Several shots rang out through the still evening air; it was just after sunset, and Claw was grudgingly pleased with the progress they'd made. They hadn't hit any opposition since the river, and nearly twenty miles were between them and the outpost. The woman relaxed next to a small fire, their tent set up against some boulders. A cigarette in hand, she watched the three boys take potshots at several circling scavenger birds.

"No, you're not leading them." Spike's irritated voice drifted over. "They're not tin cans, for fuck's sake." He aimed his rifle, face scunched in concentration, and fired. The low crack echoed across the empty land; one of the birds exploded in a cloud of black and brown feathers.

"Watch their movement," Samuel instructed, "aim where they're going to be, not where they are."

His own rifle was steadied against his shoulder, and Samuel breathed out slowly before he fired. A second bird plummeted toward the ground.

"That's what I said!" Spike exclaimed.

Claw fingered the hilt of her magnum, half tempted to join them; she watched Cutter aim his pistol, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, and fire several rapid shots. Over the echoes, she heard another bird squawk. It served in the air, and peeled away.

"I got it!" The boy cried excitedly.

"You nicked it," Samuel shouldered his weapon with a beligerent grin. "Don't get cocky."

"You fucking missed," Spike told Cutter, "and you got lucky," he drawled at Samuel. "Twenty caps says you don't hit shit in the first firefight."

The oldest boy nodded immediately.

"Another twenty says I get the first kill. One shot."

Spike's manic grin split his face. "That is fun! We'll do that, I like caps."

"You're all morons," Claw commented, reclining on one hand and crossing her ankles. "Go get those birds, they're going in the pot."

As darkness settled across the Wastes, Cutter, Samuel and Claw talked around the fire. The woman had banished Spike to the other side of the rocks to clean his bird, telling him she didn't want feathers all over camp. Samuel already had his catch plucked and wrapped, left near the cooking utensils until Spike returned. In his absence, they managed to carry on a conversation that didn't devolve into Claw hitting someone.

Samuel told them all about living in the trading outpost, how he'd watched it grow around him from a few merchants and repairmen into an actual settlement. He also had a few outrageous hunting stories; at the apex of the worst one, the woman let out a snort of derisive laughter.

"What?" Samuel frowned. "I was just getting to the good part!"

"Damn," she drawled, "you're gonna top three men killing a Porker with their bare hands? That's impressive. By all means, I'm enjoying the bullshit."

"Yeah, yeah." Samuel stretched, popping his back a few times. "I'm full of shit, I'm just a kid telling stories, like you're the only one who's ever walked away from something that shoulda killed you twice." He snorted. "You could at least pretend to be interested, since we don't have anything better to do."

"Claw's no fun." Cutter made a face at the woman. "It's only 'cause she's old."

Claw scowled darkly.

"I'm twenty six," she snapped, "I'm not old."

"Right." Samuel grinned at Cutter; the boy grinned back. "How much money do you have on making thirty, again?"

"The both of you come closer and say that."

"What?" Samuel gave her a sideways look. "Too stiff to get up?"

"Oh, that's it-" Claw was halfway up when a bloody, plucked bird landed in her lap. She screeched, and flung it away; behind her, Spike exclaimed indignantly.

"What the hell, boss? I cleaned it like you said; you went and got it all full of dirt!"

"You what the hell!" Claw leapt up and swung at Spike; he was ready for her that time, and evaded her hand, giving her a look that might have been wounded. It was hard to tell under all the swelling. "What the fuck made you think I'd want it thrown on me?"

"I cleaned it." Spike repeated as he dodged her again, twisting his skinny body at what looked like an impossible angle. "You always say I can't butcher for shit. Figured you'd want to do it yourself."

Claw took one last futile swing, then gave up; she plopped down near the fire, panting slightly and glaring to cover her wounded pride.

"You goddamn asshole. Go find your fucking bird."

"I dunno." The young man crossed his arms. "Are you gonna throw it again?"

"I'll shove it right up your ass if I feel like it-"

"That doesn't sound like fun for me," Spike interrupted. "Make the Yup do it." His eyes glazed over. "What? It was a lucky shot!"

"Christ." Claw covered her face with both hands. "Sam," her voice was muffled, "go get his fucking bird."

"What? Why?" He demanded.

"Because it'll be a lot quicker this way, and I'm hungry." Claw glared. "Otherwise, make him." She jerked a thumb at Spike.

"Come on, Yup." Spike's face split into a toothy grin. "It's about time for that dance, huh? I've been waiting all day."

Samuel stood up and spat at the younger man's feet. "I'm getting sick of your attitude, buddy." He raised his fists with a glare. "I was gonna let it go, since you're not really worth the effort, but you just can't stop." He popped his neck. "Call me a Yup again."

"Samuel, don't!" Cutter made to grab his shirt; Claw got ahold of the boy first, pulling him down in the dirt beside her.

"It's going to happen, now's as good a time as any," she told him. "Don't break anything," she yelled at the older boys.

"Damn it, boss," Spike jerked his head back and forth, cracking his own neck, "you never let me have any fun. Well?" He bounced on the balls of his feet. "You gonna go find that bird? Yup?"

With an angry yell, Samuel sprung at him; Spike sidestepped easily, still grinning. The eldest boy spun back around, and threw a high punch. Spike caught his fist, swept it down and behind Samuel's back, and drove a knee into his stomach.

Samuel hit the ground with a strained grunt. Spike took a few steps back, feet spread and fists at shoulder level.

"Get up, I didn't hit you hard." Spike tossed his head, flicking back a few lank strings of black hair. "Don't be a pussy."

Gasping for breath, Samuel pushed himself to his feet. He lunged for the younger man again, fists swinging like mad. Spike weaved almost lazily around the flurry; for a good fifteen seconds, Samuel swung over and over, every now and again managing to brush clothing. The oldest boy grew angrier with every miss, face flushed and breathing elevated.

"Quit dancing around and fucking fight!" he shouted, then nearly fell as Spike took one fluid step to the side and kicked the bottom of his foot.

"Hey Cutter, you were right!" Spike grinned at the boy, who had both hands pressed against his mouth. "That is funny! Maybe I won't put a Creeper in your sleeping roll!"

Samuel gave a wordless shout of rage, regaining his balance and launching himself at Spike. This time, Spike stood his ground. His left arm flew straight out, hand in a fist. Samuel's momentum carried him right into it, striking him square in the solar plexus. He curled in on himself, the air driven from his lungs; Spike took a step back, fell into a crouch, and swept his legs out. He caught Samuel behind the ankles, knocking them clean out from under him, and was back on his feet before Samuel hit the ground. There was an unpleasant /thud as his head struck the hardpan. Samuel stared up into the night sky, eyes crossed, and struggled for wheezing gasps of air.

"Goddamn, you're slow." Spike leaned over to leer at Samuel, then glanced at his hand; freshly-scabbed knuckles had broken open, and rivulets of blood ran down his fingers. Spike sucked on the wound, then spat on Samuel's chest.

"Fuckin' Yup."

"Are we done?" Claw demanded. "I'd really like to eat sometime before sunrise."

Samuel had rolled onto his side, still wheezing. Cutter darted toward him, worry furrowing his young face.

"You ok, Samuel?" he asked, offering a hand. It was slapped away; the boy's face crumpled as Samuel growled at him.

"Fuck off," he gasped, eyes fixed firmly on the dirt. Cutter backed away, frowning in dejected confusion.

"Leave him alone, Cutter," Claw admonished. "Go get the rest of dinner, it went that way." She waved off into the darkness. Cutter gave Samuel one last hurt look, then did as he was told.

"Yeah, I saw." Spike was muttering to himself, knuckles back in his mouth. "Faster on that side, though." He laughed, the sound muffled by his fist. "Nah, I bet I get it every time. Did you see the look on his face when he was going down?"

He spit out more blood, then examined his hand critically. He was apparently satisfied, and plopped himself in front of the fire. He grinned at Claw, who returned a deadpan stare.

"Happy?" she asked without much interest.

Spike stared skyward for a moment as he contemplated.

"Yeah, I guess," he drawled. "Too bad he's so fucking slow. You're way more fun."

"Shut up." Claw rolled her eyes, and began assembling a small tripod. "Quit sulking," she called over her shoulder at Samuel, still laying in the dirt, "he's done that to me and Cutter more times than I can count. No one thinks you're a pussy."

"I do," Spike corrected her.

"See?" Claw tried to slap his shoulder; Spike sidled out of the way as though he'd meant to move all along. "No one who matters thinks you're a pussy." She nodded at Cutter, who'd returned with the infamous bird in one hand. "Right, kid?"

"I'm sorry." Cutter hung his head and passed the carcass to Claw. "I didn't mean to make you mad. I just thought he hurt you."

"I'm fine," Samuel growled. He stood up, an arm wrapped around his ribs; refusing to meet their eyes, he stormed over to where they'd tethered the Brahmin, just outside the ring of firelight, and stared off into the night.

Claw turned the dead bird over a few times, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "All that bullshit over six pounds of skin and bone."

Kneeling beside one of the flatter rocks, she pulled out her knife and went to work preparing the carcasses. She set the edible organs to one side, and had Cutter cut them into pieces while she did the same to the rest of the meat. It, and a handful of beans, were all thrown together in a pot of water and hung over the fire.

Spike had taken off into the darkness soon after they began butchering, completely ignoring Claw when she demanded to know where he thought he was going. She briefly considered sending Cutter after him; in retrospect, Claw decided she simply wasn't in the mood for any more bullshit.

"He'll be back in time to eat," she grumbled to herself.

Seating herself again, Claw pulled out another cigarette; she glanced in Samuel's direction, giving his back another frown. He hadn't moved an inch the entire time they were working, staring out into the blackness. She opened her mouth to make a disparaging remark, remembered her earlier thoughts on bullshit, and closed it again.

Cutter plopped down beside the woman, chin on his knees and arms wrapped around his legs. He was frowning as he stared into the fire.

"You shoulda let me stop him," he spoke softly. "Goddamn Spike. I think you should hit him more."

Claw sighed, tapping a bit of ash on the ground beside her.

"All that does is make me feel better." She glanced at Cutter. "You know his brain is broken, and no, trying to stop him would have made it worse." She shook her head once, and leaned over to ruffle the boy's hair.

"It's different when you grow up," she told him, a dry half-smile creasing her face. "Even if you'd warned him, tried to convince him to just go get the stupid fucking bird-" Claw couldn't help but pause and grip the bridge of her nose, "they would've fought, Spike's been begging for it all day. He would have gotten knocked flat, and felt like that much more of an asshole because you, a little kid, told him so."

"Hey," Cutter swatted at her arm, "Just this morning you said I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Well obviously I lied, unless your armor's on good and tight in the morning. You're changing the subject."

The boy sighed.

"D'you think he'll still be mad at me tomorrow?"

"Cutter, he's not mad at you." The woman's smile grew slightly. "He's mad he got his ass handed to him by a scrawny moron. You of all people should know what that feels like."

Cutter leaned over, resting his head on Claw's shoulder. "It's not that big a deal."

"Because you're a kid." Claw held her cigarette between her lips and started working out a snarl in the boy's blonde hair. "It's different when you're older and bigger. Me, he's got almost two feet on, so it's a little less mortifying."

"What's mortifying?"

"Really, really embarrassed." She gave an especially persistent knot a yank. "For instance, Spike ought to be mortified about the way he smells, and Samuel is mortified right now."

Cutter winced, head jerking away reflexively. "Ow, you're pulling."

"You should feel mortified you let it get this way." Claw continued her efforts without a trace of sympathy. "You're supposed to pull out the big ones every morning. I'm getting tired of saying it, and next time you decide to rent your hair out to rats, I'm chopping it all off."

"You'd have to catch me, first." The boy leaned on her shoulder again. Claw tapped the ash off her cigarette, then went back to work.

"Try me. I'd love to mortify you in front of the guys."

"Ok, ok, I know what mortifying means." Cutter rolled his eyes at her. "You can stop."

"Can I?" Claw pulled his hair again, this time on purpose. "Just because you're almost as tall as me doesn't mean you get to start being a smartass. I've got more than enough of that shit to deal with already."

"How was that being a smartass?" The boy stuck out his tongue. "All I said is I know what it means; you were starting to sound like a broken holotape."

"Fine." She smacked the back of his head without any real force. "But you were sure as hell being one that time. Do you want your hair untangled or not?"

Cutter scoffed at her.

"I don't give a shit if my hair's tangled."

Claw yanked again.

"What have I been telling you about saying shit?"

"You just said I'm almost as tall as you!"

"Almost, you little punk." Claw pushed him aside, leaning forward to stir the pot. "Don't start, my feet and legs are killing me." She let out a grumbling sigh. "I let myself get out of shape. Stupid."

"I don't hurt." Cutter returned his head to the woman's shoulder when she relaxed.

"That's because you're always running or fighting with Spike." Her fingers moved unconsciously back to his hair. "Spaz."

"Jealous."

"Shut up, Cutter."

Claw continued working on Cutter's hair while the pot slowly came to a boil. She'd glance in Samuel's direction every now and again; he still had yet to move, both arms wrapped around himself. The woman rolled her eyes after the fifth time, unable to help herself any longer.

"Would you knock it off?" She called in his direction, "it's not like standing there moping is going to make you a better brawler. Get your ass over here, it's almost time to eat."

Samuel shrugged one shoulder, otherwise remaining motionless. Cutter, who'd looked over when Claw spoke, frowned again.

"C'mon, Samuel," his voice was subdued, "aren't you hungry?"

The oldest boy shook his head once.

Spike suddenly plopped down on Claw's other side, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

"Good." He was grinning again. "I'll eat his."

"There you are." Claw's tone was unenthused. "Where were you?"

"Looking," Spike replied simply. "How about that food, I'm fucking starving."

"Shocking." The woman shook her head, making the claws in her earlobes wobble. She took a battered tin bowl and large spoon from the small pile of sundries nearby, ladling herself a portion of grayish meat chunks, beans, and watery broth. She gave it a sniff, took a sip, and grimaced.

Spike elbowed Cutter out of the way when the boy tried to take the spoon. Refusing to use both hands, Spike nearly knocked the tripod into the fire; a quick grab by Claw saved the rest of the thin stew and burned her palm. She was still swearing while Cutter took his portion.

"Idiot," she snapped, shaking her hand to try and soothe the pain. "I don't care what random crazy bullshit you're doing this time, but knock it the fuck off."

Spike was hissing loudly as he drew air in between his teeth, cooling the large gulp he'd already taken. Cutter gave him a disgusted look over the lip of his bowl as he blew carefully on the contents. Spike returned the look, and swallowed loudly.

Claw, resigned to the short line of blisters already forming on her palm, picked up the last bowl and set her own next to Cutter. Spike watched her carefully, teeth working furiously at a piece of gristle. She gave him a menacing glare.

"Touch my food, I'll shoot you in the knee and leave you here."

"Sure, boss," he mumbled around the mouthful. "What about Cutter's?"

"Try. See what happ- no," she cut herself off, no longer addressing anyone in particular, "he'd do it as soon as I turned my back." She closed her eyes briefly and sighed through her nose, then scooped stew into the last bowl.

"You can have what's left in the pot. I hope you spill it on yourself."

She walked over to Samuel, the steaming bowl in her uninjured hand. Standing beside the young man, she stood in silence and stared into the night with him.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust from the firelight. Claw gazed across the barren landscape, barely illuminated by ghostly starlight. Silhouettes of dead, twisted trees seemed to reach toward the sky like skeletal fingers, nearly invisible against the darkness. They would sometimes appear to move a foot or so in her peripheral; Claw felt a small shiver crawl up her spine when a low, throaty howl reached her ears. Whatever had made the noise was some distance away, but she still found herself brushing the grip of her magnum for reassurance.

As the echoes faded, her hand dropped, and she cleared her throat.

"Hope it doesn't get any closer. I'm not much in the mood to deal with wildlife."

She held out the bowl in response to Samuel's continued silence.

"Here. It's awful."

He eventually accepted, still refusing to look at her. Claw made an irritated noise in the back of her throat.

"You're going to have to get over it," she told him crossly. "Think about it this way- it's good practice. When you can kick his ass, you'll be able to beat the shit out of just about anyone."

"Sure." Samuel lifted the bowl, sniffed once, and lowered it again. "Look, I just..." He scrubbed his free hand through his hair forcefully. "I'm fine. It's fine. I just need a minute."

"Whatever." Claw turned back toward the fire. "We're moving out at dawn. Are you sleeping in the tent with us?"

The young man shrugged. "Probably not."

Claw returned the gesture. "Watch out for Creepers."

Both heads on the Brahmin lowed softly as she made her way back to the fire. Claw sat herself between Spike and Cutter; the former was watching her with an odd, unreadable look on his face. He returned his attention to the nearly-empty bowl in his hand, and finished off the dregs.

"Your cooking fucking sucks," he told her, holding the bowl in the crook of his elbow and taking the last of the stew. "Don't we have any salt or something?"

"Put dirt in it," Cutter spoke up, poking unenthusiastically at his own food. "There's salt in dirt, right, Claw?"

"Ha ha ha," Spike spat sarcastically, "like I'd fall for that again."

"This is better dirt." Claw's mouth twitched. "Much saltier than last time."

"The both of you can go fuck yourselves and die." He flipped her off, still holding the bowl with his elbow. "One time. One time while I was high."

"Twice," Cutter corrected.

"I wasn't talking to you," the young man snapped; his face suddenly brightened considerably. "Good idea." He tugged on Claw's shirt.

"Hey, hey boss. Guess what?"

Claw took a drink of the bland, gritty stew, fighting down the urge to gag.

"No."

"Aw, c'mon." Spike was practically beaming at her. "It's a good one."

"No." Claw glared at him, drained her bowl in one long gulp, and shuddered. "You've been more of a pain in my ass than usual for days, I'm not in the mood for fucking 'guess what'. Finish your food, Cutter."

"Aw, Claaaw..." the boy whined.

Spike wasn't giving up that easily . "Come on, guess!"

"Don't 'awww' me, eat." Claw pointedly ignored the young man. "You're starting to look like him."

"Boss, guess what?"

"I ate plenty today, I had that Mirelurk, like three pieces of jerky-"

"Guess what?"

"That and a few lizards isn't enough. We had a good hike today."

"Guess what?"

"But it tastes like sh...like crap."

"Guess what, boss."

"I know, I was there, don't make me force-feed you."

"Hey, guess what?"

"Can't I just have Cram or something?"

"Boss, guess what!"

"I'm not dipping into the canned stuff while we've got game, I don't care what it tastes like. Finish."

"Guess what?"

"I ate most of it!"

"Boss. You have to guess."

"Eat the rest."

"Guess what?"

"Pleeeease don't make me finish? Spike can have it."

"Yes please. Guess what?"

"You need to eat. You're growing, you don't want to get stuck short like me."

"Guess what?"

"But I'm gonna throw up!"

"Hey boss."

"Coming from the kid who eats lizards. I don't think so."

"Guess what?"

"Really, I am, it's worse than ant!"

"Hey, guess what?"

"Quit insulting my cooking and finish. I had to eat it, you have to eat it."

"Awww..."

"Guess what?"

"I swear to god," Claw rounded on Spike, "what do I have to do for ten seconds of quiet?"

Spike crossed his arms. "You have to guess."

"For the love-" she gripped her head in both hands. "There's a bat in my hair. You saw a falling star. Cutter just turned into a motherfucking mole rat, what?"

"No, no, maybe. Keep guessing."

Claw growled.

"Enough. Either tell me what you want, or go away. I'm not. Fucking. Playing."

"Just a few more." Spike tried to pout, the swelling on his face making it more of a horrific grimace. "I'll give you a hint. You're gonna be mad."

"Well the end result's all the same, then." The woman glared at him.

"You're no fun tonight. Fine, don't guess." Spike stood halfway up, then paused, frowning. "She doesn't want to play." Another pause. "But that's not how it works! Fine, but you're fucking it up." He rose fully to his feet. "We're being followed," he told Claw casually.