The sound of metal pounding on metal ceased when a duo of knights pulled the Paladin off the Knight that had spent the entire journey up to this point giving everyone within earshot a headache.

"Cut it out man, we need him alive for the mission!" The Knight restraining Bradley's right arm said.

Paladin Bradley started to shake them off, the limited agility of his T-45 hindering him "He has done nothing but complain this entire trip! What can he to actually contribute?!" He spat.

"Well, we could use him as a human shield or a distraction when the need arises" The Knight restraining Bradley's left suggested.

"Oh, you have got to be ****ing kidding me!" Martin said as he stood back up, feeling his faceplate for any damage and felt quite a few dents in it.

"Naw I serious, the enemy will surely focus on you given how annoying you are." The knight said, her voice giving no indication of humor.

"**** you!" Martin spat.

"Fighting each other wont get us anywhere! We need to focus on the problems at hand." Scribe Marleen stated. They had just crossed the Kentucky border and already they're fighting each other. Marleen believed that, at this rate they'll fall apart.

"Yeah, like taking care of the smell..." Bob said as he waved away the stench from his nose.

"What smell?" Knight Martin said as he took off his helmet to investigate, revealing his shaved head and scarred face, "Ugh! Where is that coming from?!"

The other knights took their helmets off to sniff the air before gaging and placing them back on.

"It's coming from the brahmin." Scribe Nate said, pointing to their beasts of burden.

"Well that explains it, eugh... the heat must be making them decay faster or something." Martin said as he secured his helmet onto his head.

The only knight that kept his helmet off was the man that helped restrained Bradley.

"No its not, I was raised on a brahmin ranch and I'll tell you," he said as he approuched the cargo bags the mutant cows were carrying, "Brahmin aren't like ghouls, they don't-" He opened the pack containing the food, "EURGH! DECAY!" he yelled as the smell pushed him back.

Everyone who wasn't wearing something to filter the air they breath was taken aback by the stench and backed away from the brahmin. Scribe Alfred could swear he could see that the odor had color.

"All our food's rotten!"

"Who's the idiot in charge of our food?" Martin asked, looking for someone to blame. He noticed everyone was looking at him angrily. "What?!... oh... right."

"This is just great!" Bradley yelled sarcasticaly. "Probably half of our food has rotten, and the rest are contaminated!"

"We can still survive, there are plenty of flora and fauna around, maybe we can use them for food?" Initiate Bob suggeted, hoping to stop the situation from escalating to violence.

"I can cook any meat we collect and make sure it'll last much longer." The former rancher proclaimed.

"Good, we'll form hunting and foraging parties and look for edibles while a few will wait here and guard the brahmin," Paladin Bradley declared in a much calmer tone. "Someone also has to thoroughly wash the bags to eliminate the germs. We'll meet back here in three hours, but first we must dump all the rotten food somewhere, it's attracting scavengers"

Bradley pointed to the sky, several radvultures were circling above them. The two headed birds were waiting for their meals.

"I feel sorry for the saps who have to sta-." Martin smuggly said.

"You're one of those saps Martin! You, Sanchez, Mac, and Belle will stay here, in fact you get to clean the bags"

"What?! Why can't I hunt?"

"Your motor-mouth will scare away any animal long before we even see them, consider this disciplinary action."


Sergeant Stuart was at his usual station, the military check point on Interstate Highway 55 in Arkansas, near Blytheville. He stayed there since the bombs fell, his squad was escorting some scientists to the vault in the New England Commonwealth. He had great and promising career ahead of him in the army. He was to be the first of a long line of soldiers, his image would have been everywhere, his deeds and accomplishments would have been the talk the country. He would have been doing the thing he was made for and have secured America's dominance over the vile communists of the eurasian continent if the bombs hadn't fell.

But they did, and everything he dreamed about was shattered with the rest of his nation that he oh so loved. His squadmates either died initially or slowly morphed into ghouls and later turned feral out of grief and anguish. Now Stuart just paces back and forth between the sides of the road, waiting. Waiting for someone to come, maybe a remnant of the pre-apocalypse military, or maybe an army of a new nation that's built on old world values to come and recruit him for his skills. So far the only one who came were either mutant animals or Carnage Carl wanabees. Sometimes he just wishes to just lay down and give up, but he's a soldier. He's made of sterner stuff than normal men. He has a duty to preform and that means keeping his homeland (or what's left of it) safe from enemies both within and without. So he'll stay there, beside his overturned and wrecked convoy, surrounded by skeletons of his men and citizens he swore to protect. He will stand guard in irradiated rain, in nuclear winter, in the blazing sun. He will hold off the raiders and savages, the mutants and abominations. He will stand guard until someone, anyone, with a military or political background. Someone who dreams as he does to rebuild his homeland comes and takes him away from here so he can make that dream a reality.