Fallout: Vestige

by Nevermore417

All across the Lone Star Wasteland, stories are told of a man dressed in black who protects the innocent and punishes the corrupt. A shadowy figure who roams the lands, wielding two silver revolvers and righting wrongs. He's a living legend. But in every legend, there's a shred of reality. And sometimes, that reality is far, far worse then you could of imagined.

4. Chapter 4 In Dreams

"I close my eyes, then I drift away. Into the magic night, I softly say. A silent prayer like dreamers do. Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you."

Roy Orbison's smooth and higher pitched voice sang lightly from the radio built into the Pip-Boy on the man in black's arm. He mumbled along with the lyrics as he pulled the three boxes of shells out of a safe he found behind a bookshelf in the master bedroom of a burned-out-pre-war home.

He stopped his mumbling and wrinkled his brow at the safe, which only had paper-work in it now. "Three boxes of bullets and no gun?" He muttered to himself. Maybe he'd find it around the house somewhere. e highly doubted someone had come through and taken the gun but left the precious ammo behind.
He grabbed up the duffel bag he'd be hauling around for a few months now and laid it on the bed. The bathroom door to his right was shut, and he began wondering if perhaps there was a medical kit inside. He left his bag on the bed and mumbled along with the lyrics once again as he walked across the room to the door.

He opened the door and stepped into the grimy bathroom, still mumbling to himself as the song carried on. Looking to his left he found himself eye height with a dirty medical kit still stuck to thee wall. He smirked and walked into the room and turned, his attention focused solely on the first-aid-kit.

He undid the latch and opened it up, collecting the four shots of Med-X, three Stimpacks, and some buffout from the kit. He glanced to his right, barely noticing the sight that had been next to him the whole time. He had looked back to the kit, and it took a second or two before he started to question himself.

He turned his head and looked across the bathroom at the dirty and broken bathtub with a old and greyed skeleton laying in it. Shreds of cloths still clung to its skeletal remains. His eyes scanned the area, seeing shards and bits of skull and stains on the floor and wall. A .32 caliber revolver was clutched in the skeletons hand, the same gun that was supposed to be in the safe. The top of it's skull was blown out leaving a large stain on the wall behind it and a hole in the tile.

"Too bad it only seems, it only happens in my dreams. Only in dreams. In beautiful dreams." The song drew to a bitter sweet end, and all he could do was stare at the sight. One final move, a desperate act to save himself from whatever horror he had befallen or wanted to avoid all together. The only parts of history that remained in this world, were scene's like this.

He three the .32 caliber into the duffel bag, then zipped it up and put the strap around his torso, wearing the bag on his back. It was then he noticed the absence of music in the room. The pipboy was now only broadcasting static. He wrinkled his brow and raised his arm, looking down at the green digital wording and numbers on the screen.

He stared at the radio station for a moment, listening to the constant stream of static. He found that it was making him more and more sleepy the longer he listened to it. It was deep and rushing, like what old pre-war books he read described a river sounding like. He could almost picture it before him, sprawled out across the land. Flowing ever constantly.

He lost himself in it. And was dramatically pulled away from this intoxicating thought by the sudden bursts of beeping coming from the device. His eyes cleared, as well as his mind, and he looked down at it with curiosity. It had never made that sound before, at-least not his knowledge. He searched it over for a moment before something dawned on him.

The bursts of beeping, they were perfectly timed in a repeat. Three fast beeps, then three longer beeps, then three fast ones again. Then a pause, and repeat the same thing again and again. He knew this pattern from somewhere, although he couldn't remember where from, or what it truly was. But he figured whatever be the case, it'd involve him hitting the road to either find it or leave to get away from it. So he strapped on the duffel-bag around his back and exited the room, then the house.

Once stepping out onto the street, below the overcast skies and oddly cool temperatures, he breathed deep of the fresh air. He hadn't realized how musky smelling it had been in that house. Dark and dank, just like all the rest. He doubted he'd ever seen a house that wasn't, besides from a survivor's shack.
He looked to his left down the empty street. He was on the edge of a small suburban housing district. Rows and rows of ruined pre-war houses. He'd searched twelve or thirteen as of so far, but didn't know if he should keep going. He'd found little, other then rad roaches and skeleton's.

The beeping cut through his train of thought once again, and he looked down at his right arm. He'd sworn he heard the beeping before, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it meant. He raised his hand and stared at the device on his wrist, listening and looking at the compass which had him facing west, and the compass to the far right, which showed him the broadcasting location of the station he was currently listening too. Whatever the beeping was, maybe he could fix it and get some music playing again. So he turned to the south, and began walking.

Hills rolled by him as he followed a narrow dirt path up a rocky hill, the beeping sounding as if it were getting louder and louder. He kept an ever vigilant eye out for anything and everything that could be around him. Part of what kept him alive for these grueling thirty two years was his paranoia and training. He kept his eyes ever searching the horizon, and his ears open to any sounds carried on the wind.
His hand raised and he checked the compass pointing towards the signal. A hundred or so meters off. He looked up and could see the top of the broadcasting tower, and it was somewhat reassuring. Even if he had a steep hill to climb. And during that walk is when it hit him. The beeping. He knew what that pattern was, where he had heard it from. It was Morse Code for S.O.S.

He was half way up when he heard the one thing he didn't want to hear. A gunshot. From a 10mm pistol perhaps. There was shouting from a couple men, then series of shots from the pistol. 'Shit...' he grumbled and pushed his blackened-leather duster back, tucking it behind his holster and pulled the polished silver revolver strapped to his hip.

A burst of automatic gun-fire erupted, blending with the sound of the singular pistol. He sped up, sprinting up the hill but keeping his head down. Soon only the automatic gun-fire was left, and that ended soon after as-well.
He reached the top of the hill and crouched down, looking across a short and rocky distance to the gated and fenced off radio station. The gate was wide open and a mohawk clad man in complete make-shift 'armor' stood in the gateway, back turned to the wastes and staring at the radio-station. The whole station was crawling with men and woman of the same like.

Raiders, or as in these parts they call themselves Marauders. They were all the same, all across the waste's. Nothing but cruel, ruthless men and woman who answered to no laws, no conscience morality, and no man. They were roaming gangs of the worst kins of scum. The kind who murdered, and tortured people for fun. Raping, burning, and slaughtering where-ever they could. They were the kind of people that made the man in black's blood boil.

He pulled his other pistol, and pulled the hammer's back on both of them.

The marauder at the gate hate a rotten toothed and wicked grin as he looked at his fellowmen do what they willed. A couple of them were checking corpses for anything valuable, and one near the house was fucking the corpse of a woman. One raider was half way up the radio tower, but wasn't looking around. With an excited tone she was shouting down at the guys on the ground that they "Finally struck pay-dirt with this place!" then laughed, turning and looking the wrong direction, out into the desert planes, her pigtails swaying.

The cold metal barrel of a revolver pressed against the shaved back head of the mohawk guard. His smile faded and body stiffened. Two seconds, and he was frozen with fear. Two seconds and everything he had ever done, everyone he had ever know, ever choice ever made and every second ever lived ran through his mind. And it all mattered worth shit. His life amounted to nothing but horror on a degree that only Satan knew. It all flashed before him, and at the end he saw it. Darkness. Where he'd remain for eternity.
To the others, the gunshot could have been an explosion it was so loud. And it was somewhat of an explosion. Of blood and shards of bone, lumps of brain, and the forehead and left eye of their friend blowing outwards and showering down on the ground. Everyone turned and looked, only to barely see any of this.

His body dropped, but before even that the Man in Black had his other revolver raised and aimed at the man having his way with the woman's corpse. With the pull of a trigger, the hammer fell forward, and the center of the gawking man's face caved inward. Bone breaking and flesh pulling and tearing inward. Sense the bullet hit directly on the man's nose, it no longer existed. It's skin pulled into gaping cavity of his face, and tore it's way out of the back of his head, splattering the same concoction as the first on the wall of the building and ground.

That's when the others sprang to life. Grabbing and aiming their guns. The man in black ran to his left for the cover of a boulder next to the gate. Bullets crashed into the back of the stone, sending shards of it flying and a fine dust into the air. He recalled the position of the other three, but couldn't count on how many there could have been in the building. He'd have to move fast or risk being out numbered and overthrown.

He swung around the corner and crouched to one knee at the same, guns raised and at the ready. One aimed up and the other to the right, and he fired both nearly at the same time. The one aimed up hit the woman in the throat, tearing the side of her neck out with it. Blood jetted from the severed jugular and she fell back against the tower's railing, tipping over it and off the back of the tower.
The next bullet hit it's target in the shoulder blade and shattered it, sending the man topping to his right and to the ground. The third marauder was making a run for it, to the right which was the direction of the building. Wasn't the first time The Man had his prey run, not even close. Wont be the last either.

He pointed one gun at the man and fired. The bullet shredded through the side of the sprinting man's ribs and through his heart, coming out the other side. He fell hard to the ground, dust rising up around where he impacted. The raider with the busted shoulder began to get back up, and one more raider ran out of the building with a shotgun.
The man took a quick aim and fired, hitting the shotgun wielder in the upper chest. He flew off his feat and slammed back down onto the ground with a plume of dust of his own. The Man walked forward, boots crunching into the gravel and eyes set on the doorway. There had to be more.

The man with the shoulder wound finally got to his feet. He wasn't sure how he was going to raise his gun, but he knew he was. He had to. With one hand he began to raise his assault-rifle in one final desperate attempt to slay the killer of his friends. He may succumb to his wounds later as he didn't know of any doctor's in the area. But he was going to kill that stranger.
The Man glanced, then his right arm raised, aiming the gun at the shoulder wounded man without a second look. He pulled the trigger and the bullet sped through the man's chest and sent him toppling.

All seemed quite now, suspiciously so. Only noise he heard was his boots crunching on the ground, and the shotgun man choking on his own blood. The Man made sure to veer a little to the left and point his gun down, shooting the man in the head as he walked by and ending his suffering. Now there was pure silence.

He approached the doorway and leaned against the outside of it, listening carefully. He knew this couldn't be over, they had to have left one man for an ambush. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Held it for a second. Then opened them and let it out. Gripping his guns tightly he swung around the corner with them raised.
A raider in the back of the room already had his hunting rifle raised, butt pressed to his shoulder and finger on the trigger. It was going to come down to timing here. Down to who would shoot first. Victor walks away alive. The Man was hell-bound to walk away the victor, just like every other time before then. This was a game he never lost.

But before anything else happened, a gunshot that came from neither man rang out. The raider's head recoiled to his left, blood and brain spraying out of the side of it. The Man had fired a split second afterwords, and hit the raider between the eyes sending his head recoiling back as well, with a shower of blood on the wall behind him.

The man swung his guns to the left and a small sob screamed out in a desperate plea to get the man to stop. His guard lowered, and the fire in his eyes died to sympathy as he heard crying and sobbing coming from under a desk to the back left side of the room. He lowered his guns and holstered the left one, wrinkling his brow slightly and taking a step forward. "Hello...?" he asked carefully.
There was nothing but sobbing as he drew closer and closer to the tables. He put his left hand on the top of his black cowboy hat and took it off, kneeling down on one knee and laying it on the ground next to him. "Don't shoot me, now." he said cautiously. "I ain't here to hurt you. I promise."

The sobbing seemed to calm a little, and he heard the sound of metal on the concrete floor. Who ever was under the desk had apparently laid the gun down. He took a breath and holstered his, then leaned down and bent his head to the right to see under the table.

Underneath was a young girl, her knees pulled up to her nose and arms wrapped around them. She was trembling, and her eyes were puffy from crying. A constant stream of tears pouring down her wet cheeks. Long brown hair hung down past her shoulders, and her bangs threatened to cover her eyes. She seemed no worse for ware though. "Son of a bitch..." The Man said in awe that a young girl yet lived.
She stared at him with mistrust, fear, and sorrow. Her breath was shaky and she was trying not to sob. "A-Are t-they...?" She gently asked in a equally shaky voice. The man gently nodded and took a breath. "Yeah," He replied softly, trying his best to come off less menacing. "Yeah, sweety, they're all d...gone."

His wavy and greasy black bangs fell down in-front of his brown eyes. He didn't know what to say, or to do. He'd never had this happen to him before. Whenever he saved anyone, they were either adults or a child and an adult. At the very least someone capable of getting home safely. But this was her home. And from the three or four bodies laying about, he could safely assume she didn't have anyone left.
He glanced to his left, then to his right. His left hand was resting on edge of the desk she was under, so he carefully outstretched his right arm. She inhaled quickly and tried to scoot more against the wall next to her. He stopped and let his fingers loosely curl until the tips were touching his palm. "It's okay..." he said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you, little miss. Just wanted to help you out from under there, that's all. I'll back away if you want me too."

Her green eyes were piercing into his for the longest time. She remained quiet during this. Shaking like a leaf caught in a storm, but quiet as a ghost. She finally glanced at his hand, then back up into his eyes. He let his guard down a little more, genuinely scared and hurt that she didn't trust him. He was scared she would never. That she was just...broken. He'd seen it before, mostly in adults. Someone looses the person they love suddenly and in a horrible way and they just stop being them selves. They become lifeless, passionless. A zombie of emotion.

But his fears were denied when she scooted a little closer to him and gently reached out, putting her delicate and small hand on his. He opened his fingers and let it fall into his hard palm. She felt it for a minuet, brow wrinkling with the up-most sorrow as she was unsure. She felt his hand, finger tips even tracing over the metal of the pip-boy. She slid her hand back down to his, and after a moment squeezed.

He loosely closed his hand around hers and helped slide her out from under the desk. She slid out into the room, carefully looking around in a panic. It was then he got a good look at her soft featured face. She had a cute little nose and striking green eyes. Clear and pale skin with a small scar on her chin. She couldn't have been more then thirteen or fourteen years old.

He kept her hand in his as he grabbed up his hat and put it back on his head, bangs still hanging in-front of his eyes. She looked over at him and he gave a small smirk of reassurance. She paused a moment then nodded back, and they both stood up, slowly and carefully though.

She had her eyes on the doorway as they began to tear up again. The Man looked down at her with a strong sympathy, still not knowing what to do. He had a thought, then glanced behind him to see a chair tucked into the desk. He stepped back, and her grip on his hand tightened. As if she didn't want him to let go. He didn't. He tightened his hold on hers then grabbed a chair and slid it over to her. "Come here," He whispered softly "take a seat."

She looked at the chair, then at him. He had a trusting and sympathetic look in his dark eyes that somewhat reassured her. She took a step over and sat down on the old wooden chair. He knelt down on one knee in-front of her, still clutching her hand and still looking into her eyes. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you, or...or...?"

She shook her head, tears welling back in her eyes. Suddenly he instinctively reached out and laid his hand on her cheek, his thumb stroking away her tears. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

She just stared into his eyes with piercing gaze for a moment. After she realized he really meant her no harm, after his saving her and trying his best to care for her set in, she took in a deep breath and with a shaky exhale spoke her name in a quiver. "Jennifer."

He nodded and slid his hand off her cheek, and his other reluctantly out of her hand. "Hey there, Jennifer." He said quietly as he grabbed the edges of his duster and pulled it off his torso. A black button up was underneath it, it's pearl white buttons and black bandana around his neck standing out. He moved the heavy black duster around and draped it over her shoulders. The large coat nearly swallowed her, but she wrapped her self in it and sniffled. "My name's Elias. You can call me Eli if you want."

He slid his hand back into hers and she tightened the hold on it, staring off into space. He reached up with his free hand and slid his hat off once again, his dark hair falling forward. He put the hat over his heart and knelt down a little more on his knee as he swallowed hard. "I...I am so, so sorry Jennifer. I was well into the town down the hill when I heard the Morse...nothing in the world I can say will make it any better, but I'm sorry Jenn." his broke a little at the end. Her lower lip began to quiver as he eyes filled with tears once again. "I am so sorry." he said again with a voice broken with emotion.

Her eyes teared as the warm droplets began flowing steadily down her cheeks, her lower lip quivering. "I'm so sorry..." He whispered to her again with his voice shaking, as he laid his hand on her cheek. What comfort could he offer a young girl who just lost everything? He didn't know, and it was killing him.
Out of pure instinct, he slid his arms around her and held her close. Her head laid on his shoulder and her face rested in the crook of his neck. His strong arms encased her and held her tight, as if sheltering her from the outside world. "Shhhh shhh, it's okay." he whispered to her as his eyes teared up while holding her. "It's okay. I'll take care of you, I swear. I swear it." And with that her arms lightly slid around him, letting him hold her closer and tighter into his chest as she sobbed painfully into his shoulder.

After a while he managed to calm her down somewhat. She still wasn't speaking, and was staring off into space at a wall across the room. But the crying had stopped. Elias wasn't sure for how long, but for now, it had stopped. After dragging the dead marauders body out, he left her in the building alone, as he went out and prepared a couple graves for her family. They deserved that much, and she wouldn't be able to see them in the state that they were in.
The orange sun was setting on the brown and grey horizon, the the sky was morphing into a slowly expanding black color, with twinkling stars hung neatly in the night sky. He would occasionally glance up up and see this slowly expanding sky. An empty and silent void, that was beautiful and beautifully naive to the planet's death rattles.

He looked back down at the grave he was finishing up, and sighed. Three of them, side by side. He silently damned himself for not realizing Morse code when he heard it. Damned himself for letting this happen. If he had just been faster getting up that hill. If he had known the urgency of it all. But he didn't. And now three people are dead, and now he has a little girl to watch after.
He grabbed the under-arms of a young boy, couldn't have been much older then Jenny, and drug him over to one of the graves, then laid him in. Then to a middle aged father, who had a chunk of his head missing. By the time he reached the mom, he could take any more. He went to grab her, but stopped.

Her body was dirty and appeared somewhat mangled, but she only had one hole in her chest. Her cloths had been ripped off, and her corpse used for sadistic pleasure. His brow wrinkled, and he looked around him for anything to cover her with. He found a tarp, and pulled it up from behind some tires leaned against the building. He laid over her, wrapping her lifeless body in it. Then picked it up in her arms and carried her over to the grave.
A few moments of filling the graves back up with the dirt, he stuck the shovel in the ground and looked at the raised earth they lay under. Staring at them for a moment, avidly trying not to take time to beat himself up over it. But failing. He bowed his head, and let out an exasperated breath.

Then slowly he walked into the building to see Jenny still staring at the wall. She'd been there for god knows how long. She blinked, breathed and swallowed, but that was the extent of it. "Jenny..." he softly spoke her name, breaking her trance. She inhaled deeply and looked over at him with caring eyes. "Do you have anything you want to take with you?"
She looked about the room silently, looking for any of her belongings. Any memories she even wished to remember. Everything being so painful now, it was hard to think of the future. Of what she'd want to remember.

There was an old Polaroid picture on the table across from her. She stared at it's placement for a moment, then stood and walked over to it. Elias watched carefully as she picked it up in delicate fingers and looked at it. It was a picture of her family, they'd taken it on the peak of a hill overlooking a large sprawl of flatland. Pa had wanted to take it himself, but mother wanted him in the picture as well. So he set it up on a rock with a timer. He'd complained it was shaky afterwords, but she simply laughed it off and made him laugh along with her.

She gave a small smile as a warm tear slid down her cheek. Then folded it and slid it into her pocket. Next to where the picture was sat another sight entirely. A combat knife they'd found in one of the houses, and the 9mm pistol she used to kill the bandit. She stared at them longer then she stared at the picture.

Elias walked over to the chair she was formerly setting in and grabbed up his duster, swinging it around his back and sliding it on. He also grabbed up his green duffle-bag and strapped it onto his back as well. Looking over at her, he watcher her reach out and caress the handle of the knife and barrel of the gun. She was almost looking at them fondly. It was then he knew for sure. He knew that she needed him.

"Take 'em." He spoke up as he reloaded his gun. She looked over at him with a raised brow, and he glanced up at her. "Take 'em, you'll need 'em. Do you know how to shoot properly? I know you shot that raider, but it was near point blank range."

She shrugged and grabbed the handle of the pistol and slid it off the table, tucking it into her belt. "Somewhat." She spoke up, amazingly enough. "Pa taught me how to shoot, been teaching me sense I was a baby. But he wasn't a great shot himself. Not like you, anyway." She grabbed the knife and did the same in the other-side of her belt.
Elias chuckled and closed the cylinder on the revolver, turning it once with a hard spin, then placing it in his holster. "I'm not a normal case by any means though, sweetheart. Is that all you want to take?"

She glanced around the room again, her hand reaching up and playing with a gold necklace around her neck. "I think so." She mumbled. Then looked at him and nodded. He gave a nod in return and turned towards the door. She seemed almost reluctant first. Scared to leave with a stranger, to leave all she had known. But all she had known was gone with the setting sun. And she soon found herself eager to leave this place.

They exited the building together and stepped out into the fenced compounds of the radio-station. She looked around at all the dead raider's, and inside it brought her no small amount of joy. They'd gotten what they deserved. But looking around, soon her eyes caught the sight of the raised earth. Three graves, side by side.

Elias looked back at her, then stopped. She kept walking, staring at them. She ran right into his back then recoiled backwards, holding her hands up. "I'm sorry!" She blurted out. He simply chuckled with a smirk and lightly shook his head. "Don't be." He looked over at the graves. "Go give your respects, Jen. I'll be by the gate, okay?"
She looked at them, fear welling inside her. "I..." she started out in a near whimper.

Elias reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, speaking softly. "If you don't do it now...then you don't do it all. Because chances are we're not coming back through this way ever again."

She glanced at him, then looked back at the graves. He patted her shoulder and moved over towards the gate, gravel and dirt crunching under his boots. She stared at them for a minuet, almost having to force herself to go over there. She had wondered if she didn't care to go see them, wondered if that was preventing it. This was all happening so fast. Then it hit here.

In the span of a few short hours she lost everyone she knew and loved, and was saved by a kind-hearted stranger. It wasn't the horror of wondering if she didn't care that was keeping her away, it was the horror of the fact she couldn't come to terms with what had happened. She couldn't grip the reality of losing her brother, her mother and father. Taken away by monsters who looked like men. Who wore our skin.

She eased forward, slowly but surely, until she was standing before the three mounds of earth. Elias had taken the time to gather up a few things and make three makeshift crosses. Pieces of wood nailed together or rebar duct-taped together. He'd even gathered wild-flowers from the edge of the fencing and placed them on the graves.

She glanced at him to find he was leaning against the gate and staring off into the distance, hands in his pockets. She looked back down at the graves and took a knee, reaching out and gently touching the ground that covered her mothers.
There was a silent mourning over them, but she didn't cry. She'd cried all day. It wasn't that she didn't want to, it was that she didn't have the energy too. Just like she didn't have the energy to protest the stranger taking her with him. But where was she to go? Atleast with Elias, she knew she'd be well protected. She'd be safe.

She placed her hand softly on his upper back, startling him out of his train of thought. He looked over at her and smirked, tilting himself off the gate and walking forward, Jenny keeping a steady pace beside him. "Where are we going?" She asked in a hoarse voice.

"That little expanse of suburban housing for now. Sun's setting and it's not safe to be out at dark. We'll lock our selves in and sleep a night, then get good ground tomorrow." She nodded at his solid reply, and he looked over at her. "Do...you have any other family I can take you too? Someone to look after you better then I can?"

She inhaled deeply and shook her head. "You buried the only family I had. " she sped up a little, walking ahead of him. "Come on. Let's get to shelter."

He frowned softly then sighed, speeding up a little as well and catching up to her. The orange sun was setting on overcast day, and the air still felt heavy and uneasy. That night, he heard the rain beating down on the roof of the house and he gentle sobbing from across the room as they slept. And the radio from his pipboy that he laid next to him every night played music softly. Like a trance he never wanted to wake from.

"But just before the dawn, I awake and find you gone. I can't help it, I can't help it if I cry. I remember that you said goodbye. Too bad it only seems, It only happens in my dreams. Only in dreams. In beautiful dreams."