- III -
(December 2268)
The title had been established, but the code was still undecided.
Butch DeLoria, head of the Tunnel Snakes gang. He liked the sound of that. Now all he needed to do was decide on a slogan, a creed, a code for them to follow. Ruling the residential corridors of the Vault was a given, but they needed something specific to live by. Wally had suggested "camaraderie" or "fortitude," but Butch had no idea what those meant, and he automatically rejected any word or phrase that required him to crack open a dictionary. Sometimes he regretted befriending the smart, headstrong Mack boy—if only because he made him feel even dumber than normal—but he did have his uses.
Without Wally's tip, Butch wouldn't have thought to come down to the Vault reactor and rig the surrounding area with cherry bombs. No one had taken the formation of their gang seriously, especially when it consisted of three preteen boys. As the leader, he intended to fix that with a few small explosives and semi-artistic wall graffiti. The next time the technicians walked in, they'd have the pleasure of receiving a festive holiday greeting courtesy of the Tunnel Snakes. He could already see the look on the Overseer's face from the resulting report, and with unfettered glee, he snickered at the image.
The mechanical hum of the reactor grew louder as he descended the stairs to the lower level, a box of supplies in his arms. He had managed to slip away unnoticed from the dinner party at the atrium, thanks to Wally and Paul's disruptive and badly ad-libbed skit in the middle of the toasting. Confident that his friends' antics would keep the adults annoyed and busy for a while, he strode boldly onto the restricted floor and dropped the box in one corner.
A sudden popping noise from inside the generator room startled him. Even to a kid with zero technical knowledge, it sounded odd and out of place. He marched to the closed entrance, searching for the access panel to open it. Another pop came through the thick metal door, muffled but loud enough to raise his caution. He scratched his head and glanced toward the stairs, where he spotted the green and red switch on the wall. Hurrying over, he flipped it to green without hesitation and then jogged back to the now open doorway.
The hot barrel of a gun met his forehead.
"What the—!" he shrieked, eyes crossing to gape at the firearm.
"Butch?"
His temper flared as soon as he realized who it was. "Get this thing out of my face, nosebleed!"
Ivy withdrew the weapon, hazel eyes wide with surprise. She stood silhouetted against the brightness of the room's interior, and he had to squint to focus on her as she peered at him.
"It's just a BB gun, you know…"
He advanced on her and reached out to rip the long ponytail from her head. "Stupid! You coulda lodged a BB into my forehead at that range!"
"Oww! Let go, you jerk!" she screeched while kicking him in the shin until he released her hair. She hopped away with the BB gun halfway raised, glaring at him. "When I heard the door open, I thought you'd be… someone else."
"And you were gonna shoot them? Whatever. Who was stupid enough to give a dumb girl like you a BB gun?" he demanded as he rubbed his bruising leg through the material of his jumpsuit. "And what're ya doin' down here, anyway, twerp?"
That last question drained the color from her face, and her plump lips pressed together. Butch straightened and, noticing her abrupt trepidation, leaned over to look behind her. His mouth dropped open at the sight of the makeshift shooting range at the far end of the floor. Three iron targets stood propped beyond a line of cement blocks, where more BB pellets lay strewn next to a small backpack. The arrangement was rough and messy, but adequate enough for real shooting practice. He stepped around her and tried to move closer, but she jumped into his path.
"Um! I could ask you the same thing!" she exclaimed hastily. "Aren't you supposed to be at that big dinner right now?"
"I asked you first," he snarled, shoving her out of the way. "And what's all this? You've been holdin' out on me, nosebleed. I should tell the Overseer about this setup."
"No! Jonas and my dad will get in trouble!"
Ivy clamped her hand over her mouth as soon as the words tumbled out, but Butch caught onto her error and slowly turned to her with a wicked sneer. He pushed his original objective to the back of his mind as he grasped at this new opportunity.
"So your dad and his assistant did all this, huh?" he asked, looming over her like a predator even though she was the one who was armed.
She brandished the BB gun in defense, but kept the muzzle pointed away from him. "This was their birthday present to me," she stammered. "They just wanted to give me a place and activity for myself…"
Butch felt his own expression harden as the familiar bitterness settled in. "Must be nice when Daddy has the money and time to get ya the good stuff," he spat, the acidity in his tone making her shrink further. "Well, too bad for you I found out. Wanna keep me quiet? Hand all of it over."
Ivy's features instantly went from fearful to indignant. "No way! They risked a lot to organize everything for me. I'm not just gonna give it up, especially to you."
His blood boiled at her nerve. "Fine, then. I guess I'll go run up to the Overseer right now and let him know—"
"Ugh, you're such a pain," she muttered, staring down at the weapon. He was about to go off on her for giving him lip when he had the upper hand, but then she asked, "What if we shared it?"
"That's retarded. How can two people shoot one BB gun?"
"I mean take turns with it. We'll both come down here a few days a week and take turns practicing our shots."
Butch glowered at her. "No deal. I want the whole thing or I'm telling."
She kept her gaze on the floor as her shoulders began to tremble. "I can't. This is my only place to go when I need to get away," she told him unevenly. "And my dad worked really hard to put it together for me. This is something I can't let you bully me out of, Butch."
He watched her quivering in front of him, an insult on the tip of his tongue, but when he saw how white her knuckles had gone as they clenched the BB gun, his anger subsided. This was different from her usual resistance, and although he wouldn't admit it to himself, the real distress in her demeanor bothered him.
I dunno what her deal is, he thought irately, but if I snitch and she decides to cry and whine at me for the rest of my life, I'll probably die of irritation.
"All right, all right," he relented when the first crocodile tear rolled down her cheek. Girls are so annoying. "But I'm gonna want to come here every day so you'd better be up for it."
She nodded, wiping the dampness away. "I can deal with that." With practiced movements, she checked the loading door on the barrel before thrusting the BB gun at his chest. "Go try it out."
He grabbed it and tested its weight in his hands, liking the feel of the sleek metal. His father had promised him a BB gun many years ago but never delivered, so this was his first instance handling any sort of projectile weapon. As he eagerly stepped up to the cement blocks and arranged his position into something close to a bladed stance, Ivy spoke from behind him.
"So what were you doing when you came down here?" she inquired.
"Like I said, I asked you first," he replied, trying to concentrate on the center target. When he pulled the trigger, he didn't expect the slight recoil. A frown of dismay tugged the corners of his mouth downward as he missed by a longshot.
"Well, I didn't feel like going to the dinner this year so my dad just told everyone I was sick." She stood next to him and crossed her arms over her chest as he tried again. Declining to elaborate, she pressed, "So what's your excuse?"
"Tunnel Snake business," he answered. This time when he shot, his aim was so off that it ended up hitting the left target by mistake. "You know, my new gang that you'll never be a part of?"
"Oh, that reminds me," she said and went to rummage through her backpack. She returned to his side as he fired another BB that whizzed past its intended mark. "Nothing fancy or anything, but here."
Butch raised an eyebrow and lowered the BB gun to glance at the item she was holding out to him.
A silver and jade serpent pendant.
"What're ya giving this to me for?" he demanded suspiciously, though his gaze remained fixated on the large piece of jewelry.
She shrugged. "My dad said it's from outside the Vault. He gave it to me a while ago, but I heard you and your friends were starting to call yourselves 'Tunnel Snakes,' so I figured you might as well have it."
A muscle worked in his jaw as he deliberated with himself, but he eventually chose to smack it out of her hand, scowling as it landed on the floor with a clang. "I don't want your hand-me-down junk. Now get away so I can focus."
She lowered her head and retreated without a word, not bothering to pick it up. He forced himself to ignore her hurt expression as his fingers tinkered with the cocking lever of the BB gun. He didn't understand why she'd give him anything, but more than that, he couldn't fathom why she thought he would accept something she had previously owned.
For all I know, that necklace could have cooties.
Still, even if he didn't want to think about it, he did realize one thing. She had been the only other person in the entire Vault to acknowledge the Tunnel Snakes.
Ivy clasped her hands behind her back and watched him miss the targets nine more times before piping up again. "Line your sights, squeeze the trigger. Don't pull it because it'll just throw off your aim."
"I don't need shooting tips from a girl," Butch snapped.
"No, for real—"
"You know what, how about you go to the cafeteria and get me something to drink from the vending machine?" he growled through gnashed teeth. Digging into his pocket, he took out a few pre-war bills and tossed them at her.
She caught them and curled her lip. "You already took over half my shooting area and even rejected the necklace. Now you want me to be your errand girl and grab refreshments for you?"
"So get something for yourself, too," he said sharply, keeping his eyes downrange. "That should be enough money to cover both of us."
She went quiet for a while, and he felt her steady gaze on him as she seemed to consider the implied offer. Finally, she nodded and gave his shoulder a light rap with her knuckles, which he didn't automatically flinch from, much to his own surprise.
"Merry Christmas, Butch," she told him on her way out.
He listened to her fading footsteps before muttering, "Yeah, whatever."
The silence drew on as he stood there, holding the BB gun and staring at the targets. His head felt a bit jumbled, but at the same time his muscles were lighter, less tense. Peeking quickly behind him, he turned back and pointed the weapon toward the middle target again.
Line your sights, squeeze the trigger.
The resounding impact of the BB accompanied the swift spinning of the target when he scored a bull's-eye. His incredulous laughter filled the air, echoing in the large space as he lowered the BB gun and shook his head. Glimpsing the serpent pendant still lying on the floor, he paused and then bent down and scooped it up. The serpent itself was admittedly well-crafted, though he couldn't make out the strange lettering on the side. After a moment of inner debate, he stuffed it into his pocket.
We need a logo design, anyway, he reasoned. I can just wash the cooties off of this thing.
He surveyed the area for a few minutes, wondering why someone as busy as Dr. Ashburn would go through all the trouble to put together and conceal this setup. The idea of a parent going to such lengths for their child was foreign to him, and every time he saw Ivy, she was a walking reminder of how different and inferior his home life really was compared to everyone else's. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten any present from his parents that was even worth mentioning. His mother habitually forgot his birthday and was always too drunk during the holidays to remember getting him anything for Christmas. As for his father…
Hank had always passed off old objects he didn't want as gifts. A rusted wrench, a tattered hat, a book with missing pages. He liked to claim that those items were part of the DeLoria family inheritance that should be passed down. Butch had called bullshit during each occurrence. The past three years he'd gotten nothing at all, and this year would be no different. His father had never failed to disappoint him throughout his life, a fact that was now too late to change.
His fingers around the stock and barrel of the BB gun tightened as he aimed one more time downrange. The face that came to mind on the target wasn't Dr. Ashburn's or even Ivy's.
He hit the bull's-eye once again, seeing his father in the center.
Rest in peace, you good-for-nothin' jackass.
x-x-x-x-x
A/N: It looks like my muse is fairly dedicated to this story, and I enjoyed writing this glimpse into Butch and Ivy's childhood. While he could be a little shit in the game, I always believed there had to be a reason. Hopefully I was able to portray his mindset well in this chapter. Thanks for reading this far, and if you have any feedback for me, please leave a review!