This didn't take me forever. /sarcasm Don't worry, I have two more chapters nearly ready to go. I decided I had been moving too fast, went back and did this little addendum...and omg it took me like a month. I have no reason to feel this accomplished.

Ch. 4

"Samuel, don't."

Claw grabbed the back of his shirt just in time to keep him from leaping at Spike. The black-haired young man had recovered from his hangover later in the morning; as soon as he felt better, he'd begun making 'jokes' and hadn't shut up since, keeping up a constant stream of chatter with himself. What wasn't gibberish primarily consisted of allegations to Samuel's complete uselessness, and Spike had just finished a detailed saga about his unlikely parentage.

Claw was mildly impressed; she'd expected Samuel's patience to snap after the third or fourth remark, but it had taken the better part of an hour before he'd finally had enough.

"Let go of me." He tried to wrench himself away, but the small woman wasn't backing down.

"Leave him alone, we don't have time." She scowled up at him. "You can do whatever you want when we make camp."

"Fuck you." Samuel scowled right back. "I don't have to take this shit from him, and I don't know why the hell you're-"

"Listen, kid." Claw interrupted angrily. "This is my run. I've made the trip before, I know what we're up against, and you need to fucking understand."

She seemed to grow several inches taller as she continued.

"We. Do not. Have. Time." Claw stared Samuel dead in the eye. "Winter up there is. . ." Her expression became distant for a split second, then instantly shifted back to annoyed and angry. "It's different. You couldn't understand until you've seen it, but trust me. If we don't make it there before it gets cold, we're going to die. All of us." She continued to scowl. "I've gotten pretty good at living, and a lot of money riding on making it to thirty years old. So please."

She released Samuel's shirt, brow furrowing in a pained attempt to look reasonable. He glared down at her, voice shaking with barely-contained rage.

"The fucking asshole's been running his mouth all day, and he needs to get hit there!"

Claw ground her teeth in frustration."Can it wait? I promise, once we're off the road, you can try whatever you want. Just don't shoot the dipshit, he's useful sometimes."

"I don't. . ." Samuel glanced between Claw and Spike, who stood nearby grinning like an idiot. A pained expression creased the oldest boy's face. "But it would just take-"

"A minute," Claw interrupted again, "that we don't have to spare. You don't think I want to beat the shit out of him? I get to listen to this on a regular basis. You're new, so he hasn't gotten bored enough to start in on me and Cutter yet. It's nothing personal."

"Boss, quit lying." Spike's grin managed to grow even wider. "You're better than that, trying to keep his widdle feewins from gettin' hurt. C'mon, let him do it." The smirk on his face grew predatory, and he managed a few steps toward Samuel before Claw was between them.

Almost too quickly to see, her right arm was moving, and the resounding retort of her palm meeting Spike's cheek rang in the air. He staggered backward, mouth hanging open incredulously and eyes glazed.

"God damn it," she hissed, rubbing her aching hand gingerly. "I should shoot you now. Did you not hear a word I just said."

"God damn it," Spike repeated, glaring at her indignantly, "my fucking face. Like Frick and Fuck didn't do enough!" He tapped gingerly at his lower lip, which had split open again. "Shiteating cockbiting bloody hell, that fucking hurt!"

Claw gave her hand a final shake. "You touch him, I'm using the dartgun."

Spike's eyes widened.

"I broke that."

His indignation switched quickly to alarm, and the young man took several more steps back. Claw stared skyward with a deep sigh.

"Of course you did, because I left the old one out for you to break. You think I can just leave things I need around you?" She patted a large pouch strapped across her chest. "We're on a schedule. You of all fucking people know that."

She glared back and forth between the two boys.

"No. Fighting. On. The road. This is not the time for idiocy. We have a long way to go."

"But-" Spike and Samuel began simultainiously.

"NO!" Claw yelled. "I'm not fucking saying it again! Now move, I want to make more than ten goddamn miles today!" She turned on her heel and marched angrily down the road, one hand gripping the side of her head. The elder boys glared daggers at each other for a moment, before Samuel finally yanked on the Brahmin's lead and turned to follow the woman.

Cutter was waiting just up ahead, and Claw caught up to him quickly. He offered her a wide smile, receiving a look that was equal parts helpless and irritated.

"Told you you wouldn't have to fight him," the boy muttered under his breath.

Claw grunted. "Fine, he's a little smarter than I gave him credit for. A little."

"You were really fast that time!" Cutter's smile turned into a beam. The woman rolled her eyes, mouth twitching.

"You liked that, huh?" She finally allowed herself a small grin. "Dumb bastard didn't see it coming. Did you catch the look on his face?"

"Totally awesome." The boy gave her a celebratory slap on the back. "Show me how tonight."

Claw shrugged, her foul mood beginning to decrease ever so slightly.

"I just slapped him, kid. I'll show you all you want, but I'm not held responsible for what he does when you try."

"One of these days, I'm gonna get him."

"No you're not," Spike called out in a singsong voice, "and she only got me 'cause I didn't think she was enough of a bitch to hit me after a really good fight!"

"I need to feed you more," Claw snapped back, "I nearly broke my hand on your fucking skull that time."

"Let's do that," he instantly agreed, "without all the hitting. I wasn't gonna hurt him bad."

The woman let out a short sigh, turned to walk a few steps backwards, and patted the pouch strapped to her chest. Spike gave it a look of pure venom, then took to muttering under his breath.

Cutter tugged at Claw's shoulder pauldron when she turned back around.

"Ten caps says you use it in less than a week."

"Why would I bet against a sure thing?" The woman shook her head, then lowered her voice to the barest whisper. "He does not find out you have one too, unless it's an absolute emergency. He'd find a way to break them both."

Cutter nodded. "Don't worry. He won't find it." The boy met her eyes, and winked. Claw resisted the urge to sigh, and turned her attention back to the northern horizon. Far off in the distance, the blurry shape of rolling hills could just be made out.

"Because I don't like his face!" Spike's voice was getting louder again. "You always were a pussy, I dunno how the hell you ended up dying instead." A pause. "I never fucking asked you to!"

"Keep it down." Claw frowned back at him. "You're giving us away to anything with ears."

"And a nose," Samuel interjected. Spike's head whipped around, and he glared at the older boy with considerable ire.

"I took a fucking bath yesterday. I even changed my goddamn clothes, so you can't use that one right now."

"Two days ago," Cutter corrected, "and Samuel's right. I can already smell you again. Seriously, are you rolling in the shit or eating it?"

"Cutter." Claw glared at him. "Don't say 'shit'."

"You're damn lucky my face hurts." Spike gave the boy a look that assured him the remark would not be forgotten. "The both of you."

"Spike, shut up," Claw pleaded. "I'm this close to hitting you again, and I don't know if my hand can take it."

They encountered their first sizable river in the early afternoon. The old-world bridge leading across the gulch was almost nonexistent; a few girders still rose out of the sluggish, brown water halfway across, but most everything else had collapsed years ago. Chunks of debris stuck out of the water like broken teeth in rotten gums. The group paused before the steep slope into the riverbed; Claw crouched atop a large rock, scanning the bank with her binoculars.

"See anything?" Cutter called up for the third time. Claw gave a grumbling sigh.

"No," told him, one hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun. It had just passed its zenith, and the day was growing incredibly hot. Drenched in sweat, she felt like a sausage being boiled. Her armor was giving her more than one blister in very unfortunate places, and her eyes had been burning from dust and steadily-dripping sweat for hours. All in all, she pondered, it was a fitting start to a job she still wasn't entirely sure she should have taken.

"Hey, what do you call a Yup with a gun?" Spike asked, perched on the rickety edge of the collapsed bridge. "Hey, I said-"

"We heard you," Samuel snapped, "we just don't care."

Claw bit back another sigh of frustration, having accepted the fact that nothing she said would keep them quiet for long. Something moved along the riverbank; she resisted the urge to pinch her nose, and squinted against the sun as she adjusted her focus slightly.

One, two, three. . .damn it, four. . .five. . .shit, must be a nest nearby.

"See anything, Claw?" Cutter called again.

"Mirelurks." She turned to hop off the rock. "Five of them." She scowled. "And you seriously need to stop that, it's annoying as hell." The woman jumped and landed in a crouch; she stood up, dusted off her hands, and turned to Samuel.

"I'd rather not deal with them." She pulled off her bandana and scrubbed her forehead; already soaked with sweat, the cloth did little more than smear around the grit clinging to her skin. "Without the damn Brahmin, we could just sneak past. How far to the next ford?"

Samuel procured a tattered, stained map and unfolded it carefully. He examined it for a few moments while Claw pulled her soggy bandana back on.

"At least three miles." The young man glanced down at the map again. "That would put us in Jackalope territory. Next closest is twenty miles."

"There's no such thing as Jackalopes," Cutter told him disdainfully. "That's something only little kids believe in."

"Like you did," Spike interjected from his perch, "what, three months ago?" Spike's voice jumped an octave. "I don't wanna sleep alone, Claw, there's Jackalopes out there!"

"Shut up, I did not!" Cutter's face, already quite pink from the heat, flushed beet red and his hands clenched into fists.

"I meant the Raider gang," Samuel tried to interrupt, but Spike spoke over him.

"There are so Jackalopes, Spike!" he continued, his falsetto whining and nasally. "They're six feet tall, have glowing red eyes, teeth like a Deathclaw-"

"Shut up," Claw and Cutter snapped in tandem. The boy turned toward her, jaw clenched in fury.

"Can I try?" he begged, voice cracking slightly. Claw shook her head, going back to staring through her binoculars at the large, armored crabs below.

"Now now. We have better things to worry about. Besides, I already told Samuel no."

"But Claw-"

"No," she barked, "now keep quiet unless you're suggesting a way to get us past the fucking Mirelurks."

"I got one," Spike's voice was back to normal, "use the Yup as bait and run for it. He's got plenty of meat on him, we can be down and back out before they notice Steaks." He nodded at the Brahmin.

"What's your fucking problem, buddy?" Samuel demanded, fingers digging creases into the map.

"No, I think he means it," Spike answered. "I know, but what'd you expect? Look," his eyes snapped suddenly to Samuel, "I don't wanna get hit again, but I don't fucking like you and look forward to beating the shit out of you later." He spat. "I told you not to call me that."

Samuel's face twisted slightly in a half-smirk. "Sure thing. Quit calling me a Yup."

"Well I can't just go around lying, people won't take me seriously."

"Christ." Claw's eyebrows were pinched hard over her nose as she glared behind her. "Mirelurks. The pissing contest can wait until we get past this goddamn river, now shut the fuck up."

Spike huffed, and turned back to the brackish water beneath him. He leaned forward, teetering unsteadily with one hand clutching his hat to his head.

"You know," Cutter spoke up from beside the Brahmin, "Spike kind of had a good idea."

"Oh come on,-" Samuel began.

"No, no, listen," the boy raised his hands complacently, "we can use some bait, sneak around up top and throw it away from the ford. Then we can get Steaks across while they're distracted, and whoever throws the bait can just swim across a little farther down."

"That's..." Claw tugged absentmindedly at her earrings. "Maybe. I don't know. I don't want to split up, I think there might be a nest around here."

"Or we could use a grenade." Cutter shrugged. "I think that's a better idea, let's use a grenade."

"Yes!" Spike grinned at the boy. "For once, the kid knows a good idea when he hears one. I'll go get it."

"No grenades." Claw rolled her eyes. "Those are for emergencies."

"You keep saying we're pressed for time, but you won't let us use the grenades." Spike scrambled over a few holes in the crumbling bridge, making his way back to solid ground. "You never let us use the grenades. Why even carry 'em?"

"They're expensive, and if you use one now, we're going to end up wishing we had it later." She nearly laughed at the dejected looks on both their faces; Claw had never understood the boy's love of explosives, only that she was looking at a very long argument if she decided to stick to her guns.

"Pleeease?" Cutter hopped up and down a few times. "I'll be really careful, I bet I can get them all in one shot!"

"No fuckin' way in hell." Keeping a wary eye on Claw as he moved in a wide circle around her, Spike slunk toward the Brahmin. "I'm throwing it, it was my idea and I've got better aim."

"The grenade was my idea." Cutter watched Spike with obvious distrust, fists clenched by his midsection. "You were just being a dumbass and said something useful by accident."

"Cutter, he's got better aim. Spike, it was Cutter's idea." Claw pulled her hand down her face with a long sigh. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you can each throw one."

The boy launched himself at Claw for a quick, tight hug. She shoved him away with a grunt, forcing back the smile that tried to creep over her face.

"Go get your damn grenade before Spike gets impatient and blows himself up. Use some of that cheese for bait, god knows I'm not going to miss it."

Cackling gleefully, Cutter dashed after Spike, who'd already procured himself an explosive and was headed upriver. Claw went back to watching the Mirelurks as the boys searched for a good spot to drop the bait.

"I still don't get it." Samuel sat down beside the Brahmin, using it for a bit of shade. "I heard about what happened outside the store when you took the job, Mel wouldn't shut up about it." He frowned at her. "Why are you letting that prick run his mouth like that?"

"Because I can't sew it shut." Claw ran the back of her wrist across her forehead, dully noting the sunburn she felt forming there. "I know it's hard to deal with, but here's the thing. He's batshit insane, physically incapable of shutting up, and dumber than the ass end of Steaks over there."

She lowered the binoculars to look at Samuel directly. "But he's damn useful in a fight. I've worked with worse."

"Don't you start on me, too." The young man scowled. "I'm not saying I'm some legendary gunman, but unlike dipshit seems to think, I'm not a sheltered townie. I've been making trade runs since I was fourteen, and I've killed twelve people since then."

"I wasn't talking about you, kid." Claw shook her head with a small smirk. "You don't need to try and impress me until shit's going down, and you'll have plenty of chances." She shrugged. "Look, I know it makes you want to rip your hair out. I'm getting bald patches, and I don't think it's just radiation sickness." Claw squinted upriver. She could just make out Cutter in the distance; they were making excellent time, she noted with a small amount of pride.

"Look, he's been worse than usual all week, and then I made him take a bath. If anything, be pissed at your dad for sending you with us. It's kind of cruel." Claw raised the binoculars again, checking to see if the boys had made any progress in drawing the Mirelurks together. They were still spread all along the riverbank, a few beginning to pay more attention to their general direction than Claw was comfortable with. She scowled, turning her gaze toward the way the boys had gone. She couldn't see them, which she supposed was a good thing.

"God damn it, I let them have two grenades," she grumbled to herself. "Fucking waste, is what it is, going to wish I hadn't done it, I know I am."

Cutter panted as he scrambled after Spike, a well-wrapped pouch of cheese in one hand and a frag grenade in the other. As much as he wanted to yell at Spike to slow the hell down, he wasn't about to risk giving up the element of surprise. Not that yelling would do him a bit of good, anyway; Spike would only speed up to spite him, and then Cutter might well miss the opportunity to get his all-in-one shot. He was positive he could, if only the older boy would let him take it.

Cutter forced his legs to move faster. He cleared a three-foot wide gully without effort, grinning to himself at the small surge of euphoria that flooded his body. He loved to run. It was one of the few things he and Spike agreed on, and though the boy had yet to beat him in a race, he was getting a little faster all the time.

Running at a flat-out sprint for a good three minutes, they were well upriver of the others when Spike finally slowed down, back arched and hands clasped behind his head while he caught his breath. Cutter followed suit when he caught up moments later, dropping the cheese but keeping a firm grip on his grenade. They took a few seconds to huff and blow, sweat literally streaming down both their faces.

"We should take a dip," Cutter gasped, walking in small circles, "before we throw the bait. Oh my god it's hot out today!"

"Go ahead," Spike panted back, "I'll be blowing shit up."

"Come on, don't be an idiot for once." Already breathing easier, the boy lowered his hands to his hips. "You know it's hot, you're bright fucking red and I can see like three veins trying to pop out of your neck. You should take off your stupid jacket, at least."

"My jacket's awesome," Spike replied, tilting his head back, "and I'm telling the boss you said fuck."

"Come on!" Cutter stomped his foot in frustration. "I'm trying to help you out, dumbass, you'll get heat stroke and then Claw's gonna yell at me like it's my fault when you fucking pass out!"

"Oooh, you said it twice." Spike leaned forward, hands on his knees, and spit out a fat wad of brown mucus. "You're gonna get it, now."

"You're not going to tell her," the boy snapped, "not if you want me to keep quiet about the Psycho."

"You can't keep..." Spike paused for breath, "-stacking favors on that. It's bullshit."

"I can as long as you don't want Claw to find out," Cutter retorted. "You should just quit. Then I couldn't blackmail you anymore."

"I tried. Buffout's expensive." Spike dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "Fine, I didn't hear anything. Now are we gonna go make some Mirelurk soup or what?"

The boy looked longingly at the river, then at the explosive in his hand. He pondered on whether or not Spike would dare throw the other grenade without him, and was forced to silently chastise himself for wasting the time on an obvious answer. He sighed dejectedly, and nodded.

"Let's try to hit 'em from up here, then. Did you see any good lookouts?"

"A couple." Spike removed his hat and shook his head like a wet dog, spraying sweat everywhere. "We'll have to get pretty close. Try not to piss yourself."

Cutter growled, giving the older boy the most scathing look he could muster. He knew Spike was just trying to bait him, but the urge to take a swing at his smug face was growing more unbearable by the second. On the other hand, Claw had the uncanny ability to tell when they'd been scrapping, no matter how carefully they cleaned up afterword.

Cutter didn't much feel like having his ears boxed.

After retrieving the bait, the boys made their way cautiously toward the lip of the gulch. When he squinted, Cutter could just barely pick out movement several hundred yards downriver.

"Think you can be quiet long enough for us to sneak up on 'em?" Cutter raised an eyebrow at Spike, who made a show of rolling his eyes.

"You know damn well I can. Hurry up, we don't have a lot of time before they notice the Yup and Steaks."

"What does that mean, anyway?" The boy cocked his head; he knew it was a derogatory term of some sorts, but couldn't figure out what Spike meant by it.

"That's bullshit, of course I'm not. Shut your fucking mouth."

"Oh god damn it," Cutter grumbled. "You're doing this now?"

"We're talking," Spike answered distantly. "Well I'm sure as shit not gonna wait until he tries, look what happened last time."

"Hey, don't go crazy on me," Cutter snapped his fingers loudly in front of Spike's face, "we have shit to blow up, remember?"

"Yeah. . .yeah." Spike shook his head a few times before pulling his hat back on. "We'll finish this later," he growled under his breath.

Keeping themselves low and watching their footing carefully, Spike and Cutter made their way back toward the Mirelurks and the rest of the group. Three of the creatures milled around a collection of slimy egg clutches, the other two out of sight around a bend in the river.

The boys came to a halt around five feet from the steep gulch wall. Cutter's heart rate was up, knuckles white around the explosive in his hand. Spike knelt down and scuttled forward, eyes on the Mirelurks and the manic grin spread across his face. He held out his hand expectantly, glancing at Cutter when nothing happened.

The boy cocked his head. Spike pointed at the bait with his chin, fingers motioning impatiently for Cutter to hand it over.

Cutter scoffed silently, upper lip twisting, and began inching toward the edge of the cliff. Spike grabbed him by the wrist holding the bait. His grin grew crooked as he squeezed mercilessly; it took all of Cutter's willpower not to yelp, and the little bundle fell. Spike caught it before it hit the ground, tilting his head backwards just in time to avoid Cutter's fist to his nose.

He slipped the bait into his pocket as Cutter swung again, leaned back on his hands, swung his leg out, and caught the boy right behind the ankles. Landing hard on his rear, the impact jarred Cutter all the way up to his teeth. Spike was back on his feet in an instant; he raised his hand, forefinger extended, and waggled it back and forth.

'Better aim,' he mouthed.

Angry tears tried to build in Cutter's eyes; he blinked them back furiously, scowling at Spike with every ounce of his considerable rage. It was far from the first, and certainly wouldn't be the last time the older boy bullied him, and it only got worse if he let himself cry. Until he got fast enough to strike him, there was little Cutter could do about it.

Spike procured the bait and a little folding knife, flicked the blade open with his thumb, and neatly sliced the string holding the bundle closed. The smell of the dry, crumbly cheese made Spike gag, and Cutter felt just a little bit better.

They moved to the very edge of the cliff, scooting carefully on their bellies, and peered over. One of the Mirelurks was already getting agitated, claws opening and closing reflexively. It's low, clicking growl made Cutter's heart beat a little harder against his ribs.

He elbowed Spike rather unkindly in the side, urging him to hurry the hell up. He received a hard shove in return, and a spike of adrenaline shot through his body when he was pushed nearer to the edge. He managed to hold back a gasp, biting his lips together and scowling at the older boy.

Brow furrowed, Spike was taking aim. He tilted his head, eyes squinted, then threw the bait with all his strength. It hit the ground in an explosion of sickly yellow curds; the smell of rancid vomit was suddenly thick in the air, and Spike dry-heaved into his elbow.

The three Mirelurks in the immediate area zoned in quickly, snapping and clicking at nothing in particular. It didn't take them long to pinpoint the source of the smell. They clustered around the cheese, small arms near their mouths working furiously to grab the crumbly pieces and shove them in.

Cutter's heart was pounding against his chest. He stared downriver at the bend, trying his best to will the remaining Mirelurks around it. They appeared a few tense minutes later, loping quickly toward their fellows.

Before they'd reached the group, one of the first three began to lose interest in the bait. The boy gripped his explosive so hard his fingers started to hurt, mentally commanding it to stay put.

The creature began trotting upriver. Cutter ran through his mental collection of vulgarities, not finding any that properly expressed his frustration. He nearly shouted, thinking that perhaps if he got the Mirelurk's attention, it would turn around and get close enough to the group for him to throw the grenade.

He was instantly glad he hadn't. From beneath an overhang he hadn't seen, two Hunters came trotting into the open. They didn't seem the least bit interested in the bait; in fact, Cutter noticed with a growing sense of anxiety, they seemed to be looking right at their hiding spot.

The bank was steep, but not sheer. Cutter didn't /think they'd be able to climb it, but he'd learned a long time ago never to put value on 'maybe'. Spike was watching them too, finger looped through the pin on his grenade. The older boy's face was serious, an unusual expression for him; the same thoughts were apparently running through his mind.

Four Mirelurks were still fighting over the bait. The Hunters, and the last of the smaller variety, began moving steadily for the slope. Cutter knew they were running out of time for a sneak attack.

He caught Spike's eyes, pointed at himself, then the group around the bait. Spike nodded once, fingers flexing around the grenade in his hand.

'On three,' he mouthed at Cutter.

The boy steadied his nerves, nodding back. In one swift motion, they both pulled their pins and took aim.

One...

A bead of sweat dripped into Cutter's eye. He blinked furiously, a small spike of adrenaline shooting through him at the unwanted distraction.

Two...

Spike grinned, adjusting himself for maximum flexibility of his arm.

Three!

The grenades took flight. Cutter's heart was in his throat as he watched his arc through the air.

Too high, I threw it too high, it's gonna miss the one on the left-

BOOM!

Near-simultaneous explosions sent a shower of sand and blood into the hot afternoon. Cutter shielded his face with one arm as chunks of Mirelurk and dirt pelted them; he looked up a moment later, peering into the cloud of dust they'd created.

He saw jerky, sporadic movement, and felt his heart sink. He'd missed, had known full well he'd missed the instant the explosive left his hand, but was loathe to admit it. Spike was never going to let him live it down.

The dust began to settle. Cutter pushed himself up and unholstered his pistol, not looking forward to dealing with an enraged, wounded Mirelurk.

He stood on the every edge of the drop-off and squinted down. As the dust blew away, he blinked in surprise, then felt a grin to match Spike's spread across his face.

It was one of the Hunters. Its left leg had been blown clean off, and the side of its carapace was a mess of jagged shell chunks and tattered flesh. The creature was still trying to crawl toward them, leaving a trail of blood and gore in the sand.

"Better aim, my ass!" The boy crowed, giddily hopping up and down a few times. "He was yours, you know he was, and I got every single one of mine!"

Spike gave him a hard shove, nearly sending Cutter tumbling down the bank. The boy cussed indignantly, managing to catch his balance at the last second. Slinging his rifle off his shoulder, Spike took aim, and let out a slow breath. The 'crack' echoed loudly against the earthen walls, and a slug found home neatly in the Mirelurk's small, fleshy face.

As the creature spasmed in the last throws of death, Spike scowled down at Cutter.

"It was the only thing I could do," he snapped, visibly upset, "they were moving too fast and one would've gotten up here. I didn't fucking miss."

"Oh, ok." Cutter nodded. "It's just that no one told me two was suddenly bigger than four. Because I killed four. In one shot. You killed two. I knew I could-"

Spike shoved him again, this time with more malice. Cutter managed a brief shout of surprise before he was tumbling down the earthen wall. It was only a matter of seconds, but the sensation of not knowing which direction was which made the painful descent seem to stretch out much longer.

He hit the pebbly shore hard, face-first in Mirelurk gore. Briefly stunned, Cutter blinked slowly, mildly incredulous that he didn't seem to have broken anything. His wind was gone; the boy managed to roll onto his back, eyes squeezed shut against the blinding sun. He clamped down on the instinctual panic and forced himself to relax, as Claw had often advised.

Spike landed beside him in a crouch, then stood and dusted off the lapels of his jacket.

"Mine were moving, dipshit."

"Hate." Cutter's chest hitched uncontrollably. He managed a brief gasp of air. "You."

"You too, kid." The older boy knelt beside the Mirelurk Hunter's corpse, examined one of the claws critically, then pulled out a long knife and wedged it into a crack created by the explosion. Using the knife as a lever, he pried off a chunk of shell, then another, before he was fist-deep in the soft meat and stuffing his mouth full.

Cutter pushed himself into a sitting position, the occasional spasm still making him gasp for breath, and crawled over to take a share. He had seen a marked increase in appetite over the last year or so, and the food from a few hours back already seemed like a distant memory.

"Move, I'm hungry," Cutter groused, pride still injured but stomach taking priority.

Spike mumbled something incomprehensible around a wad of meat, juice running down his chin and glistening in the whiskers under his lower lip. Cutter shouldered him bodily to the side, digging out a chunk before Spike pushed him back. The boy sat back, chewing happily and indignation already fading. He hadn't had fresh Mirelurk in months, and was determined to enjoy the experience.

They gorged themselves on claw meat, cleaning out the first in minutes. Cutter's belly was getting distended when he grudgingly stopped, breathing a sigh of satisfaction. Spike was sucking juice off his fingers and intermittently scraping at the empty shell with his knife; he finally wiped his hands on his pants, and picked up the rock again.

"I'm gonna break this open, take some for the boss." He brought it down on the remaining claw with a resounding 'crack'. "Go get some eggs."

"You get eggs." Cutter buried his hands in the hot sand, then scrubbed them together, cleaning himself fairly effectively. "I did it last time."

"And I outrank you." Spike was making no visible progress with the second claw, face scrunched in concentration. "So go find some goddamn eggs. The boss'll be pissed we took so long, but she'll forget if we bring eggs. Get."

Cutter opened his mouth to object, but Spike had made a surprisingly valid point.

"Fine." He huffed instead. "But it's your turn next time."

Spike started cackling.

Claw guessed it had been nearly twenty minutes when the boys finally returned. She had just been ready to go look for them, part of her absolutely certain that one had managed to blow the other to pieces, when she spotted their outlines against the shimmering waves of heat. They were trotting at a leisurely pace, a bundle clutched in each of their arms.

A heavy weight lifted from Claw's chest, though her expression remained aggravated.

"What the hell took you so long?" She demanded as they drew closer. Her tone was sharp and accusatory. "You were fighting, weren't you?"

"'Course not, boss." Spike chucked his jacket, wrapped around several rounded objects, at Claw. "I get hit again, my head'd probably snap off."

She caught it reflexively; the bundle was heavier than it looked, and nearly fell as she struggled to get a proper grip.

"We brought Mirelurk!" Cutter chirped, raising the wrapped meat in triumph.

"I killed it," Spike said immediately.

"Yeah, the second time you tried," Cutter snapped. "Mine were in too many pieces to bring back."

"I don't care," Claw told them, struggling to keep her voice irritated. "I'm glad for the extra food, but you had me worried. You know better than to take so long, especially near the road."

"Aw, we can take care of ourselves." Cutter offered a piece of Mirelurk to Samuel, who began devouring it with gusto. "You don't have to worry all the time."

"Yes I do, there isn't a bit of common sense between the two of you." She examined him critically. "You have been fighting."

"I. . ."

Cutter glanced at Spike, who'd suddenly become absolutely fascinated with his bootlaces. The boy's face twisted.

"I fell down the cliff. Landed kinda hard."

Claw made her way toward the Brahmin, stowing the eggs away carefully and frowning at Cutter.

"You fell."

"Well, I slipped," he amended, refusing to meet her eyes. "We had to get right on the edge, and when I got four and Spike only killed two, I. . ." He closed his eyes briefly. "I was jumping, and I slipped."

The woman's eyes narrowed, watching his face carefully. She finally grunted, and cinched the pack shut.

"You need to be more careful. You're going to get yourself hurt or killed. Do you have any idea how pissed I'd be if you'd broken your leg?"

"Sorry, Claw." The boy glared daggers at Spike, who grinned back. "I will."

"Damn right." She ruffled his hair briefly. "You did good. Four, huh? Maybe the grenade was a good idea after all."

"That's what I'm saying." Spike snatched his recently-emptied jacket from Claw's hands and threw it on in one swift movement. "We should use more grenades."

"Let's get going." Claw took a piece of meat and stuffed her mouth full. She knew it wasn't going to last long between the four of them, and intended to eat as much as she could, as quick as she could. It wasn't every day they had fresh Mirelurk.