Celia was terrified. After launching the propane tank into the air, one of the power-armored soldiers had immediately seized her up and held her firmly. The explosion of the monster in the bay, being pelted with flying pieces of flesh and water droplets, and the unbreakable grip of the tall one, had contributed to her terror. And the short soldier, who kept making threats toward her, had kicked her in the shin when the one called Sir wasn't looking.
Her leg smarted when the tall one led her up to a shack in the town, pushing her inside and sitting her down into a chair. She watched them, her eyes wide. What should she do, in this situation? What would Lionel do, or Calhoun? Lionel would probably get mean. Calhoun would try to talk his way out.
She decided not to volunteer any more than she needed to. She kept her legs tucked under her chair, eyeing the short soldier.
The one who'd come up out of the water―he was okay, and she was relieved. He was tanned and skinny, with a shaggy mess of brown curls on his head, and was looking down at her Pip-Boy with an intense expression. The one called Sir entered the shack last, unlatched his helmet and set it down on the table in front of her.
She looked up into a face scarred by a lifetime of combat. Cold blue eyes and white hair did nothing to soften the grim look on his face. "Your name?" he asked.
"You know my name," she said, flicking her eyes to the younger one.
"Tell me," he said.
She sighed to herself, and felt her chest tighten even more. "Celia," she said.
"Why did you come here?"
She coughed, cleared her throat, and coughed again, unable to stem the itching in her throat. "Wandering," she croaked. Her stomach growled loudly.
"And why did you launch that propane tank at the creature?" Sir asked, laying a hand on his helmet and leaning forward.
She looked at the young one again. "I wanted to help," she said, her voice softening. He didn't notice anything but the display in front of him.
An echoing chuckle came from the tall man, behind her. The short soldier, in her periphery, snorted. Sir straightened himself and shot a icy stares at both men. Silence lingered in the room, except for the occasional hiss of power armor filters and the beeping of the Pip-Boy. Sir turned to the young man and consulted with him in low tones for a moment.
"You are very young and stupid," he said, turning back to her. "Do you realize you could have put every one of my men in danger?"
"Yes," she said, and her anger at being called stupid reared its head. "But your power armor is more than capable of withstanding an explosion from a propane tank."
The young man looked up at this remark, and his amber eyes met hers for a brief moment. She looked down. "And just how do you know anything about power armor?" Sir asked.
Celia breathed out and said, "Obviously I'm from a Vault." The education the Vault provided, regardless of how often she'd actually attended school, had informed her about it.
"Are there power armors at Camp Grayling?" he asked, nearly interrupting her.
"Yes," she said, lifting her chin and staring at him.
He gestured to each of the men. "Angus, Mayer, Wade. I am Bradley. In this situation, I should execute you for interfering with our business. It is my duty to collect and return all military equipment to Paramount, however." He stared at her. "We will escort you back to this 'Stockton' place, and retrieve the armors."
Celia's heart sank. She realized that, if she were to return to Stockton with a group of soldiers intent on taking property from the town, she would be thrown out of town. She'd probably die.
"I'd rather you shot me, sir," she said, defeated.
The tall one―Mayer―laughed and it bounced around inside his helmet. "Let's do keep her," he said.
The short one, Angus, shook his head. "I say let her run. Keeps me sharp," he growled.
She felt a yawn coming on and put her hand over her mouth, and coughed again. She wished she hadn't left her things up on the roof of that shack. Even her rifle, which she'd laid down beside her, just in case. She kicked herself. Maybe she was as dumb as Bobby Perkins.
Bradley looked at her, appraising her. "Wade, go get your legs. Angus, find where this one stashed her things, probably where she was watching from, then hit the kitchen. Mayer, take cross-side. Wade will relieve you at dawn." He picked up his helmet and put it back to rights on his head. "Miss Landis, I'm afraid I'll have to leave you cuffed."
She shook her head as the others left. "Please," she said, her voice small. "I won't try to escape―" Oh, God, if he left her handcuffed, she would―
Bradley tapped the table with a finger. "If I give you this chance, and you do try," he said, pulling a thin wand from his side, "none of my men will hesitate to use a prod to compel your behavior." It popped and crackled as he turned it on. "I do not anticipate having to hurt you."
She nodded, and swallowed the dreadful feeling that came up her stomach. "No, sir!" she said, nervously.
Bradley uncuffed her, with the prod in hand, and she scuttled to the back of the room, curling up on the mattress. Oh, what have I gotten myself into, she thought, and squeezed back tears. It would serve me right if I got killed, here.
Celia cried herself to sleep, trying to hide her fear and shame.
Lilian was definitely becoming too attached to the girl, Lionel thought, and who had to pay for it? Me, of course. She'd straight-out refused to come home until Celia was back where she belonged―not that Lilian had clarified where that was. He was beyond irritated.
He went out, anyway. There wasn't much he could do. The girl had probably gone off and gotten herself killed. He could at least bring home her corpse so Lilian would shut up about it.
That was what he'd expected to find. Tracking her route from the hints that Dr. Jen had given him, he went north, and peered into the brush. Here he was, keeping Lilian and having to watch out for the kid... he was too old for this shit.
He picked up on her trail by the trash she'd left behind. In a blowout near the road, a hole had been dug and an inhaler discarded further up the road. That was definitely Celia; those Vault people had delicate constitutions. She'd left her the cans from her food upside down on a tree branch, too. She always did that, he had no idea why.
Lionel tracked for three days, and stopped just shy of the radiation barrier of On-the-Bay. He was debating on how to proceed when the soldier found him, tromping up the road directly from the town.
Lionel eyed him and his gatling laser, and kept a hand on his hip. His revolver could not begin to take on this power armored brute, but it made him feel better.
"Greetings, exalted one!" the soldier called out.
Lionel sputtered. "What?"
"Beg your pardon!" the soldier came near, and held out a hand, putting his weapon on the ground. "I am Mayer," he said. Lionel stared at his extended hand. Mayer unlatched his helmet, and pulled it off. "I'm not that intimidating, am I?" he asked, in a pleasant voice.
He was, actually. Lionel was extremely self-conscious after viewing this... metal-encased Adonis. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, perfect. "What the hell is this exalted shit?" he asked, gruffly.
Mayer regarded him for a moment, looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow. "You do not follow the teachings of the High Ferrule?" he asked, gently.
"Never heard of it," the ghoul said, honestly.
The soldier returned his helmet to his head and latched it. "Why are you here, if I may ask?"
Lionel grunted. "Looking for someone."
"Ahhhhh," he said, and the sound echoed slightly in his head. "A young lady perhaps?"
Lionel suddenly had a very bad feeling about the soldier. "Don't know what you mean," he said.
"If you are, I know where she is," Mayer said, holding out a hand. "I could show you."
"No," Lionel said. "No, I don't think so."
And he was on the ground, his face in the dirt and arm pulled out behind him by the soldier. He was faster than Lionel had given him mental credit for. Mayer put a booted foot on his back and pressed down, twisting his left arm roughly. It popped out of the socket with a terrible noise. Lionel yelled out, and breathed hard against the pressure in his chest.
"Goddamn, they grow 'em strong where you come from!" he growled.
Mayer spoke into his arm as if reporting. "Sir! Contact with defiled."
"Oh, you son of a bitch," he muttered into the ground.
"Secured," Mayer continued, and rotated his boot into Lionel's back. He stiffened against the movement, and tried to relax his arm. It hurt. It hurt bad, but he'd had worse. If the soldier were to stomp on him, he wouldn't be walking home.
Mayer released his arm and picked up the gatling before he removed his foot from the ghoul's back, and ordered him to walk. Lionel got up, his arm dangling, and started walking in the direction that Mayer ordered him.
What had that foolish girl done now? He grumbled to himself, blaming Celia and Lilian for both being idiots.