Chapter I: The Man from New Chicago
The man in the gas mask exhaled. His breath was slow as if he were breathing through an inhaler. The eyes, shielded by dirt, grime, fingerprints, and other stains, examined Lucas Simms and Jericho like a tourist does at a museum. Saying nothing and looking down at the ground, the man took a step, but quickly looked back at the two gun wielding citizens as if to signal if this move was acceptable.
"Who are you?" Lucas Simms asked.
The man reached for his left pocket, which caused Lucas and Jericho to jump into defense. Much like a dog does when first meeting a stranger, the two compatriots were not too fond of sudden hostile movement. The man halted his hand and backed up a step or two.
Jericho examined his boots, noticing fresh mud, even though there was not a recent rain. The former Raider and concurrent drunk, suspicious gun for hire, sneered and turned towards Lucas.
"What you do think Simms?"
"Honestly," Lucas said, "I'm skeptical."
The man resumed his path for his pocket and pulled out a business card. Engraved lettering adorned the horizontal width, the letters were evenly spaced apart and the appropriate height was there. It was a professional faded image of corporate America that still, for some reason, managed to exist:
HERSCHEL
-Adler School of Professional Psychology-
17 N Dearborn St
New Chicago, IL
"New Chicago, huh?" Lucas said.
The man, Herschel, nodded and placed his business card back in his pocket.
"Adler School of Professional Psychologist, you some kind of shrink?" Jericho asked.
Herschel said nothing. He simply breathed a bit of air, which caused another asthmatic type of exhale to come out of his gas mask.
Overhead, a group of clouds formed into a single mass of dark sadistic tyranny. Thunder rolled across the fields and into the hearts of the Wanderers and Raiders who, for all intents and purposes, were exposed to the element of Fear. Fear of Thunder, the voice of God, proclaiming that Lightning be a way for people to see in the dark and through it, people will perhaps understand that Fear, like most things, is a myth. Myths and Fear can be controlled with the facing of them and the understanding that you are not alone. As the world slowly began this realization, rain slowly poured down onto the earth like a grieving widow does her husband.
Raindrops pinged against tin roofs and the miniature windmills. Beads of water slowly ran down Herschel's gas mask. The rules of gravity and friction still apply- that's honestly probably the only two things that have always existed. Gravity and friction.
"You don't talk much do you, son?" Lucas asked something confused as to why Herschel hadn't spoken yet. He was too busy looking for any signs of weapons.
"Do you have weapons on you, boy?" The sheriff asked.
Herschel nodded slowly as if to say that he did, but did not want to reveal any of them.
"Empty out your pockets." Jericho said as he poked the barrel of his rifle towards Herschel, pretending as if that could ever provoke or do anything to cause one to move quickly.
Herschel slowly pulled back his trench coat to reveal two Smith and Wesson .32s secured in their hostlers. He reached into his coat inner right pocket with his left hand and pulled out a hand grenade. Herschel cradled it a moment, enjoying the cold steel mesh against his fingertips in a beautiful unity that spelled death with a delay of approximately ten seconds. The most evil way to meet the end. A raindrop tinged the grenade's surface and ran down the curve to lightly kiss the side of his thumb. Herschel handed the grenade to Jericho and after this, removed the magazines from his pistols and handed them to Lucas.
"Finished?" Lucas asked.
Herschel nodded slowly but stood silent aw before. Lucas responded with a nod of his own and turned back around towards his town.
"Come on then," Lucas said as he walked in a little bit, "there's a vacant house just above The Brass Lantern, a local restaurant, you can sleep there for the night and we'll talk about specifics tomorrow." He turned back towards Herschel who still stood in the gateway.
"Come on!" Lucas said, a bit louder. "You don't want feral ghouls coming after you do you?"
Herschel walked down the slight incline into town with Jericho slowly following behind with the barrel of his rifle locked on Herschel's back. The lonely woman with the coffee had finally gone to sleep as the rain picked up. Henry James and Helen Forrest serenaded each other about the familiar songs they knew when love was pure and nothing could possible compare to the feeling of it.
Lucas Simms passed The Brass Lantern and noticed that the exterior light flickered while a moth periodically beat its wings against it and was almost in unison with the rain which pelted the tin roof. Turning towards the ramp, Lucas grabbed the railing and slowly ascended, being mindful of the ricketiness of the place.
"Jericho," Simms said, "be sure to get this fixed please, don't want anyone to kill themselves."
Jericho nodded, "First thing in the morning, sir."
Lucas turned towards the vacant house and heard a pair of voices singing. A female human one, and a male, more artificial one. Wadsworth, the Mister Handy of the house, was serenading himself with Vera Lyn. Lucas knocked on the door and placed the key in the lock.
Wadsworth, who stopped his singing, turned down the music a moment and composed himself as Lucas, Herschel, and Jericho entered.
"Ah," Wadsworth said, "greetings Mister Simms. How are you this fine evening?"
"Fine Wadsworth." Lucas replied. He turned towards Herschel, "This is Herschel, and he'll be staying here for now."
Wadsworth turned towards Herschel and instead of the usual optimism turned towards his new master as if he were the most revolting person in the world. Wadsworth looked towards Simms after a moment of staring and said under his breath, "You've got to be joking."
Jericho smiled a bit with a laugh, "No, he's not kidding. You're stuck with him."
The robot floated over to Jericho and sighed, "The thing of it is Mister Jericho, I- I can't take care of him. My circuitry is rusted out. I need to be upgraded or I'm afraid I'm going to be headed for the scrap pile."
"Bullshit Wadsworth," Lucas replied, "just make sure he doesn't do anything dumb. Like get himself killed."
Wadsworth turned back around to Herschel who removed his gas mask and slowly made his way upstairs all while keeping his face towards the wall. Lucas Simms and Jericho exited the house and closed the door.
When the robot was alone, the radio that was on the shelf played Nat King Cole. Wadsworth sighed and made his way to a chair, even though he could not sit in it, he always wanted to do something like that. Herschel moved around in his bed and even though it was not the most comfortable bed in the universe, it was better than the cold ground that he was used to.
"By the way," Wadsworth said, to himself, "my name is Wadsworth, how may I serve you?"
Silence. Well, if you count the rain as silence that is.
Author's Note #2:
These chapters will be short due to the fact that I am attempting to be concise with my thought process.