~(:(Chapter One):)~
Adjusting my heavy pack, I climbed over the rubble of the ruined basement. It was a good haul; whoever had lived there must have been one of those doomsday preppers Jack had mentioned. He'd said people thought they were crazy, hording enough weapons and supplies for a small army. Well, that was before the war. Now, it was a godsend for those trying to survive out in the Wastes.
My pack was filled with ammo and salvaged materials. There was so much usable junk I resorted to dismantling the bigger items right there in the basement, pulling out any copper, springs and gears I could. Usually, I waited until I was back at my safehouse; it wasn't wise to let yourself get distracted in case something nasty was creeping up on you. I just couldn't help it. I needed the scrap and there was no guarantee it would be there when I came back.
The sun was getting low; I would have to head back home soon. Even though my pack was already bursting, I decided to check out the last house on the block. The door was boarded up and I reached for my crowbar, climbing the couple of steps onto the porch. As quietly as possible, I worked each board loose, starting from the bottom. When the opening was big enough for my body to squeeze through, I replaced the crowbar for Meg, my silenced 10mm. Crouching down, I clicked on the pip-boy light and cautiously peeked inside. Despite its ugly, bulky appearance, I was quite attached to the portable computer. It was a very useful tool, especially when exploring.
The air inside the house was thick with dust and smelt old and moldy. Shrugging off my pack, I placed it by the door and tugged the bandana over my face, taking a moment to readjust the rifle I kept slung over my shoulder. I crept inside, stopping once I made the doorway.
My ears were straining as I listened, waiting for even the smallest sound as I swept the light over the room. The walls were stained black with a few stubborn strips of peeling wallpaper. What little furniture was there looked mostly intact under the inch of dust and dirt.
I slowly cleared the room, my right hand with the gun resting on top of the pip-boy so the muzzle was aligned with the light's beam. Just like Jack had taught me.
Jackson, or Jack, was a pre-war ghoul and had served in the army. I had known him since I was small; he was the one who saved me after raiders attacked our settlement and killed my mother. We were the only ones that made it out and he took it upon himself to look after me.
He taught me some tactical maneuvers he had learned during his training in black-ops, he called it. I asked him once what black-ops was but he never went into detail, just that it was a special military group that went on the more difficult or sensitive missions. Whatever it was, I was grateful for the training from both him and MacCready.
The training helped but it wasn't enough. If living in the Wastes taught me anything, only the strong survive. Knowing how to hack a terminal or turn a wrench was good and all, but it wouldn't stop a raider from shooting you in the head or a supermutant from pummeling your face. No, only strength would keep you alive.
Unfortunately, strength was something I sorely lacked. Being a sixteen year old girl who stood just over five feet tall, I was physically weaker than… well, almost everyone. That was why I went out nearly every day, scavenging what resources I could. I had to prove myself useful, that I wasn't just dead-weight to be left behind.
After I was satisfied no creepy-crawlies were hiding in the corners, I pulled my pack just inside the door and headed for the stairs to clear the upper floor. You must make sure the entire area is safe before scrounging; I learned that the hard way, and had the scars to show for it.
The fourth step creaked as I put my weight on it and I froze, waiting for the unmistakable groans of a feral ghoul or the chittering chirps of radroaches. When nothing happened, I let out a breath and continued up the stairs. The top floor was free of critters and I felt my muscles relax. Then, the sound of gunfire echoed from outside.
I instinctually ducked before making my way to a window. One of the boards had come loose and I gazed out cautiously. I could just make out a couple of figures darting between the dilapidated houses. They were running, stopping only to fire short bursts at something behind them.
"Go! Go! Go!" one of them was shouting. It sounded like a man's voice.
Three people cleared the row of buildings and charged onto the main road, turning left around the corner towards me. They were still a way off, too far for me to see who they were. I holstered the handgun and swung Mark, the .50cal rifle, around my shoulder, aiming it towards the small group to look through the scope.
My lips curled in disgust. Their patched-up clothing and half-assed rigged armor was a dead giveaway.
Raiders. Two men and one woman.
I thought about ignoring them. They would either be chased away by whatever they were running from, or they would kill it and move on. It was unlikely they would find me and I could just wait for them to pass. Better to stay hidden than risk a confrontation.
Then, I heard it.
It was a sound that everyone recognized, even if they had never heard it before. It made my skin prickle and every hair on my body stood on end. The roar shattered the air and shook the floor beneath my feet.
Deathclaw.
There was the grating sound of metal tearing and then a car was launched into the air. It flew from behind the row of houses and landed with a crash in the middle of the main street, kicking up sparks and scattering pieces of rusted paneling. The raiders turned and stood in a line, waiting for the monster to come around the corner with their guns raised.
It bounded into view in all its horrifying glory. Brownish-green scales covered its entire body with jagged looking spines going down its back and thick tail. Its limbs were long and heavily muscled, ending with massive claws that could rip through anything and everything. And its face… it looked like a brahmin skull with green skin pulled over it, lipless, with pointed teeth an inch long. The black, ridged horns grew out and over, giving it a demonic appearance. Like death itself.
Fear churned my stomach as a cold sweat chilled my body. Deathclaws kept large territories and defended them with an unholy ferocity, killing anything that strayed too close. It was the ultimate predator, the strongest and most deadly creature the Commonwealth had to offer. Not many could stand against one. Certainly not a couple of raiders, at least, not without a whole lot of firepower.
The monster roared again before sprinting down the street on all fours and the raiders opened fire. Cleverly, the deathclaw dropped low, weaving back and forth to avoid most of the bullets.
Intelligence. Just one more thing that made them so terrifying.
The raiders got a couple of hits on the creature but it wasn't enough. It came up on them fast, swiping a backhand that caught the man on the left in the chest. He flew to the side, banging into the rusted guardrail on the edge of the road.
"Cal!" the woman to the right screamed as her rifle clicked empty.
The deathclaw swiped towards the other man. This raider was larger than the others, the leader of the gang judging by his center position. Face-to-face, he would be intimidating with his wide, muscled body and tall stature. Next to the deathclaw, however, he seemed ridiculously outmatched.
The man dove to the ground to avoid the deadly claws but the monster followed. It loomed over him and brought a clawed hand down. The raider rolled just enough so the strike hit pavement instead of his flesh.
"Fuck! Red!" the man named Cal yelled as he got to his feet shakily, firing a pistol since he lost his shotgun when he was thrown. The giant reptile just shook them off, as if the bullets were flies.
The leader, Red, kicked upwards and managed to push the deathclaw away enough to raise his assault rifle. It lunged towards him with a growl and he blocked its jaws with the gun, unable to get a shot off. I swallowed hard as I peered through the scope. It was like dropping a grenade down a molerat hole; you felt sorry for the little buggers but couldn't help watching the carnage unfold.
"Get off him, you ugly sonofabitch!" the woman cried, finally having reloaded. She fired, the shots taking it in the side and shoulder. Thick, dark blood trailed down its scales, the bullets actually penetrating. Its tail whipped around and bashed into her, knocking her to the ground. Her gun skidded out of her hands.
"Leah!" Red called, desperately wrestling with the beast. It wrenched its head up violently, ripping the rifle out of the raider's hands and chucking it to the side. The deathclaw reared up again, ready to strike—
My eyes focused and the breath left my body. It was perfect.
The smart thing to do would be to stay hidden. The beast would leave after it killed them, probably dragging one of the corpses back to its lair, then I could sneak away. It would be the safer option and no one would weep the loss of a couple raiders. But the timing was just too perfect, the crosshairs lined up just right, as if fate had willed the deathclaw to tilt its head just so. MacCready's warning came to mind: "Don't hesitate. If you have the shot then take it. You never know when you'll get another chance."
A thrill of adrenalin ran through me as I squeezed the trigger.
The deathclaw's head jerked as the .50cal took it in the eye, one of its only weak spots. The monstrous body teetered for a moment before it canted to the side, collapsing with a heavy thud. Lucky shot.
The large raider scrambled out of the way, lurching to his feet. He stared at the carcass for only a second then whipped his head in my direction, his eyes trained on my window.
"Sniper!" he called in warning to his companions, but I was already moving.
The advantage of taking out targets from a distance was dependent on secrecy. With just one shot, that raider, Red, picked out my hiding place with uncanny perception.
A raider with smarts. It seems my luck was short-lived.
I jumped down the stairs, ignoring the harsh impact on my knees as I fled. Shooting from a distance was one thing, but there was no way I stood a chance if it came down to hand-to-hand combat, not against him. I just wasn't strong enough.
Pushing my pack out ahead of me I scuttled through the small opening and launched off the porch with the pack slung over one shoulder. I almost tripped with the momentum but managed to catch myself, gripping the straps to my pack and rifle with one hand. With the other hand, I yanked Meg out of its holster and kept it lowered to the side as I sprinted.
As Holliday liked to say, it was time to get the hell out of Dodge.
~0~
Red grabbed Leah by the harness, dragging the disoriented woman behind a rusted truck for cover. He had seen the small flash of light reflecting off a scope, coming from the second floor of the house just down the road.
One bullet. One fucking bullet and that deathclaw went down like so much meat. Whoever the guy was, he was one hell of a shot. It made him think twice about breaking cover.
"Shit! I can't see him," Cal called out. He had jumped the rail and was crouched behind an old telephone pole.
"Keep your head down!" Red barked.
A muffled bang came from the house where the sniper was hiding, then the sound of hurried footsteps leading away. The bastard was running.
"Stay with Leah," he ordered, then took off down the street.
Red drew the pistol tucked in the back of his leather pants as he came to the corner of the house. Pressing his back to the wall, he inched out to look. He caught sight of a figure before it turned and darted down an alley. The person was smaller than he expected, almost like a child.
What the hell?
He charged after them, his long strides quickly bringing him to the mouth of the alley. He held his pistol in front of him with two hands, pointed to the ground.
"Hey, kid!" he called as he spotted them again.
In one fluid motion, the teen whipped around and crouched, aiming a gun dead-center on his chest.
Red swiftly twisted to the side of the alley, spinning so his body was shielded by the end of a crumbling wall. Two shots sounded in quick succession, muffled by a silencer. One missed. The other ricocheted off the metal plating of his shoulder pad with a loud ping. It dented the armor but luckily didn't penetrate.
He let out a string of curses.
"Christ, would you hold on a minute?! I just wanna talk to you," Red panted, trying to get his racing heart under control. He was still trying to process all of it.
First a deathclaw, now this trigger-happy chick who happens to be a dead shot. Even though the sun had almost set, Red could tell the sniper was a girl. In the quick second he had seen her, his sharp eyes picked up the details. It was something he was good at.
She was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and short, no more than five-foot-three. Her body was slender, like most people living in the Wastes, but had the definition of well-toned muscles. The clothing she wore was a mix-match of things: blue jeans that hugged the slight curves of her hips, worn combat boots, a dusty-green hoodie with the sleeves cut off, some sort of arm coverings that went from her wrists to upper biceps, all under some light-weight leather armor. And was that a pip-boy? She didn't seem like any vault-dweller he'd ever met.
After a long moment of silence, Red breathed out a rush of air before risking a look down the alley. It was empty.
"Red!" he heard Cal calling for him.
Damn. He wanted to chase the kid down but he had to take care of his team and make sure they got back to the FRS in one piece. It was too bad. They could really use that girl's skills for what he had planned.
Hopefully, they will cross paths again.