Charon

I think about what she said in Underworld – just let it be what it is.

I roll it around in my mind, trying to define it. I can admit that I love her, but it feels…gray. Passionless. Like the attachment I feel to my shotgun – intimate, yet distant at the same time. There's a tenderness there, but it's fleeting, and it feels strangely sterile.

Calling it a simple physical release isn't quite right. Saying that we do it for comfort or to feel another's touch isn't quite right, either. Neither is a desire for intimacy. I suppose it could be all these things. I don't think any of them are mutually exclusive. If Mallie and Virgil had suddenly appeared, both of us would drop whatever the Hell this is in half a heartbeat. It's not the real thing – just a pale ghost, a poor imitation of love, made worse because we've experienced real love; we know what it feels like, and we know this isn't it.

We're drowning our pain in a sea of excuses.

Wendy

The shame.

Every time, we promise ourselves that it's the last time.

Every time, we've broken that promise.

But we have to stop. Every time I think about Virgil, I get a pain in my gut, a longing, a yearning. I know he's close. I want him so badly. I remember the first time we kissed; he was walking me home, holding my hand. The sun was setting – the sky was painted with pinks and yellows, and soft oranges. He stopped and pointed at the sunset, and then turned towards me, his lips touching mine hesitantly, chastely.

I pulled him closer, and our mouths opened instinctively, his nervous tongue flicking towards mine. We broke apart abruptly, stepped back from one another. He didn't say a word, just smiled, took my hand again and walked me home, turning and waving goodbye as I opened the door.

Tears fill my eyes as I think of home.

My brothers roughhousing in the yard. My dad smoking on the back porch, reading the town paper. My mom's gentle, knowing smile. The taste of her salty-sweet maize bread, cooked in a cast iron skillet. The warmth as we all sit in the den in the evening, digesting, talking, knitting, playing games.

It's cold in the capital, and wet. And dangerous.

We're following what's left of a river, and happen upon a nest of raiders in the early afternoon. I came so close to stepping on a mine that it made my blood run cold – I'm awfully careless with my limbs these days. "You better wise the fuck up, or you're gonna lose a foot, too," complains Charon. They don't see us, so we have the luxury of finding some good cover and planning out our assault.

"What I wouldn't give for a sniper rifle right now," he mumbles. "How many of 'em are there?"

I glance at the Pip-Boy. "Looks like five." We sit and think for a bit. "Raiders ain't too bright, are they?" I ask.

"Not the last time I checked."

"We can take a couple potshots at 'em. They probably have more mines out there. We can lure 'em right into their own mine field." He looks surprised – well, as surprised as I've ever seen him look.

"That's actually…a great idea."

I brace my assault rifle on a nook in the rock we're behind, and sight in on the nearest raider. I look over at him. "Ready?"

"When you are."

I squeeze the trigger slowly, evenly, and it hits its mark – square in the chest. "Nice shot," he says.

"Thanks," I say. "Now get ready. Here they come!" Four raiders come rushing at us from the dilapidated house, one carrying a lead pipe; the others surely have firearms. As I take aim, a mine explodes, taking one of the raider's legs with it. Ouch! Two down, three to go.

I flip the selector switch on my assault rifle to full auto and spray, doing my best to aim. When it's jerking around like that, it looks intimidating, but you usually can't hit shit. One more drops, then I hear the roar of Charon's shotgun, three shots in short succession. "Good teamwork!" I give him a high-five. "Now let's see if they have anything good on 'em."

"Snack cakes and ammo. I guess it wasn't a total loss," I say, as I fight with the packaging of some of Fancy Lad's finest. Since I lost my hand, it's impossible to get anything open now without using my teeth. It's the truth – you don't appreciate what you've got until it's gone.

When I finally get the package open, I take a bite and look at my Pip-Boy. "So, this Satcom array," I say, pointing at the screen, "how far away is it? How long will it take us to get there?"

"Four or five days, if we know where we're going. For us, maybe a week."

"That might be a problem. I don't know if we have enough food to last that long." I say, shouldering my pack.

"There's probably trading posts further on. We can shoot something along the way, too. I'm pretty sure there's plenty of mirelurks, mole rats, dogs…"

"I'm not eating dog." I had a dog as a pet when I was a kid. Just the thought of eating a dog makes me feel sick. We start heading north, following the river again.

"It didn't bother you on the way out here," he says.

"You DIDN'T!" I yell.

"If I knew you had an objection to it, I'd have let you go hungry." I scowl at him. "Look, out here you gotta eat. Food is food. Beggars can't be choosers," He sighs. "People'll eat just about anything if they get hungry enough."

"How long have you gone without food?" I ask, curious.

He shrugs. "About four days." I gasp and shake my head slowly.

"I had better discipline back then. Was used to goin' hungry."

"That's horrible!"

He shrugs again. "Not too much I could've done about it."

I frown, deep in thought. "What did you mean when you said that people will eat just about anything?"

"I meant that they'd eat other people," He answers, voice monotone.

"Oh my God!" I'm suddenly terrified. I was afraid of mines, bullets, mutated insects, animals, raiders, slavers – now I have 'cannibals' to add to the list. "Charon, did you ever – "

He reaches over and presses a rough finger against my mouth, quieting me. "Don't ask that question unless you really want the answer." My eyebrows rise in surprise as he starts walking again. "How about we stop talking and start walking?" he tosses over his shoulder.

"Sounds like a plan."

Charon

We hike up the river until nightfall.

This area is practically crawling with packs of wild dogs – apparently, whatever thinned them out had left or died. I hadn't seen a yao guai yet, which made me nervous. Wonder what happened to 'em all.

It doesn't look like there's gonna be anywhere to hunker down in tonight. "Wendy – do you want to keep going, or sleep in shifts?" I hear her sigh – she hates sleeping out in the open; she has a hard time getting to sleep and staying to sleep, waking up at every little noise.

"I guess we have little choice but to stop. I don't know about you, but I'm tired." I find a nice alcove in an outcropping of rocks, and she throws down her bedroll.

"I'll take the first shift," I say. She doesn't protest.

Shortly after she curls up on the ground, she's asleep. I sit, staring at the stars.