Virgil

We land, and the officer – Williams – leads me to a door, placed inconspicuously in a slab of rock. He punches a code on a keypad, and the door opens with a metallic clank. "Welcome home, Thomas."

Wendy

The caravan kept going north – Charon said we had to go east from here.

I've started smoking, and drinking a beer or two to relax in the evening. He was right – killing has gotten easier, but that doesn't erase their faces, the blood, and the realization that I've just ended someone's life. He says that it's good that I feel guilt – if I didn't, I'd be a bad person.

I suppose he's right, although it doesn't make me feel much better.

The scenery's changed. Gone are the dry, flat brown expanses of my home – it's hillier, rockier, more humid. We avoid the old world cities, and scout outside of towns before we go into them. I check my Pip-Boy for hostiles, and we take a wide arc around the periphery.

"Knox-ville, " I say. "Is that a big one?"

"Yeah, we're going around it."

"I wanna stop somewhere. I'd like to sleep on a bed tonight. Plus, we're runnin' low on food, big guy." We didn't need caps – we both had more than enough, a chunk of Mal's nest egg.

We'd stopped at a place called Wellville about a mile or so back – I'd hoped to get a room, but he advised against it. It must be rough not trusting anyone. I know he does it for my safety – he seems to care so little for his.

Charon

She's quick, efficient. Not as fast as Mallie, but her being small gives us the advantage of surprise. She can sneak up on just about anyone, and not make a sound. Which is good, because her aim needs a shitload of work.

I relent – we'll find a place with a bed. There are plenty of abandoned houses; we just need to find a decent one.

It'd been a hot day. We're tired. We find a house that looks promising, and we aren't expecting anyone to be there. I got sloppy.

I open the door, and as it swings inward, she pushes me to the side. "NO!" she screams.

I see a flash, hear a deafening boom, a spray of blood.

Wendy sprays the doorway with her SMG and reaches for another magazine, getting frustrated when she has trouble finding it. "Wendy…your hand." Or, I should say…the lack thereof.

She looks down at the mangled remains beyond her wrist - and faints dead away.

Oh, Jesus, not again.

I inspect her wound, and wince. There's not much left – just a torn mess of blood, skin, bone, and gore. I hit it with a stimpak and some Med-X – the blood flow slows significantly, but doesn't stop. We're gonna need a doctor to stitch her up – stimpaks don't heal everything.

I slide the Pip-Boy off her arm fast, and wrap her belt around her forearm, tightly, slowing the blood flow down to a lazy drip. Not the best tourniquet, but it'll have to do for now. I gotta move fast.

I quickly shove our packs underneath the porch – not good, but time is of the essence.

Slinging her across my shoulder, I sprint back towards the last town we passed, as fast as my legs could carry us.

A haggard middle-aged woman pads into the small waiting room, wiping blood off her hands with a small towel. "She'll be okay." I sigh, with relief. "But, I wasn't able to save it. I'm sorry." I sit, shocked. I knew it, but I didn't want to believe it.

Again. Another lapse in judgment. I almost killed Mallie – but she survived, intact. Wendy is not nearly so lucky. She pushed me away from the door. I could have died, or at least been badly injured. She pushed me, out of concern for my safety. It was not supposed to be like that. I had explained this to her – she did not listen.

The doctor jerks her head over her shoulder, towards the door to the back room. "You can go sit with her if you want. She'll wake up in a few hours or so."

She steps aside respectfully, watches me pass with a significant amount of scientific interest. Every time. Every time we walk into a settlement, people stare at me like an animal in a zoo. I got too comfortable back west – people got used to me, they were comfortable around me; treated me like a person instead of a tamed wild animal. Guess that ended when we headed out.

She's lying in a hospital bed, partially obscured by a screen. There's a chair next to the bed – it's a bit small, and creaks under my weight.

She's covered with a white sheet, clean but stained. Her arms are at her sides, her left wrapped in gauze up to the middle of her forearm.

The doctor walks in. "We can take the bandages off tomorrow." She sighs. "I did the best I could. I don't want you to be surprised – there's nothing beyond the wrist." She shakes her head wistfully, reaches out to touch Wendy's foot, and I tense. "You're her bodyguard?" I nod. "I'm not gonna give you any shit. You got her here."

She sits in a chair near the foot of the bed. "They call me Bones. Ya know…saw-bones?" she chuckles, shakes her head. She waits, then asks, "And your name is…?"

"Charon."

"Nice to meet you, Charon." She lights a cigarette, offers me one. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?" She offers me the lighter, and I wave her off, fishing Mallie's lighter from my pocket.

"I'm about a hundred and twenty. I turned when I was twenty-four." I spit out, curtly.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "How did you kn-"

"I spent a lot of time around smoothskins. Those are always the first questions."

"Sorry. We don't get a lot of ghouls out here. Most are just passing through, going west. I haven't been able to get this close to one before." She says, disappointed.

"Could ya do somethin' for me?" I ask.

"Sure!"

"Stop starin' at me like I'm a specimen in a jar."

I let her do a physical on me. I had time to kill, and who doesn't like talking about themselves?

She's a joker with a good bedside manner. "What started to go first when you changed?"

"Hair. Then the skin on areas exposed to radiation. Not all of it, of course. Face, arms, first."

She looks at the remnants of my hair. "What a shame. Don't find a lot of natural redheads out here anymore. So – what'd they feed ya? Miracle-Gro?"

I chuckle. "I was always just big. Don't know why."

"Now for a couple embarrassing questions. If you don't want to answer them, then just let me know."

I know what's coming. They're always curious.

She points at my crotch. "Your – hmm – equipment. Fully functional?"

"Very much so."

"Bowel movements?"

"Didn't change."

"Looks like you're still basically human, just, uh..." she can't find the word she's looking for.

"Altered?"

"That'll work."

We heard pained moans from behind the screen. I pad over, bare feet, to where she lay. "Wendy. It's me."

"Charon? Whu – where am I?" she asks, in a drugged stupor.

"I got you to a doctor. You're gonna be fine." Bones jerks her head at me as she measures some Med-X in a syringe and injects it in Wendy's arm.

"What happened? I can't – I can't remember."

"Wendy, you were shot. You need to rest."

"Yes mom. Ha ha." She closes her eyes and drifts off.

I pull on my socks and boots as Bones lectures me.

"Look, it's not gonna be easy telling her. She's gonna have a hard time coping."

"I can handle it." I say, brusquely.

"No – no you can't. You're a bodyguard, not a psychologist. Losing a hand is very traumatic."

"What do you want us to do, then? We gotta leave." I can't help but be a bit impatient.

"Stay for a week. I'll see what I can do. Coach you." I scowl. "Please. For her."

"Okay. A week."