Wasteland Odyssey
Chapter Three: By Blood and Law
With the sun sitting a little higher in the sky, Nick figured it was past noon and he'd wasted two or so hours for this 'errand.' Looking ahead, both Bren and Chance made conversation with some farmers while he sat with their horses, waiting off to the side of the final set of farmhouses and fields he learned were part of 'The Rotaries'.
He'd already gotten his fill of it. Large crop-grows that encased shabby houses with clusters of smaller - shabbier - shanties that were scattered about. They'd gone around to a few of these now, gathering those that he assumed were the cluster representatives. Once gathered, it was just a whole lot of him waiting around while Bren did all the talking.
Blowing out a breath, Nick tapped his pencil against the page of his journal, he'd just finished including the roads they took to get here for his map. He grabbed his bag and jammed the journal within, tossing it back to Alban; he was getting anxious after being dragged to each and every one, and apparently there was still more to go.
Was he really needed for this?
"Petty," Bren called, and Nick lifted his head as he stood up, the two older boys drawing closer. Chance must've sensed his mood from the grin that was growing.
"Don't worry, with the Rotary council handled, we've got the town proper set along this line and then one farm further south." Chance said, climbing up onto his own horse, Stag. He chuckled, then spoke again, "I know these trips can be boring, but they've got to be done. That's what happens when you get older."
Nick scoffed as he clambered onto Alban. Glancing around the sparse houses, his frown turned pensive, "How can they stay here, so. . . out in the open?" The farms had no walls or outside defenses. Sure, Khans were on guard or at work, their vests standing out among the farmhands, but it seemed so different from the Barge with all of its defenses. It just screamed weakness.
"For most of these people, they haven't dealt with raiders for years after us Khans showed up." He was very confident in that, and it showed with the grin he sported. "The Barge hasn't been hit in months, and that was a blunder; so jumped up on Psycho they didn't really know any better. Can you remember the last time before that?"
Nick conceded that point, he honestly couldn't. Raiders still scrapped by, but none were so suicidal to directly challenge the Khans. Attacking their food was as big a challenge as any he could think of, especially for those that spend their days trying to avoid the tribe. Chance saw the thoughts as clear as day.
"It's one thing for our camps to get attacked, it's another to let our tributaries get attacked. If a few lose faith, they all do. They talk and doubt spreads. And even if they aren't a threat, losing those farmers would hurt us." Nick nodded his head, following along as they cut through the clusters.
"So, what's the point now, then?"
"Bren goes out, listens to the grievances and concerns of their chosen reps and we try to keep them content. They stay safe and happy, they get the food they need to survive until the next harvest and we get the rest. It can be tough sometimes, keeping others in line that don't agree with us or even like us. People who need things we can't provide or deliver. Most of that falls on his shoulders, while the Chief handles everything else," Chance finished, nodding to Bren's back, still leading from up ahead.
Hooves left soil as the three took back onto the old asphalt, clopping loudly in comparison to the sudden quiet that sprang up, Nick had been bored the last two hours stuck in his thoughts, and he'd rather not spend his day in a daze, and looking at the four-lane they were on got him thinking.
"Chance," Nick started, taking in the debris-free pavement scene. "What did you call these roads?" Nick asked, looking down at the four-lane road they traveled.
"We call them the 'Lines' and there are four of them; the Marina Line, the Riverview Line that the Rotaries run along. The Hancock Line is farther north in the city. Each of these cut across through Bullhead, and they all connect to the Lakeside Line, which runs Bullhead north to south. All four were cleared and are regularly patrolled to help keep the camps and farms linked for easier travel, and make it easier to escort the caravans."
Nick nodded, taking it all in. "Could you show me on a map?"
Chance chuckled, "Why, so you can sketch it in that little diary of yours?" When Nick turned to face forward, crossing arms, he heard the guy laugh a little harder. "Yeah, kid. I can show you when we're done with this."
The rest of the trip left the three in silence as Chance dropped back to watch the rear this time. It wasn't long before a few larger fields came into view, a couple hundred yards from the last cluster. Beyond that, Nick could make out more cobbled buildings, these at least a sight better than the ones before, from over-top the crops. They turned off the road and onto a series of well-traveled dirt paths that connected these fields to the Rotaries and the town. Many of those walking it chose to ignore the three of them. Nick took in all the bodies that milled around, and this time to his surprise, there were less and less Khans mingled in the more he glanced about. It was after passing the third field, that the town was in clear view, having made use of the large open parking lot set in the middle. Dozens of wooden hovels surrounded town buildings that steadily grew larger in size, a few two-floor buildings here and there at the center. Within the town limits now, most of the people living here continued to ignore them. The town center had a general trader, with caravan brahmin being off-loaded or packing up for their next journey. It was there Nick saw the greatest gathering of Khans to guard the merchants, and right across the street looked to be a small bar for the locals.
Again, Nick was told to stay with the horses as Bren and Chance went to meet with the mayor in one of the few two story buildings. At least this time they only had the one stop and they were back out within the hour, but still a bit ticked-off that he didn't even get the opportunity to check it out. He'd been in Bullhead all of his life, and the only place he really knew was the Barge and a few blocks out. He'd never ventured this far, and he knew about the farms, but a town? Some one, somewhere, forgot to mention that.
Abruptly, Bren called from his horse, "Once we cut through we'll be at the end of Lakeside Line, and we'll have to take side streets the rest of the way south. So, be watchful, no need to get caught off guard."
"Or by ferals, again," Nick muttered under his breath and when Bren turned with a knowing smirk, he flushed. 'Boy, he has good hearing,' he thought. He might have to be a little more careful in the future.
As soon as their horses' hooves clodded onto the pavement again, Nick gazed down the long road that was Lakeside. The sound of furious clops reached his ears, and he turned in time to see Bren's horse suddenly rear; Bren wrapped his hands in the mane to keep his balance and regain control as another Khan on horseback swerved away, nearly colliding into each other in the man's haste.
The man's face held nothing but scorn and looked ready to hurl a nasty remark at the three, circling his horse around until he recognized who's horse he'd almost plowed through. The look changed to that of relief within a blink. "Sir! It's the Harland farm! That ornery old bastard is going off!"
Bren perked up, having calmed his horse and rounding around to address the rider, "What? The hell happened!?"
"I-I don't know, sir. He just came out and started swinging! Shouting on how he was fed up and no one's gotten close to him after he dropped Fann. I was coming to find the Chief, but. . . "
"Shit," he turned to face Chance and Nick, "We need to hurry. Come on!"
Bren raced off after the rider, the other two quick to follow behind.
(Harland Farm)
Nick could see a small crowd had gathered from the neighboring clusters as farmers and khans converged around the main house. Bren rode up and through as they all made their way, the breakup allowed Nick to spot some trying to wake a man who lay unconscious. Not far, a few men were trying to calm the one he guessed was the 'ornery bastard'.
The man was certainly tough looking. He had the body of one who knew hard work most of his life. If it weren't for the ragged field clothes, Nick could have easily mistook the man for a khan, too.
"Is this how you treat your 'friends', eh?!" He yelled aloud, no doubt his shouts were what drew so many to the commotion. Bren and the rider dismounted their horses and Harland turned on them, his face furious, and Nick could see the man's face strain and tighten with suppressed rage. "He doesn't even come himself to settle this! He sends his son to answer for this crime!?"
"Mr. Harland, please-" the rider tried to no avail.
"Shut your mouth, scum! For all I know it was you!" he pointed accusingly. His eyes raked over everyone wearing the vest surrounding him, "It could've been any one of you locusts!"
It wasn't long before sides were taken, the farmhands soon fisted shovels and hoe alike. Any tool available soon made itself known. Farmers stood across Khans and the bloodlust rolling of these hands was evident.
Bren stepped forward, "Mr. Harland. You need to talk this out, before you get others hurt."
"ME?!" his voice conveyed astonishment. He then pointed at Bren, getting in the boy's face and poking his chest, "You no-good raiders are who get people hurt, it's always been you. Bullhead traded many for one. That's the only difference. I have recognized some who used to be without your vest, even here. Men who used to rob and steal from me. Remind me how you're any different."
Bren took a calming breath, trying to be civil, "Your farm has grown, hasn't it? Those raiders don't attack anymore, isn't that right? You all here have plenty to eat and live in peace."
Harland's eyes flashed, "Live in peace, you little shit? Could've fucking fooled me." he said, spinning in the dirt and looking upon his workers. He paced some more, but didn't speak. Nick could only watch, fearing a fight was going to break at any moment. Chance grabbed his shoulder, the older boy gesturing for him to stay right where he was and just wait.
"Are we really going to have a problem? What brought this one? Work with me here," Bren offered, but to the farmer, it must've come across wrong.
Harland turned to shout, "There is no working with you raiders! Only service and struggle! I'm done!" The man finally snapped and lunged for the Chief's son, trying to wrap his hands around the boy's neck. Bren was quick to react and bodily threw the man away into the dirt, who just scrambled back to his feet.
Bren waved his hand, "Nobody moves!" His order was directed more to the khans, but that didn't stop him from sending a threatening glare at the farmhands.
The man chuckled, "Well, at least you got some balls."
Stepping back into Bren, the man threw a punch, and another, and another. Each time Bren moved just enough to not get hit, and avoided getting caught up when Harland tried to wrestle him off of his feet. The two faced off, and Nick recognized what Bren was up to and couldn't help but smile, 'Figures …' Bren wasn't going to let the bigger, stronger man get a hold of him and put that strength to use.
The farmer flailed his arms for another minute, and started to breathe heavily, accidentally losing his balance while throwing another power swing. Bren finally struck and knocked the man directly on the chin. His knees crumbled instantly, and he tried to stand back up. Bren hit him again, and again for every time Harland tried to stand back up on wobbly legs, Bren viciously put him back down.
One of the work hands rushed Bren and tackled him to the ground before anyone could react. The two quickly scrambled and jostled for control. Someone visibly younger than the man who now lay still, and closer more to Bren's age. Bren was stronger than this one, and once he took the top position over his unexpected opponent, Bren squeezed the boy's throat in his hands. The strangling continued, and this time, the other hands looked ready to jump in. Guns and the willingness to use them are all that stopped them short, despite the regretful scowls on their faces. Their leader was already beaten.
"Shouldn't we stop him," Nick asked, but Chance said nothing. He only sat there by him and none of the other khans were going to step in either. Nick started to worry, was Bren really going to kill this kid?
"STOP THIS, PLEASE!" A woman wailed, having run from the main house to collapse to her knees by Bren's side, but she never touched him, her hands hovering near as though she wished to. "Please, I beg you, please!" Tears streamed freely down her weathered cheeks, as she pleaded with all she had. "You've won! Please, don't kill my boy! My husband and he are fools, but please their frustrations had nowhere to vent!"
Bren took one look at her, at her pain-stricken face, before he abruptly stood and backed away from the son of Harland. The boy gasped for air, sucking it in greedily between coughs as he held his throat. Nick gingerly rubbed at his own, remembering his own not-so-violent experience, before thrusting the hand into his pocket.
The mother helped her boy up, then had to divide her attention between him and Harland. The tears didn't cease, they only degraded into mournful sobs. "Just. . . take what you want and leave us be," she croaked.
Bren ignored her, instead, dropping to a knee beside her. He eyed the boy to ensure he did nothing hastily, and asked the woman calmly, "Mrs. Harland. Explain what you meant by 'frustrations.'"
"What good will it do," she cried, peeling her eyes from her husband. "When have you ever helped us when it didn't concern yourselves?"
"I wasn't asking."
After a moment for the woman to collect herself, she nodded her assent. "Please, help me bring my husband back inside. I'll tell you everything, but please, just not right here." When Bren saw how she eyed the khans on duty for the farm, he nodded.
"Chance, Petty. Bring the horse over and help me with Mr. Harland." Standing up, he addressed everyone else, "The rest of you, back to work. And nobody leaves, got that?"
Nick did as he was told. Bren and Chance both lifted up Mr. Harland as he led the horses just a few paces behind. Just outside the door to the house he assumed was the Harland's, he saw the rest of the man's family; two little boys, and an older sister a few years younger than the eldest brother. Not one had a face clear of tears, and he couldn't possibly imagine what they must be feeling at that moment.
He actually felt sickened.
It wasn't long until Chance and Bren had deposited Mr. Harland onto his bed, leaving the son to fumble over his well-being while Mrs. Harland led them all back into the common room. It was a sparse room, a living room marked by the large table in the center that also doubled as the boys' room, by the looks. A single bed cot was tucked into the corner, empty, but had a few comic books strewn about, and a smaller bunk bed adjacent to it with toys and little race cars. They were all seated at the table when Nick noticed the only daughter disappear beyond a door towards the back, catching her eyes briefly before she shut the door.
Mrs. Harland took a deep and rattled breath that pulled his attention back to her, she looked near to a fresh wave of tears again. Bren didn't prod on or force her along, he chose to wait and remain silent, and so Nick followed his lead. After the spat outside, he was sure Bren was perfectly willing to take this slow, and whatever this woman was about to share, it was clear to all that it pained her to no end.
"My-" she looked back to the sleeping form of her husband, "-Our second daughter was raped, sir." she said, dragging on in a sob, "It was real late, a few nights back, and Breonna hadn't come in from chores. Adam, my husband, was the one to find her."
"Chance," the teen perked up, "go have a look, please." The woman looked as though she was going to protest, but a sigh came and she relented, signaling to the tall blonde to take the door the other girl had gone. Chance entered the room, and Bren asked for Mrs. Harland to continue.
"She's come down with sickness, and we don't have the means to get the medicine. We don't make enough for the doctor in Bull's End to even consider coming out here. We need antibiotics."
"And the one who did this? I'm guessing she couldn't name her rapist?"
"No sir, she only knows there was more than one. . ." The thought alone was enough to get her sobbing again.
"Nick," hearing his name called, he stood to attention almost like it was a reflex. "Go outside, tend to the horses, but keep your eyes open."
Not quite understanding how that'd help, the youngest of the trio decided it was better to just listen in this instance. "You got it." He needed to get out of there anyway, listening to that woman stirred something inside and he didn't quite know what to do with it.
When he shut the door back outside, the people may have dispersed, but everyone still had their eyes on this place. And many of those fell to him the moment he stepped out, "Great, as if it wasn't uncomfortable enough," he groaned. He walked over to Alban, Stag, and Bren's horse Blue. The only thing he could do was attempt to look busy, so he made sure to check out all the fastenings and the cinches. The constant movement helped, he could keep looking around while he worked, and hopefully it appeared more curious than suspicious as he felt.
Some had gone back to their own work, but as he first saw, there were still many that were interested in what had happened. He was starting to guess the Harland's kept the news in house. Bren said he should keep an eye out; and he figured that out of anyone, it had to be khans, as loathe as he was to admit. Something like this, did this happen often to tributaries? Was this a one-off, because he definitely never heard about them?
Was that why Bren sent him out here? Would some of these khans be foolish enough to underestimate the young fledgling tending to horses, let alone the Chief's son inside?
He was beginning to believe that wasn't the case. Most people were minding their own by now, albeit still wary; the initial draw as he exited the building faded and with their curiosity fed for now, but the distrust still hung in the air. There were still the huddled groups, talking amongst themselves as they worked or held their posts, and it was starting to draw on to fifteen minutes, and he was running out of straps he could check.
Then he found what he hoped was what Bren was looking for. Just between two of the hovel constructs down a ways, he could see three men. They looked to be arguing, and if it weren't for their jerky movements, Nick wondered if he'd have noticed them. Two of them were clansmen, and by the looks of them, they didn't want others to overhear them. He couldn't see the third man's face, but he knew he wasn't a khan. No khan, full-fledged or prospect, would go without their vest if it wasn't ordered. Muddy red shirt with his sleeves rolled, shaggy blonde hair, and looked younger than the khans, too.
The other two on the other hand, he'd be able to recall them again if Bren thought it was important enough to pursue. Older, like their thirties, maybe. One had a set of lines tattooed on the left side of his face, like tally-marks, but it was too far to count. The other was scarred from his bottom lip to his chin. That he could see it so cleanly from here, the wound must've cut deep.
It was at that moment the door to the Harland home opened and both Bren and Chance stepped outside, letting the door shut behind them. Nick made his way back to them, not expecting his next move.
Bren reared his head back, calling out as loudly and deeply as he could muster, "Khans!" The men in vests all around within earshot halted whatever it was they had been doing, and slowly they were all assembled before him. Of course, this also drew the attention of everyone else. "The Harland family's eldest daughter is sick. I'm aware of a clinic that's a couple miles south of here, the very edge of Bullhead, and I need a few volunteers."
Nick's eyes scanned the crowd again, looking for his suspects and their reactions. He found them quickly, and they were some of the first to raise their hands, but had to take initiative by stepping forward when they saw they weren't the only ones.
"Good, six of us should be more than enough. We can leg it out from here."
"Um, if she's sick, aren't we a little pressed for time?" Nick asked, thinking it odd.
Chance answered for him, "She's got a fever, and if nothing is done in the next few days or her body has beaten it yet, then yeah, she could die. But she won't within the next couple hours. We'll leg it out."
That seemed like a rough way of looking at it, but he guessed they weren't exactly wrong, and Bren didn't look like he was going to contradict his friend, either.
And he didn't, he only addressed the three in front of him, "Your names?"
"Tylor." Chin-scar.
"My friend's call me Scottie," said Tally-marks.
The third man was someone different, a young guy probably eight or nine years Bren's senior. "Nate, sir." Nothing stood out about this one, but that honestly could be said for most living in this little hamlet. Black hair, hazel eyes, and a small dash that looked like an old fighting scar hidden by his eyebrow.
Bren mulled over the names a moment, and then their faces. "You three grab your gear, we leave as soon as you're ready."
"Excuse me, sir." Everyone's attention turned to the new voice, and Nick recognized this one immediately. Blonde shaggy hair, muddy red shirt with the sleeves rolled. "My name's Denver. I'm a friend of Breonna's. Sir, if I can help, I'd like to go."
"You sure, just you and six khans? Awfully brave, don't you think?"
"For Breonna, yes sir."
For how quickly Bren agreed, he seemed to not have a care. Maybe that was his game, or was this really going to be something that just got swept under the rug. The idea of 'Here's your meds, good luck finding the rapist,' was settling worse than the fact of the other three coming along. There was no way to know what the hell these three were hoping to accomplish.
Everyone dispersed to gather their things leaving the original three, having long departed a simple errand. Nick was grabbing his pack and rifle from Alban when Bren drew closer, "Was there anything that stood out to you?"
"Yeah, actually. I kind of wished you asked sooner. Chin-scar and Tally-mark there looked like they were having some words with Blondie, and they all just so happen to volunteer?"
"You not telling me was the best option. Had I known, I could've given myself away. Consider that. The best information gathering can often be done when you're not trying. In this case, not trying to hide my own suspicion."
"So, basically, you wanted them to come to you?"
"It's a gamble Petty, don't get me wrong. I'm banking right now on the fact that no one but us, the Harland's, and the offenders know that she's been raped. I'm hoping they'll get jumpy and want to try and contain this as best as possible, for their sake. They can't do that without some chips in the pot. You spotting our marks gives us a leg up, we might make a decent khan of you yet."
Nick took the compliment. Even though Bren was a guy he'd probably never figure out, relation or otherwise, he'd been relieved to hear that Bren wasn't just brushing this off.
"And in their case," Chance cut in, everything ready for the hike, "they're probably going all in, since you got involved."
"Ya know, I didn't really know we had laws, being raiders and all. What's the play for all that, when one gets broken, I mean."
"By Blood and Law."
"Excuse me?" Nick asked, not getting it.
It was Bren who clarified. "By Blood and Law. Three simple rules by which clan and tributary abide by here in Bullhead. Killing each other, beyond agreed upon disputes, is forbidden. Stealing from each other is forbidden, and the last one, the one they broke; the Chief added it a little over a decade ago. Rape is forbidden, in all circumstances."
"And the punishment?"
"Death."
(Sometime Later)
All seven had gathered again and set out in short order. The walk was a lot like the other day, just longer and they traded out Jessup and McMurphy for these guys. The sun was closer to setting now, and their pace wasn't the fastest. As long as there was no trouble, they'd be back before nightfall.
Bren, up ahead, came to a stop and everyone else did the same. "There, those buildings."
"I thought you said this was a small clinic?" Nate said, recalling back to their conversation earlier.
"It is. But it's clustered in with other medical buildings. One's a medical center for sure, but the others might be hit or miss for the meds we need."
Denver was next to voice his concerns, "We're just going to walk over, locate the med center, grab the meds, and go without messing around in the other buildings. What could go wrong?"
"Now, why the fuck would you go saying that, dumb ass!?" Nate seethed, "Damn jinx, that shit strikes it better land on you, so fucking help me."
"Nothing's going to happen, with all luck. But, yes; we'll head over and spread out a little. Chance and Tylor will take lead, Nate and Scottie in the middle, and Petty, Denver and I will be just behind them. Understood?"
When all he received were nods, Bren got the group rolling again. With just him, Bren and Denver, the latter tried to strike up conversation. "So, Breonna. . . did they say what happened to her?"
"Pardon," was Bren's response, allowing a silence to fall on purpose. "She has a fever. Or were you not there when I asked for volunteers?"
"Oh! No, no, I was there. It's just. . . it's just that whatever it was that got her sick, it seems like it was bad for her to be like that," he looked away, "I've never seen her sick like that."
"It's a pretty bad fever," Bren said, continuing as they walked. "As long as we get these antibiotics, she'll pull through. Without 'em, I wouldn't bet on her."
"Are you normally this brash," Denver asked, a smile creeping up on his lips despite the topic.
Nick's laugh drew both of their eyes to him, "Yes, he is. And yes, you are," he left it at that as he veered off to deter a response; close enough to still listen, but far enough that he was effectively out of the conversation.
"So, why'd you volunteer? You said she's your friend, but you're the only one who came; I find it hard to believe you're her only friend."
"Honestly," he began, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought over what he was about to say. "I've always been sweet to her. I, uh, I've got a thing for her, ya know?"
"I see, you're looking to impress her; put that lever-action to use, be her savior and all. I can understand that."
Denver for a moment appeared bashful. . . or maybe he was ashamed, but he tried to correct Bren, "I don't know if I'd go that far."
"But you did. You're out here with us, for her, with that rifle in your hands. You came this far," he encouraged, the group now coming up on the medical and health buildings. "This is the last step before all that can happen, just before the home stretch. So, how far will you go?"
Denver never answered, but his grip tightened around the rifle he carried and Nick figured that was as sure a sign as any that this guy would keep going. He was willing to see this out, whatever his involvement was. Chance called Bren up to the front, leaving just Denver and himself. Nick took a moment to take in the complex. All the buildings had at least two floors and they centered around one large parking lot. They now all sat at the threshold of one of two archway entrances, with the other in view directly across from them on the other side of the lot.
"So, are you pretty good with that?" The question had taken him by surprise. The entire trip, Denver had never said a word to him. If he remembered right, he thought Bren was the only one Denver directly talked to the whole time. He felt that the blonde outsider was going out of his way to avoid the men he was arguing with. Everything he had seen of the man had only made him more skeptical, despite his cheery demeanor.
How were you supposed to act around someone that you very well knew could be plotting against you that instant?
Looking down at his rifle, "For my age, and maybe to you farmers, yeah." He thought of his fellow khans, with so many having to learn how to hunt and shoot, the mental images helped relay his response evenly, "But, I wouldn't doubt there's plenty more my age that can shoot just as good. My camp is the smallest, and we're expected to at least be able to hit our mark by now."
"Living like that constantly, do you like being a Great Khan? Having to project strength and fear in equal amounts; even among yourselves, you see each other as potential threats," Denver shook his head disapprovingly. "It's no way I'd want to live."
'Did he like being a khan,' what kind of question was that? Granted, he wasn't one yet, but being a Khan was all he knew. He didn't know any other way to live, and that was like asking Denver if he liked being a farmer. Nick could easily recall his chore days helping the tribe-wives. Usually, when he played with the other kids, it was so they could beat him; so, he often had free-time on his hands, back before he started leaving the Barge, "Probably more than being a farmer, I guess."
"Maybe, you're right. Looks like your friend needs us." Just as Nick turned to see what the guy meant, everyone was at the complex entrance huddled low and to cover with Chance waving him over and for him to stay low. Doing as instructed, he started to fall in with the group as Nate and Chin scar broke from their cover and slowly stepped into the open.
Upon getting there, Bren spoke up. "Those two are going to sweep right and keep watch along that side with fewer buildings. The rest of us will move left until we find the clinic. Petty, find a spot there and keep watch. Game plan is if something goes down, link up with me. If you can't, then head back to Harland's."
Nick nodded and moved to his destination in a quick crouch. The spot was a corner within the interior. It was a terrace that came up to his chest with grasses that'd long overgrown into a matted cluster-fuck that dwarfed him easily. He'd seen these a lot in those 'Picket Fences' magazines the Follower's used to teach him reading and writing, granted those were maintained. After a moment's check, he was tucking himself in and settled.
The others had covered most of the ground by now. There were no problems or threats he could see for the moment. So long as it stayed that way. 'The Wasteland will lie to you, if you don't pay attention.' Fergus had said that to him when he got caught sneaking out from the Barge for the first time. Just because it looked safe, didn't mean that it was.
(Bren)
"Hey, here it is." Nate pointed out the building with his varmint rifle. Tylor and Scottie sidled up to him and glanced up at the same sign that he was looking at.
"You can read that?" Scottie asked.
"Yeah. Didn't you spend any time with those follower folk?"
"While young bucks like you were word-learning, us old fucks were actually out killing for the clan." Tylor jumped in to sneer at the younger man.
"Simmer down." Bren ordered, and apart from a final glare from the man with the chin scar, they fell in line. "Let's get this done, without complications."
Chance was the first one to the door with his sawn-off drawn, everyone stacking up behind him ready. Bren nodded, and Chance slowly let the main door creak open inch by inch as his eyes swept the lobby. Some skeletons and clutter littered the floor and remained seated in chairs, but the coast looked clear. One final okay from Bren, and Chance stepped into the building with the pace of a prowling cat. The tall blonde cleared the first opening and reception desk as the others rolled in to clear the way, Nate moving left to watch over a set of staircases, one going up and the other down. Bren scrambled up and over the desk to link up with Chance, eyes darting around this way and that.
Pulling back a slumped skeleton wearing a lab coat, he found an inventory sheet. "Bingo, we're looking for room . . . B164, I think that's basement level."
"Down here?" Nate asked, still watching the stairs.
"Yeah, that's a storage room. A few back-ups on here if we need to check," Bren held up the clipboard to emphasize that. "Still, they're basement level."
The leader of these ruffians took the moment to glance over the lot. Nate looked focused, and surprisingly didn't care too much for the fact he was the Chief's son. He expected that out of the older two. There were quite a bit though Nate's age that still had some misplaced awe of him, like an undeserved royalty status. The guy wasn't distracted and he was glad for it, for different reasons.
Scottie had made his way over behind the desk after a bit of a clumsy swap with Denver. His eyes were shifty, and their interest was on one of them one moment, and on objects the next. It was like he was unable to hold still and stop fucking with shit spilled all over the place for a second. He had his carbine strapped over his right shoulder, one of those 5mm models, as he fidgeted; hand rested on the butt stock keeping it close to his frame.
Tylor was furthest from the group, but only down the hall. He was leaning up against the adjacent wall before the hall bent in a corner, sitting where Bren imagined the older man could see easily, yet left little exposed of himself. A worn Chinese assault rifle was held with half a care, but still where Bren would still consider him alert. 'This guy is a veteran. And I don't know if that's an act or what, but I shouldn't assume Scottie is any different. Nate looks like he's been around the bush, but I doubt he's affiliated with them.'
When Bren's eyes cut to Denver, he had to stifle his surprise. Denver was looking at him and their eye's locked, before Denver smiled and turned away to continue his watch down another hall. 'He's watching us, alright.'
"Ready to get things moving?" Chance asked aloud. The suddenness caused Scottie to jerk during his fidgeting with a seated skeleton, the skull falling to the ground. The clack was dull but it still managed to carry. Tylor 'tsked' at his friend, but Scottie waved him off.
"Yeah," Bren sighed, glad nothing seemed to have been alerted, then walked over towards Nate by the stairwell. "You're coming with me, along with Tylor and Scottie. Denver, you can stay with Chance here and wait. Same fallback plan." He didn't stop to bark out the orders. He stepped deliberately down the steps and Nate was soon beside him. The other two would be catching up soon. . .
"Nate," he started, the boy turning to meet his eyes, "what do you know of the other three with us?"
(Back Outside)
It'd been about ten or so minutes since Nick had seen the others go into the clinic through his monocular. From that point, the coast had continued to remain clear. His rifle was leaned against the grasses as he too, remained, dutifully at his assigned post.
At the sound of a low echo, he was up and peering through the monocular again. It sounded like it came from the far end. There wasn't anything in the open so he peered at the clinic. It was tough, but he could see a bit through the grimy, busted windows. He could see Tally-mark blowing someone off. Chance and Bren looking at him, and then Bren walked off out of sight. 'That idiot. . .' the boy thought, putting the device back down, 'Scottie must've done some stupid shit.'
Then there was a second echo, but this time it came from somewhere closer. A lot closer. Nick grabbed his rifle and shuffled some of the thick grasses over him as he tucked back upto the wall to hide.
Nothing came. He knew he heard something and his body just moved. 'Holy shit!' His chest hurt with how quickly the pounding came and his mind was replaying the sound, again and again, playing with him as he screwed his eyes shut. A few thuds hit the asphalt in breathy groans mingled with the tinkling of loose glass.
Gripping his rifle tight, he slowly let loose a shaky breath of his own. "Not fucking ferals. Not fucking ferals." he whispered to himself, allowing his eyes to creep open.
Feral ghouls were clambering out windows. Others were bumbling for the far end, glancing around obliviously.
Nick squeezed his eye shut again. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck!'
He needed to think quick. Those ghouls didn't know they were there yet, but it won't take them long. They had a direction, and that's all those rot-brains fucking need to turn deadly.
Reaching into his bag, he dove around until he threw out some firecrackers and a kitchen timer. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he set the poppers up in the grasses and lit the shrubs under them to give him some time.
Pushing the rest of the grasses off from himself, he checked for any ghouls before he tried skirting the building, hopping down from the terrace on his way to the other side of the parking lot. The center median would be good cover for his next move.
The firecrackers started igniting and popping off, the dry grasses catching ablaze with ease just as he rounded his cover. As expected, the ferals reacted with rage and confusion. Peeking over the low concrete wall, Nick could see some of the ferals lingering by the brushfire while others ignored it, but seemed no less pissed off with the change in their environment. "Damn," Nick cursed, he wanted more distracted!
A rifle blast came next and one of the ferals fell with it writhing around, the ghouls still on their feet locking-in on the clinic with raspy howls, and the lanky rad-folk began charging the clinic in earnest!
"Dammit!," Nick swore again through his teeth, more shots ensuing. At least the other's knew now, some of them anyways, but there were still too many! Nick needed to get out of here back to Harland's, what more could he do? Bren gave him a plan of action. . .
Motion caught his eye like a hawk to a rat up within one of the adjoining catwalks, and even with the murky windows, revealed by the sun shining through as they dashed across to their target, he could still make out those spindly shadows. There were way too many! Those ghouls on the ground had already started to breach the clinic, pushing the others futher inside, the rest of the ferals would be closing in on them.
He had to get inside and warn them fast, or find some way they could get out!
(The Clinic, Moments Before)
His talk with Nate was enlightening. Bren could safely assume he wasn't working with the other three now, if Petty's previous observations held merit. Chance could hold his own against Denver which is why he left them in the lobby, and Bren was quite sure that if the two behind him were the brawn, then the blonde farmer boy was the brains; it was best to keep them separated.
The two of them continued down the decrepit hall, trying to find the first indication of where they were by the blackened or molded door signs. 'B039' was the first one they saw intact. Further down, Bren could see some corridors that split left and seperated by a dozen yards or so. He really didn't want to split them up anymore than he already had. Two teams would make the search faster.
Taking a quick look behind, Tylor and Scottie were closing the gap between them and it looked like they were having a hushed conversation of their own. Upon reaching the first break, Bren came to a stop, Nate just shortly after, to wait for them to catch up.
"What's the hold up?" Scottie asked, everyone coming together in a loose group.
Bren lazily pointed his shotgun down the hallway, "Two of you will go that way, Tylor and Nate. You remember the room number?" When the three nodded, "Good. We're going to try and move this along-" he was interrupted by a cacaphony of pops and whistles that echoed in through the ground level windows lining the top of the walls.
"The fuck is that?" Tylor uttered, rushing to stand on an old-world water fountain connected to the wall so he could peer out. Just as he was, gunshots echoed from the stairs where they'd left Denver and Chance. "Fucking ferals! Lots of 'em, we gotta go!"
Nate flicked his safety off and started to watch down the halls, "What about the medicine!?"
"Fuck the medicine, we need to get the hell out of here!" Scottie yelled, about to make his way back to the lobby until they all saw Chance and Denver come lunging down the flight of stairs three, four steps at a time.
Chance saw them all standing there, "Run! Down the hall!"
Bren wasted no time, he wasn't about to argue. The four of them pivoted on their heels just as ghouls began to launch themselves from the stairwell to hit the ground and retake to their spindly legs. Chance whipped around and fired both barrels of his sawn-off, staggering the ones in the front and stalling the pack that followed.
The group ran down the hall, one of them providing cover-fire in turns to keep the hoard back as best they could. Bren turned, checking on Chance to make sure he wasn't left behind as Denver and Scottie rushed past himself. 'Why do ghouls have to be so fast!?' he thought, unloading a few blasts of buckshot down the hall.
Chance was soon by his side, popping in two fresh shells to keep firing when he snarled back, "Don't split up, you idiots!"
Bren took the moment to glance back, catching only a glimpse of Denver's back disappearing around a corner of the t-intersection at the end of the hallway. It was just him, Chance and Nate now. "Fuck it, just go! We get overrun down here and we're dead!" Firing another round of buckshot, Bren was tailing them around the corner as he reloaded and then came up short. The hallway only split in more corridors and he didn't see which way the others had gone. But more ghouls were coming from the far-end, and with the ones behind him soon on the way, his breathing grew more frantic. He turned tail again, choosing the opposite direction he knew everyone else had gone.
'We're gonna fucking die down here!?'