Scene 4
A woman standing stock still, eyes aghast as she shouted, nothing but silence streaming from her cursed mouth –
The paddle wheels of the steamboat go round and round,
Round and round, round and round…
The child was only five years old. She was only five years old. You let her... She was just five and she... You let her…
"We're all goin' to the Big Easy. It's all gonna be easy, Lawman. We're all easy people and its gonna be real easy for you." Vyatch's voice was cold and soothing as he splattered Lawman's brains, the gun dancing like light on the river. "So easy."
Round and round and the girl rose up again, dredged up from the Mississippi like the living dead.
You let her... She was five years old and you let her...
Over to one side the woman mouthlessly worded impossible sentences that tied in knots and noosed Lawman's neck and sent him dangling from the gallows.
…die.
Lawman woke up, not with a start, but with a groan as a headache corkscrewed its way into his temple and flared every nerve ending. As far as hangovers go this one was in the top five. He rolled over in the bunk and two empty glass bottles of hooch fell and clanged on the iron grill floor. Another belt of pain coursed through his skull.
Jesus…
The nightmares were nothing new. Every morning he'd wake up in a cold sweat, his heart beating so fast he thought he might die.
The alcohol helped, kept his mind fuzzy and blurred enough that he might not be able to remember it. He often longed for sleep. The dreamless kind, the sort you normally get when you've drowned yourself under two bottles of liquor. It was the only reprieve he felt he got from his past. That and work. And Lost Orleans.
That was a new dream that he'd been having lately. He'd been waking up, pale and sick, dreaming about a city enveloped by looming trees and dark forests, or submerged and consumed by lakes, or else ravaged by strange tribal folk. He dreamed of a city haunted by its past just as he was haunted by his. And although it was odd, he began to feel a kinship with the city. A crumbling, old relic belonging to an age consumed by one terrible war and then by the echoing silence that followed. He wondered how long that silence lasted in Lost Orleans – how long it had been since someone entered its grounds, trespassed upon the cracked concrete of the old world. He felt a feverish certainty that Lost Orleans would be saved from that silence soon enough. But he couldn't say whether it would be this team who'd be the ones to do it.
In her tongue Lost Orleans is the land where the dead do not sleep - Where ghost-like creatures steal away folk into the cold, dead of night never to be seen again. Those were the words that the tribal guide had spilled about the place, more or less. It was a haunted city in the middle of nowhere. And that was where the greatest technological secrets of Vault Tec and the Old world lay dormant, for centuries. It was an old and crumbling eldritch gal, that city – but in that tech file it had one firecracker of an ace up its sleeve and now every man wanted it. Now every man would find themselves consumed by it.
He crawled out of the top bunk in boxers and shirt, and clutched his head in one hand as he lowered himself to the floor, recoiling slightly at the cold iron grill that greeted his feet. Through the fog of his mind he could hear the engine of the steamboat whirring as the paddle wheels spun around and churned the water in turn. The Mississippi lapped up against the side of the ship as it swayed softly and its prow gently cleaved its way through the waves.
Lawman got dressed before he ate some dried Gecko steak (tough as his own boots) and then entered on deck, making sure to strap his gun to his side beforehand.
It had been three days since they all started this journey. Vance had kept the Mayweather steady in the middle of the river for most of this time, only pulling closer to the shore to lay anchor and rest the night. It was a precaution used largely to keep a distance from possible ambushes by tribals, but even Lawman knew that had been unlikely because most of the tribals in the upstream territory weren't hostile. It was further downstream - no, scratch that - it was now when they might run into trouble.
The days had been filled with dreary summer afternoons filled with card games and light gambling. Somehow Carter would always come out on top. When Lawman spotted a separate stack of cards that Carter kept close Lawman put two and two together and stopped gambling. He didn't make a scene. It wasn't worth it. His safety on this expedition was dangling by a thread – he could feel it, like the tension in the string of a bow. His relations with most of the crew were frayed at best. Leicester he got on well enough with, then there was Vance who seemed to always be preoccupied with something else and was as such indifferent to him. Then there was the rest of the 'Cazadors' – Katherine mostly ignored him, but Vyatch was like an alert coyote, watching for any misstep and Carter, well, Carter was the sort of person who'd try and make a misstep happen.
Kees was, and always would be, Kees – enigmatic, short, inscrutable and two steps from being the royal flush of bastardom. The guide, the gal who's name no one on this expedition knew, was silent as the grave, but strangely fierce in that silence. Kees spoke her tongue and it was he who would communicate with her once they'd landed at the vault, but until then the pleasure of his company would be something she could enjoy being without.
Lawman strode on deck, the sun piercing his eyes as the ship bathed in its light. Sure enough the fellas were huddled around playing cards again, Vance was up in the bridge and Kees was nowhere to be seen. Such was the normal play of the day. The guide was standing at the foot of the deck and Lawman imagined she might look like she wanted to leap off it, to plunge into the churning waters below. Lawman felt a burst of pity for the tribal turn slave, but when she turned to meet his gaze Lawman was slightly taken aback by the sternness and resolve that blazed in her eyes. She was silent. Silent but fierce.
"Care to join us for another game, Lawman?" Carter called over, all but certain that he and his spare deck would win. Another day, another chance for Carter to start a fight with someone…
"Maybe another time, Carter."
"Aw, come on now," Carter replied, not taking no for an answer. "Nothing to fear from a little game between friends, now am I right?"
The others, Leicester and Katherine chorused agreement. "You need at least four for a good game of Poker," Katherine said. "Gets pretty dull with just three."
Was she flirting with him?
"Sadly, I don't have that many caps," Lawman replied. "Sorry." He didn't want to get involved with the wastelander, not even without the prospect of a sticky love triangle involved. She wan't his type and Lawman had the feeling she was the sort of gal a guy could do without. She had trouble written all over her, perhaps as much as Carter. Perhaps more.
"All the more reason for you to join us then," Leicester grinned at the prospect of some sane company. "win somethin' back."
"Any of you guys seen Kees?"
"Down in the cargo hold," Leicester replied.
"What's he doin' down there?"
"Search me…"
"And Vance is steering the ship?"
"Yeah, who else would it be?"
"Right." Lawman didn't stop to explain himself. He turned back around and entered the ship, clambering down the ladder that took him towards Vance's cabin.
It was time to do some digging…
He stepped over to the door and looked both ways down the hall, checking the coast was clear, before peeking through the keyhole. No one was inside.
He had a strange feeling about Vance. Hell, he had a strange feeling about everyone on this expedition and no one more than Mr Kees, but Vance in particular drew Lawman's focus. For some reason the way the guy acted made his old sheriff instincts jangle. There was something off about the guy that Lawman couldn't place his finger on. It was as if the guy didn't want to be on the trip but, if he were here, then what was prompting him to be a part of it?
Lawman tried the handle. It was locked.
Well, he weren't a scavver for nothin'. Lawman drew out his lockpicking kit deftly from under his sleeve and began picking at the lock. It took a few attempts but eventually he got through and the door eased open to a well furbished, if small cabin. It was a decent dig compared to what the crew got, a cosy single bed with a desk by its side. A lamp was arched over the desk's surface and drawers ran along its length.
Lawman stepped inside.
It didn't take Lawman long before he found some letters hidden in a locked drawer. He rifled through them, searching for any clue, before his ears pricked at the sound of footsteps. Pocketing one at random he put the rest back in the drawer and briskly stepped out of the door. The door clicked closed behind him just as Vyatch turned the corner.
"What are you doing?" Vyatch asked. His eyes narrowed.
Lawman didn't hesitate. "I was just lookin' for you. Carter wants to fill out the card table with more players. You in?"
"Fuckin' Carter. You know he's cheatin' right?"
"Why do you think I'm not playin'?"
Lawman breathed a soft sigh of relief as Vyatch left for the deck. He quickly locked the door to Vance's cabin and stuffed the letter further down his pocket. He climbed back up the ladder and exited the Mayweather's claustrophobic interior.
He went on deck expecting to be called over for a game by Carter, or to be challenged by someone who'd overseen what he'd just done. He felt sure there was a sheen of icy sweat breaking out on his forehead – scavver work was still not his first port of call, and he wasn't used to the tension that ran with being sneaky. Put him in a gunfight and somehow, in a situation where rounds of lead ripped the air, he could be focused and collected, but in a situation where he had to rely on not being caught Lawman always felt uneasy. However, the company were, instead, gathered by the side of the ship, all staring off into the distance.
Lawman felt unease as he sensed the pall-like silence that weighed heavy under the stifling summer sun. He paced over, feet clapping on the deck, and his eyes drifted to what drew everyone's attention.
Over in the distance was an ascending column of oily black smoke. It rose into the air from within the forest, plumes of it cascading upwards. Lawman felt a sick feeling turn in his stomach.
"What do you think it is?" Katherine asked solemnly.
"How the fuck should I know?" Carter replied.
"Whatever it is, I feel pretty sure it's bad news…" Vyatch intoned.
"It could be useful to see what sort of wreckage caused it," Katherine said.
"Might be able to salvage somethin'."
Carter grinned as the nasty glint in his eye returned. He cast Lawman a glance. "Say, isn't salvage your department, Lawman?"
Damn!
Lawman kept his cool. "You think Kees is gonna want to be distracted from our main mission for some oversized campfire? We're in hostile territory. This might well be commonplace."
"I've already told Vance to pull over the ship," Kees interjected as he stepped over as if from nowhere, his little stick click-clicking on deck. Lawman groaned inwardly. If anything spelled danger this was it. And they weren't even at the vault yet. "You'll be exploring whatever is causing the smoke, Lawman."
"Ha-ha. Good luck, old man." Carter whistled as he shook his head - A low whistle like the sound of a crashing missile.
"You'll be coming too, Carter," Kees said earnestly.
"Me?" Carter balked. "The hell for?"
"Protection," Kees replied. "What else?"
Perfect, Lawman thought bitterly. Me, Carter and Kees alone together slap bang in the middle of hostile territory, which scarcely any man dare visit. Fuckin' perfect - An atomic dream come true.
As Vyatch and Carter prepared the rowboat that would take them to shore, and the paddle wheels of the steamboat slowly chugged to a standstill, Lawman made a glance at the letter he'd hastily stuffed in his pocket. It turned out to be a note from a doctor.
Well fuck me… he thought as he read through it.
Now he had an idea, at last, why Vance was a part of the expedition…
Vance had cancer.