mm SMG in my direction. I dodged to my right behind a wall, and drew the N-99. I then heard whimpering to my side, and I could see tiny children huddled in the corner.
"Está bien! Loco malo hombres…eh… no daño tu!" I whispered to them in my clumsy Spanish, but they nodded in response.
"Let her go, you bastard!" Ringo suddenly shouted as he advance forward, pistol in hand. I then wrenched my knife out of the dead man's chest, and readied myself.
"Make me-!" the convict retorted, just as I rolled out from the corner and leaped into the air. He had an old woman held, gazing at me but holding his SMG away, with my knife rolling forward and slamming into his forehead. I held the old woman steady, with her weeping into my shoulder as I breathed irregularly and unevenly, as the dead men slumped against the wall and onto the floor. Four men, each of tanned skinned and black haired ran forward and kicked down the door. The lead one ran up to me and took hold of the old woman.
"Thank you." He said as he cradled the woman who may have been his mother, judging from her age and plumpness. I nodded, sheathed my knife, and reached into my pocket. I pulled out my hand and loosed the locket held in my grip. He held his hand out and gladly took it. I walked out, with Ringo close by and Trudy ran up to me.
"You okay?" She asked.
"I'm hungry…"
I sat at the long stretching bar, letting the warm stew brew in my mouth and drain down my throat. It had been a long time, as much as memory allowed, since I had a meal after a pre assumed victory.
"So you really can't remember your past?" Trudy asked, sitting to my side, eating an identical stew.
"Only bits and pieces of memory, Trudy, but each piece are unconnected to the other by a long span of time."
"So what do you know?"
"Best guess is I'm from Montana," I began, relating the shards of broken images that were my past, "I think my family ran a ranch of sorts, not sure about that one though. I killed my first man when I was just a kid, saving a man from robbers."
I looked over at Trudy; her paled and long completion hadn't even twitched as I began telling my tale.
"Um, had a younger sister named Cathy? Family was fairly religious by all accounts, as I can recite most of the Good Book like I was looking through it…"
"Interesting. Though I don't think you're any kind of preacher." Trudy replied, rather nonchalantly though.
"Then the rest of it is just snapshots though," I began again, recalling everything else I could remember; "There all just single pictures, but most tell a grim tale."
"What do you mean?"
"I've probably killed more men than one could count, but most were bad as far as I could tell. My life from the sorts has been just one gunfight after another, one tragedy after another…"
"It would seem that the shadow of misfortune has followed you, up until this point. Afterall, you surviving getting shot in the head has got to be some streak of luck." Trudy relented, finishing where I had trailed off.
"I don't think so, Trudy. I don't much believe in luck, as it rarely replies in answer. No, if I'm alive it's because someone, or perhaps something, wanted me to."
"How do you know that, Gideon?"
I thought back to Arcanum, back to the blank faced Angel or whatever it was. I thought back to what the Doc had said, that it was either pure luck or deliberate that I only suffered minor brain damage. Ultimately, the biggest clue I had to some interference in my untimely death was that… Mysterious Stranger. However, I and I alone knew about him and it was going to stay that way. But then again I did feel…
"I feel like I'm being watched, Trudy…" I said after a long period of silence, "Watched and followed, like some shadow I can't see, but yet it's there."
Trudy nodded, understanding the situation. Then she looked up and began to stare at an old and battered radio across from us. Finally she spoke:
"After the business with Ringo and the Convicts is over with, will you be going after pretty boy and his Khans?"
I nodded.
"Well then I've got a proposition fer you then." Trudy said pointing at the broken radio. Before she could speak any further, I was up and examining the radio. The damage wasn't all that bad, the back was opened and there were a few wires torn. However, in about less than five some odd minutes, a few sparks and tying up, the radio began to blare once again:
"…zzzt… elcome back to the New Vegas Show; the show that always breaks the heart, but fixes 'em right up! On today's top news, fresh troops from California have been arriving in continual droves as the NCR continues to reinforce its hold at Camp Forlorn Hope and the outposts' around Hoover Dam. In response, Legion forces at Nelson launched a series of attacks against the valiant defenders at Forlorn Hope and the refugee camp of Bitter Springs. Despite heavy fighting and mounting casualties, the NCR continues to hold these areas against the Crimson Marauders. Well that's all the news I have for you folks, so please enjoy this next song by a Boy named Sue!"
As I listened to continuing rambling of bad news, dark images began to fill my mind and reality. Images of battle and bloodshed, men fighting beast. The overwhelming tides of Crimson at our feet, but yet over the horizon more were coming. I didn't understand the images, but I knew with clarity that they were real, and I had experienced them. My face slowly gloomed until it was a snarl; a snarl at the mention of the Legion.
"This is personal for you. Isn't it?" Trudy questioned, a growing concern written all over her pale face.
"Yeah I guess it is. Despite all of the memory loss, I feel connected to this conflict in more ways than one. I know of the Bear and of the Bull; the reasons why they are here. Yet despite it all, I feel I'm on my own side in this matter." I replied, a snarl of exhausted anger hissing through clenched teeth. I sat down with an exhausted grunt, as the radio began to play a song about a boy looking to kill his absent, evil eyed father. Silence crept into the room as the memories and images began to wash over me the streaming pour of an anger river.
"The pretty boy and the Khans?" Trudy said, breaking the long standing silence. I nodded and she continued;
"Before they smashed my radio, they were talking 'bout going doing the I-95 and past the town of Nipton…"
"Up towards Vegas?" I asked; finishing where I suspected Trudy was going to finish. She nodded, and I nodded as well. I stood up slowly and asked her if they had someplace for me to stay and rest my head. She nodded and handed me a key. It read Room # 012, and I tossed it into my pocket as I walked out through the door and into the cold night. The swinging door proved the only reminder of my previous of day before me…
As I walked out into the cold, moonlighted night, I began wondering where the blazes I was going. I wasn't going into the direction of the houses that was for certain. Then I looked up and I saw a looming hill of dread with moon silhouetting the tall tombstones, marking the dead and gone. I chuckled to myself as began walking up the sloping hill, somehow my conscious was taking me to someplace one wouldn't be expecting, a place I wouldn't even know about: the place of my death. I climb the crest and looked about the plain of death before me.
Then I saw it, the only real clue of common sense I had for the entire day, a large hole dug at the far end the cemetery. I began walking towards, conscious of the ever looming and rowed tombstones and crosses to my left, right and center. So many dead, and there would be more in the next few days. I shook my head and kept on walking, until I stood before my grave. I stood there wondering why I was here, and then I saw it.
Something metal gloomed in the moonlight under the coverage of the dirt. I jumped down and began to dig, until the full thing was unburied. I pulled it up and out of the dirt, and began to examine it. It was a holster; older than the one I wore yet I seemed to know it far more. I rolled my gaze down the leather and cotton, then to the gleaming handle.
There it was, filled with something gleaming in the light. I reached my hand in and pulled it out. It weighed less than a pound, yet it felt heavier. It was silver in color, smoothed out and had tight, comfortable hand grip that held a magazine of eight; Eight .45 Automatic Colt Pistol rounds, my mind confirmed. My eyes then moved to the end of the Colt and I turned it, finding an engravement on its end: Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair
Visions and memories began to fill my mind, images of the Colt's red glare as lives were taken and armors of crimson strain with red as the echoes of thunder tore them apart. Then my eyes found something else in the loose sand. It was a bag, old and leather. My hand reached out for as I activated the Pip-Boy light, opening the top to look inside. There were just about everything else I seemed to be missing…
A shadow taller than my own shrouded me. I spun on my heels, going to one knee and drawing both handguns pointed at the looming figure. He stood as dark as a shadow, then suddenly his face lighted into a terminal screen, the center of it was covered by the image of a grinning cowboy, hat and winking eye to give it a rather goofy look. I stood, pistols held tight as I began to study its appearance. It was large, about seven feet in height with its torso boxlike. Its shoulders were like cupboards, with hose like arms going from his side connecting to claw like hands.
He had no feet, rather a single massive wheel. We stood staring at each other, unsure of the others intent. Finally he spoke, his voice sounded like stereotypical cheerful cowpoke from a prewar film:
"Howdy Partner! Ye can put down them guns, I mean no harm. Afterall, I'm the one who dug you up in the first place!"
"You must be Victor…" I replied, bringing my pistols down to hip level but still pointing into his luminous torso. He seemed to nod:
"That I be, Partner. I see the Doc fixed ye good and sorts. Granted you had me worried fer a tell, Pard!"
"Yeah, don't know whether it was skill or some kind intervention, on a… upstairs level."
"What, don't believe in luck?"
"No. The only reason I'm still breathing is because something wants me to."
"Hmm, I guess that's one way of puttin' it."
"Why'd you dig me up, Vic?"
"Well I was out on a stroll when I spotted abunchaov bad eggs, so I laid low. Heard pretty boy talkin' 'bout goin' to Vegas, as his boys were burying you. When they left, I dug you up and got you to the Doc right proper. And here you are."
"And here I am." I sighed as shoved the pistols back into their holsters, and started walking back down the hill, with the sound of rubber following me.
"We'll talk in the morning, Vic. I need to sleep."
"You do that I'm gonna take my stroll abouts."
Like that he was gone and I walked on, finding Room # 012, and disappearing into its dark confounds…
Translations
Por favor, ayúdanos! Ellos tienen los niños en la parte trasera-!
Please, help us! They have the children in the back-!
Está bien! Loco malo hombres…eh… no daño tu-!
It's okay! Crazy bad men ... uh ... not going to hurt you!
