Chapter 1:
Leaving
I awoke with a start and quickly sat up. I immediately became aware that my bum was wet. I was sitting in a pool of water several inches deep and growing, as the torrential rainstorm outside seeped its way slowly through the nooks and crannies of the large, imposing concrete structure. I stood back up, leaning against the concrete wall and awkwardly checked my watch with my free hand. The slightly luminous hands showed the time unmistakably through the foggy glass. It was approximately 4:00am and I could not be happier. In a few minutes I'd be released from guard duty by Thomas, or maybe even Jerry. As I leaned back I had a look around. The job wasn't much fun, guarding the ruined pipes entrance in the utility and maintenance room, but it was important. People had been killed during attacks before, principally because we hadn't thought to station people down here until after a raid this spring.
At some point years prior, some idiot had used explosives to create a hole in the pipe around two hundred feet to the right. These pipes were huge, about ten feet in diameter. The tallest man could easily walk through them, no problem at all. It was a massive security risk, and a nuisance during poor weather, as the water would pour down the pipe and build up down here. There was a drain connected to the local sewer system, however it made little to no difference, as the sewer hadn't been properly maintained in centuries now, and it was in the centre of the room, in the one part of the concrete floor that wasn't irreparably worn away by general wear and tear, large pools of water built up around it, making the whole room extremely uncomfortable to be in, as you can't really sit down anywhere either. I was contemplating ways of improving this for myself, and anyone else with the misfortune of this job, when I started hearing faint splashing sounds from the pipeline.
I quickly stood up straight, and gripping my rifle carefully, made my way steadily towards the pipe utility entrance, being careful not to give myself away by stepping in the large water pools scattered around it. I levelled my rifle at the gap, before stacking up on the right side of the pipe entrance, holding my torch at the handguard of my rifle, and leaning swiftly around the corner, snapping the light on, ready to fire. Thankfully, it was nothing dangerous, just a large, ugly radroach that had fallen into the water from the pipe walls, flailed around desperately, and promptly drowned. I hated those things, always have, even in my childhood. They weren't aggressive mostly, however the ones you can't crush underfoot don't really like being disturbed too much, and might attack if you back them into a corner. The worst thing about them in my opinion is their ugliness, and the fact that they breed like hell if you leave them with any food. Every few months one of us had to come down here with a flamethrower to clear out the eggs in the smaller pipes, just to stop them spreading throughout the rest of the plant and eating everything that isn't locked away.
I was watching it slowly sink to the bottom of the pipe with sadistic pleasure when I heard quiet splashing almost directly behind me. Instinctively I went for my knife, fast as lightning, but as I drew it from my belt a hand caught my arm, I twisted around, ready to fight, but stopped. It was just Jerry, sneaking up on me. Despite my annoyance, I was always perplexed by how he can even be so quiet, as normally he's exceptionally clumsy, knocking over almost everything at waist height. You wouldn't think he was clumsy from looking at him though. He's about 5'11" and medium build, but with a decent figure nonetheless. He wasn't bad looking, despite his messy, dark hair and the rough, stubbly beginnings of a beard woefully unkempt as usual. His real name's Jerome, but he goes by Jerry. He's probably the only person I trust here, which is ironic, as he's one of the most mischievous people I think I've ever known. He constantly has a smile on his pale, slightly scarred face, like he's always laughing at some kind of inside joke. Not to mention the numerous times he's played practical jokes on me.
"You ass, I could've killed you." I snapped at him, and wrenched my hand out of his grip, before pushing him away and sheathing my knife.
"No, I could've killed you. You ought to be more careful." He replied with a slight smirk. "Anyway, what's with the pipe?" He added quickly, interrupting my thoughts just as I'm beginning to formulate a snappy retort. He always knew how to defuse my short temper.
"Radroach decided to drown itself to save us the trouble." I replied curtly. I picked up my rifle and flashlight and turned towards the exit. I paused next to him and patted his bristled cheek affectionately. "Have fun." I said with dripping sarcasm, and with that I wandered off to bed.
My jeans and shirt were slightly wet from lying in the puddle, so I undressed myself quietly and clambered down onto my mattress, pulling the thin sheets over me. It always took awhile for me to get to sleep and just when my eyes were starting to droop, I heard muffled arguing above me. A group of guys playing cards, according to some of the calls I heard. I sighed in quiet, resigned frustration. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last. I inwardly cursed them, all of them. How the hell did I end up here, with these people? The mere idea of being classified as a raider was horrific to me, but I'd learned that some things simply don't matter as much as you think they do.
I reckon my father would be rolling in his grave, if he'd been buried. Not my mother though, I know if she was in my shoes, she'd have made many of the choices I've made. I wondered what they even were sometimes, and if they were really choices at all. It felt like in hindsight, the choices you make aren't always the ones you want to. I liked to play a game sometimes, to try and keep myself, if that means anything. I'd remember everything about myself, my old life, my parents, and all the events that led to where I am now. If I ever forgot anything, then I was losing. It went something like this: I was born on their farm back in late December of '67. That I know for sure, and I remember my parents, certainly. My mother's perfect, slightly tanned skin, god did I envy her skin, even back then, when my spots were few and far between. She'd call them beauty marks, but I still envied her, and her face, her serious, yet somehow always happy face, and her jet-black hair, always curled up in a little bun of some kind. I remember whenever I used to do her hair, she liked those the most, so that's what I did.
My family was unlike most others, especially in terms of who would do what. My father was different, also slightly tanned, from working on the farm all his life, as did his parents before him, but he wasn't as neat as my mom, he had long, brown hair, and, despite his best efforts, he almost always had a light stubble under his chin, not dissimilar to how Jerry looks when he occasionally shaved. He did a lot more of the farm work, and taught me a lot of that, as this was how he'd been brought up. My mother, now she was the one who taught me how to survive. I excelled at quick reactions, but with shooting, I was quite bad, as I didn't enjoy it much, and I didn't get better until much later, but I have no doubt I'd be dead many times over if it wasn't for her. She never used to talk about her past, but dad said she used to be a ranger in southern California with the NCR, but eventually got sick of it and settled with my father in northern Florida.
The two of them killed off the super mutants that used to own the old house and set up a farm there. They were kind, loving parents, but fierce people. One time I remember a local raider gang, not unlike my current outfit, coming around to 'offer protection' for a price, and a rather hefty one at that. My father had laughed. When they had threatened them with a spiked bat and a shotgun, it ended poorly. My father had pulled out his .45 and shot one of the raiders at the back - a poor young woman if I recall correctly - in the stomach, and threatened to kill them all if they came back. Had there been more of them, or had my mother not been aiming her automatic rifle at the group, then they would have been shot then and there, myself included probably. Instead, the leader backed off, and escorted the rest of his pack away, including the injured girl, all the while threatening my parents, even as he ran.
I didn't know what had happened to her, and looking back, I wish I knew now. She was probably about the age that I am now. Occasionally other raider gangs would come knocking, despite the NCR presence in the area. We'd either drive them off, or they'd end up dead and buried, fertilising our soil for the next harvest. That was how it would usually go until the summer of 2281, I was thirteen. The NCR had given up with their manifest destiny by that point, and left the district a year or so back, but we were often able to pacify raiders with empty threats, or on one occasion, a rather forced, one-sided barter, though I suppose we did probably need the antibiotics at the time. The beginning of the end. That's what I call it looking back. When all the cards were on the table, and we had no aces up our sleeve. I remember it vividly.
"Kay! Have you done your chores yet?" My mother called me from inside the house.
"Yes!" I replied, lying through my teeth, while playing with the cat as I had been doing all morning. It was typical of me at the time.
"Arthur, has she done her chores?"
"No she hasn't. The mole rats are at the bloody mutfruit again." My dad shouted from across the yard.
"Kay! Take the gun and get rid of the damn things!" mom demanded.
I sighed, and dropped the toy car I was entertaining the cat with. I picked up our .22 target rifle from nearby and trudged over to the mutfruit field to get rid of the pests. I passed my father on the way, and he grabbed my arm as I went past and dragged me back.
"Hit one for me and I'll take care of the rest of your chores for you." He said quietly, and returned to weeding the razorgrain.
I kissed him on the side of the neck, and ran the rest of the way, eager to score myself a lazy day with the cat. It was only as the field came into view that I noticed the mole rats were scampering towards me, away from the field, and only veering away when they got within kicking range. Something had spooked them, and I was soon to find out what. As the rest of the field of trees came into view, I saw that there was a man standing there, inspecting one of the tree trunks. I slowed right down, and stood there watching him. He was unarmed from what I could see, no long guns over his shoulder, no handguns at his waist or leg, yet the man's arrogance, his confidence whilst trespassing within our crops, it radiated danger, hostility. I backed up a bit, and that was when he turned and saw me. I backed up further, spun on my heels, and ran. My father saw me running towards him and stood up, biting back a smile. I ran up to him and grabbed a hold of his shirt.
"Is the brood mother back again?"
"There's a man in the field." I replied quickly. His smile faded, replaced by a worried, yet determined grimace.
"Carol! Get the rifle!" He called my mother, before turning back to me. "Kay, go to your room, don't come out until I tell you to!"
I complied without question, taking the .22 with me. As I reached the house, scooping up the cat as I ran inside, I brushed past my mother, who was carrying our automatic rifle, looking grim faced. It was the very same rifle I carried with me today, and it had saved my life countless times since. A long metal thing, with an odd triangular, black plastic handguard and stock, a carry handle embedded in the steel frame that doubled as an iron sight, and a small metal box magazine holding twenty rounds. I'd never fired it then, as my father had forbidden it, but I'd soon have to learn. I ran upstairs to my room and hid.
I woke at ten to Lonnie kicking me in the sides.
"Get up." She snapped, and kicked the covers off me, exposing my bare skin to the biting October morning cold. I hated Gristle. I hated Jared, I hated almost every person here except Jerry. I didn't hate Lonnie, but I didn't like her either. I respected her. She'd originally recruited me, and oversaw a lot of my training, as she'd done with countless recruits. She was older, probably in her mid 40's, with a tanned, weathered face, and muddy blonde hair. She was short, slightly shorter than myself at about 5 foot two, yet she commanded respect through her powerful leadership, intellect and extensive combat experience. We had a bit of history, her and I. Not exactly friends, but certainly never enemies.
"Why?" I asked, annoyed at my rude awakening.
Lonnie crouched down next to me and pushed me back down onto the mattress just as I was sitting up. "Jared wants to talk to you, do you want to explain to him why you're late?" She asked quietly.
I shook my head. Nobody wanted to piss Jared off, he was absolutely ruthless. I'd heard he once beat a man to death with a bat because he was cheating at cards. He was feared by all, but not hated by all. Even he knew that ruling by fear alone was brittle, and you had to inspire some loyalty.
"Thought so. Anyway, get going." She said simply, before leaving without another word.
I waited until I was sure she was gone, quickly pulled on my damp clothes and slung my rifle over my shoulder. I exited the odd shack building of sorts that had been constructed inside what used to be a small parts manufacturing area, but had been cleared out and transformed into a multi-storey sleeping arrangement of sorts. Women on the ground, and the men on the ramshackle first floor. Luckily the floor was pretty solid, so you could be quite sure you weren't being perved on. The women here stuck together mostly, and had formed a few tight knit groups under Lonnie's leadership, so whenever one of them was killed, there would be grief amongst them all.
The men, for the most part, were different. They gambled, fought, drank, took chems, and there had been more serious infighting in the past, or so I'd been told. I didn't know all the stories, but I knew the most chilling one. A woman of 24, one of Lonnie's loyalists, was assaulted by one of the men after he'd gotten rather drunk. Rumour had it, she'd been raped by him and two others. All three, and only those three men were reportedly killed by a radscorpion while on patrol two days later, led by Lonnie and a bunch of her best girls. There had been other odd deaths too, a few of which I'd a hand in, but that was the most well-known one. Unfortunately, I hadn't become well acquainted with any of them besides Lonnie herself, as I stuck to myself really, so the chances of them caring much about me were slim. Most of the men didn't know this however, and those who did weren't much to worry about.
As I climbed the metal staircase, I noticed the place was practically deserted. I made my way outside through the fire exit and walked down the side of the vast concrete giant, upon which the complicated series of metal stairs and walkways intertwined the huge chimney stacks that had laid dormant for centuries. I found Thomas at the bottom, leaning against the large hangar-like doors, smoking a cigarette, with his beloved assault rifle propped up next to him. I approached him confidently. I didn't like him very much. He was vulgar, but he wasn't hard and ruthless, like a lot of others. I could somewhat trust him.
"What's up sugartits?" He mused in his gravelly voice as I drew nearer. Like I said, somewhat trust, not entirely.
"Not much, you seen Jerry?" I replied, happy to be having a normal conversation of sorts. After the warning from Lonnie I was happy to talk with anyone else, even Thomas.
"That coward? Nah, not even this morning. Damn asshole weren't at his post when I went down to get him twenty minutes ago." He spat, not seeming to enjoy his cigarette.
"Really? That's weird, he took over for me last night. Well, at four."
"Yeah, I'll bet he did." Thomas replied quickly with a laugh.
I don't know why, but his poorly crafted insinuation bothered me slightly. Jerry and I were friends, hell, Jerry was my only friend, but there was never anything between us like that. I brushed it off.
"Funny, Anyway Jared wants to see me, I should get gone." I replied with an apologetic tone, and opened the access door which led into the main production line.
"Well, good luck. He's pissed off about something or other." Thomas called after me as I walked into the gloom.
There wasn't much light around here, the only sources being some fire barrels scattered around, and the spotlights around the raised production office area, 'Jared's castle', as he often called it. There was a retractable bridge you had to use to get across to his 'castle'. I walked up the ramp and waited at the retracted bridge for someone to allow me entry. Before long, a bored looking younger woman with a .45 stuck in her waistband walked over to the control panel and connected the bridge. I walked across, nodding my thanks to her. She ignored me. Instead, once I was across, she retracted the bridge again, and stood by the control panel, guarding it. I walked slowly into the office, taking in my surroundings as I hadn't been up here before. It was Lonnie who oversaw my recruitment, so this was a new place for me. I waited respectfully at the entrance, I'd seen Jared get angry easily. I could see him sitting at his terminal, facing away from me, typing rapidly.
"Well come in, take a bloody seat." He growled, but continued typing.
There were no seats in the office besides Jared's one, and his mattress. I didn't consider that something I would want to be within five feet of, let alone sitting on. I instead took a seat on one of the cleaner metal countertops, and tried to look respectable. Eventually he noisily turned the seat around and saw me sitting on the counter. He grunted to himself, as if remembering he had no other seats.
"What's your name?" He demanded, looking me right in the eyes.
"Kay Wynters." I replied sharply.
"How long you been here?" He asked, not breaking his gaze.
"Uh, fifteen months now. Lonnie, she uh, she recruited me while on a patrol." I replied, unable to hold his odd glare, my eyes darting left and right.
"You were on guard at Lonnie's pipe this morning." He stated simply. Lonnie's pipe was what they called the maintenance room I was guarding. The name was often a source of amusement and vulgarity.
"Uh, yeah. From ten until four. Then Jerry took over." I replied.
"Jerry took over?" He repeated, as if questioning the truthfulness of my statement.
"Uh, yeah. I heard a noise, and I was checking the pipe, but uh, it was just a, um, radroach, and Jerry arrived to take over just after." I explained.
He stared at me for a long time, considering. "Right, go." He muttered eventually.
"Sorry?"
"Go on, get lost!" He snapped angrily.
I complied immediately and ran out of there, tail between my legs, before realising I'd left my rifle. I ran back, careful to not make eye contact with him, grabbed my rifle, and swiftly walked back out, carrying it by the carry handle. I left, glad to be gone. One thing I was sure about, Jerry was in trouble, and by association, so was I. I needed to get all my belongings and consider my options. I went back to my mattress and grabbed my ammo belt, I slung it over my shoulder and went to get my knife from under my pillow. It was only when I was getting back up that I saw a note, also underneath my pillow, it must have been placed there last night somehow. It was three lines, written in an untidy scribble.
"Get out!"
"things are going to happen soon"
"you can't be there when it does"
At the very bottom there was a single J. Now I knew. Jerry had done something, and left in the night, leaving me a note. Jared didn't tell me that he left, though it was clear something was awry. I was about to leave, when I turned it over, I realised it was an old pre-war postcard. It had an image of a large, gleaming white column of sorts, like a monument. In blocky red text it read;
"GREETINGS FROM BUNKER HILL!"
I knew where he had gone now. I crumpled it up into my fist, stuffed it into my pocket, and started gathering my composure. After all, chances are I'd have difficulty leaving if I was seen. I was about to stand up when I noticed a shadow looming over me.
"Who's that from?" Gristle's voice came from behind me.
I nearly jumped out of my skin. The chances of him wanting to read the notes were high, and although I didn't think they would venture out to Bunker Hill to find him, I didn't want to give him up.
"Oh this? It's nothing." I replied, turning around to face him.
He looked directly at me with unconcealed distaste. I smiled falsely in return, and without warning, pulled the crumpled postcard from my pocket, and with difficulty, chewed it up and swallowed it. He then grabbed my left arm and twisted it behind me in a painful manoeuvre.
"Aaahhhhhhh!" I cried out. "Stop it!"
He let my arm drop, and proceeded to disarm and handcuff me, before marching me off to the lockup. I was shoved inside and promptly locked in. Gristle sat down at his terminal and started typing.
"Lonnie!" He shouted. There was no reply. "Lonnie! Get over here!" No reply. Gristle was about to call again when someone coughed from the corner of the room. I looked across, and Lonnie was sitting at a table, cleaning the barrel of her carbine. Gristle glared across at her, face dripping with contempt. "Don't bother saying something." He snapped. She scowled in return. "I have to do that job for Jared, out in Concord, I have a team set up. You talk to this bitch, she's friends with your man. She was hiding notes, then she ate it." He put my gun on the table.
"That's unfortunate." Lonnie replied dryly.
"And her gun." He said, and repeatedly tapped on the table next to it until she looked back up. "Don't fuck this up, alright?" I stayed silent while he finished typing, and looked at my feet when he came over to gloat. "You're in for a world of hurt honey." He whispered, before spitting at my feet, swiftly grabbing his rifle and walking off to join his crew.
After half an hour of relative silence, Lonnie wandered off. She came back with my backpack. She started loading basic food, water, meds, and other essentials into it. She then rummaged around in the drawers of Gristle's desk for a bit, and returned with a set of keys. She stepped forward and opened the door.
"Gristle won't come back." She said quietly, and helped me to my feet.
"What?" I whispered in reply.
"He won't come back. There's been reliable reports of a deathclaw in the public works system underneath Concord main. I'm certain he'll manage to draw it out." She explained impatiently as she released me.
I rubbed my wrists. I didn't ask why she was helping me, I knew better than to ask stupid questions by now.
Instead, I asked the obvious. "What's going on with Jerry, is he in trouble?"
She looked pained. "Look, you had my back, now I've got your back, but you need to go." She explained, telling me exactly nothing that I needed to know. "I'll tell you this though, Jerry left, and he went north, out of Lexington, and Jared is convinced you knew."
I looked across at her. Bunker Hill wasn't north of here, I knew that for sure. "How do you know he went north?" I asked, curious. I trusted her to tell me the truth, but not enough to tell her the truth. That was the basis of our relationship. I trusted what she told me, but she couldn't trust a word I said.
"My girl Hayley at the apartments saw him go that way, I thought nothing of it until Jen wound up dead." She replied. She could tell I wasn't telling her everything, but she didn't care. She trusted me to do what's right, even if it meant not doing something. I was concerned about the news of the girl's death though. I knew Jennifer, she was a nosy blonde woman, only about twenty or so. I wouldn't say I was good friends with her but we'd had a few talks earlier on during my initiation period.
"What?" I asked, a little confused.
"She's dead, and Jerry's gone, Jared didn't care until I pushed him on it. Now he's convinced you both had a part in it. If you stay, you're dead, and more importantly, it'll fuck up this whole thing I've got going here with my girls. They don't like you, but two deaths in one day won't exactly help with things." She explained impatiently, and thrust my rifle at me.
I slung it over my shoulder, and picked up the bag she packed for me. After a slight hesitation, holding it in my hands, I put it on. I knew what she meant, I had to leave. It's a shame, I'd almost gotten to like the place since first coming here last April. I would miss her, but I'd miss Jerry more if I stayed and didn't get killed somehow.
"Lonnie-" I began. I wanted to thank her, but she cut me off.
"Go. Avoid Gristle's group when you head north." She said, and pressed something into my palm, a full thirty round magazine for my rifle, and my knife. I opened my mouth to say something, but I didn't know what to say. I reached forward and embraced her. She tolerated the gesture, before pushing me away sharply. The fact that she even let me embrace her said a lot. "Go. Take the tunnel." She repeated. I nodded in return and backed away. As I left, she called out to me. "I don't know if Jerry killed Jennifer, but I want you to find out. Find out the truth, and after that, I trust you'll do what's right." She said simply.
I nodded, turned on my heels, and ran. I passed a few people on the way, mostly Lonnie's girls, however they didn't seem too upset about Jen. Besides them though, it seemed Gristle really had brought almost everyone. It made me think about this place, and what would become of it if- when, Gristle and his crew failed to return. Perhaps Lonnie would overthrow Jared and place herself in command. The thought scared me, as she was a far superior leader to Jared, who's authority and grip on power waned with every needle he stuck in himself. As I reached the familiar room I put it from my mind and focused on the future. I cautiously made my way along the pipeline, trying to stay quiet to avoid waking any sleeping ghouls. I took a moment to consider what I was wearing. Most raiders wore dark gear, with leather or metal scrap armour. I was wearing a pair of tattered blue jeans, secured with a man's belt wrapped around my waist several times. I had a ragged olive shirt three sizes too large tucked into the jeans, and an antique, army issue olive green magazine belt across my chest with six pouches. I also had my small backpack, a dark brown rucksack. If you added the huge gun to the scenario, I looked like a drifting raider at worst, and a caravan guard or wannabe mercenary at best. I continued moving down the pipe, watching for threats, my rifle at the ready. As I approached the ragged hole in the pipe I noticed a green glow further down. I was right at the hole in the pipe, all I had to do was step out, but I was transfixed, squinting down the pipe at it.
The glow was inching closer. I could hear water from the thing, probably a ghoul. It was only when I heard the pitiful moans that I was brought to my senses. I stepped out of the pipe onto dead grass. I was in a small courtyard, but I had to be careful, as Lexington was infested with ghouls. No matter where I went, I had to be quiet. If one heard me, it'd scream, and draw others, If I shot one, twenty more would take its place. With difficulty, I climbed onto the top of the pipe, laid down flat on my stomach and hid as the glow approached. The hideous thing - a humanoid creature, bloated with permanent boils and sores, glowing bright green with radioactivity - approached the pipe entrance and stumbled out, looking around, sniffing, it's stubby, malformed ears twitching. It turned and looked straight at me. I was just about to get up and run when I noticed it wasn't attacking. It was looking around, trying to find its prey. It kept searching, but didn't seem to notice me. Their eyesight is incredibly poor. I stayed deathly quiet, terrified that one little squeak of a boot, one single muscle spasm could spell my end. Eventually it made for the pipe, when it stopped right below me. I could feel the heat coming off the thing. I'd likely need to scour my rads after that, I just hoped Lonnie packed me a radaway.
Finally it shuffled back into the tunnel, moving back the way it came. I waited a full five minutes before I decided to move. I stood up carefully, and walked along the pipe to where I could hop up into a ruined parking lot. I made it into the lot but noticed there was a sleeping ghoul underneath the shell of a rusting sedan. I trod as carefully as I could, terrified of waking the thing. Eventually I was clear, and making my way down the eerily quiet streets of Lexington, covering every corner. I knew from experience that moving alone was dangerous. After half an hour or so I reached a loading dock for the supermarket on the outskirts of town, opposite another parking lot. I was about to move past, when I heard a moan of pain. I stopped in my tracks. Off to my left was a double garage with a rusted pickup of sorts, it must've been a goods delivery point for the supermarket I'd just passed. The quiet gasp of pain came again, definitely from my left. I looked cautiously around the corner of the garage opening, and I could see a balding white man lying still, face down with two dead ghouls atop him. I moved past that door and checked the right door. The garage looked clear, but as I moved in I spotted a flicker of movement to my left. I spun round and aimed my weapon instinctively. It was a young woman, more of a girl really, she only looked about twenty or so. She had long, dark hair, tied back in a ponytail, and brown eyes. She looked not dissimilar to myself, the only difference being that my hair was deep brown, rather than black. I noticed two grey chevrons on her shoulders, like the kind the Minutemen used. I then saw the signature blue flag on her right sleeve. She was a Corporal. I'd found one of the last Minutemen.
She was badly hurt however, with a bite in her leg which was turning gangrenous, and both her hands clutched over a bleeding wound to the right of her neck, on her shoulder. There was a small handgun lying next to her. It looked like a classic nine millimetre, one of the first. Old, WWII technology. She looked at me with a pained, pitiful expression and drifted her eyes to the handgun and back. I knew what she wanted, and I could deliver. To leave her to die like this would be despicable, especially considering she was beyond my help. Even with all my meds, she had little to no chance of survival. I didn't know if I'd attract any attention with the shot, but it looked safe for now. I picked up the handgun with my left hand, and noticed it was jammed. The slide was halfway back, with an empty casing stuck in the ejection port. Yep, WWII era certainly, I could see how the tragedy unfolded as I looked around the garage. There were several more ghoul corpses littered around the immediate area. This girl wasn't a coward, she and the other man had gone down fighting, to the very end. She didn't deserve a painful, disease-ridden death after that, and she didn't deserve to be torn apart by ferals. Hell, I wouldn't wish that on anyone. With difficulty, I racked the slide. The empty casing was ejected, and a fresh round chambered. I couldn't hear anything but the empty casing hitting the ground, or feel anything but the gun in my hand. I looked at her again. She stared at me. She was in great pain, and wanted out, I knew that much. As I slowly raised the handgun, she closed her eyes.
The gunshot, though not inherently loud, in the relatively confined space of the garage, it left my ears ringing. I lowered the handgun slowly, and saw I'd hit my target. Straight through the skull, she would feel no more pain. To avoid falling into shock I busied myself by searching them both for gear and looking quickly around the garage. There was evidence of prolonged stay. Eight sleeping bags had seemingly been abandoned, along with a pressure cooker of sorts and a few other miscellaneous items of little use. There was more evidence of the struggle and a hurried evacuation. They had been ambushed by ferals, these two had distracted the horde and given their lives to give the others time to escape. The woman had no extra pistol magazines on her person, but when I searched around a bit, poking around the debris, I found two empty ones. I stored them in my pockets and stuck the handgun at the back of my jeans. I also took her jacket. It was cold this time of year, and she wouldn't need it. The man appeared to be a Lieutenant of sorts, according to the stripe on his jacket shoulders, and a small pin on his collar. He had a handgun in a cross-draw leather holster. A .357 magnum revolver, with three rounds of ammunition remaining. As I searched him for more gear, I heard the telltale shuffling sounds of ghouls heading my way. I took the gun and holster before leaving in a hurry. I stopped at the door and took a last look at the young woman I'd killed. I knew her body would not be at peace forever, not with those ferals approaching. However I knew from how she carried herself from life into death that her soul would be.
As I headed north, avoiding the roads, I considered my current predicament. As my mother used to say, 'When you're in trouble, calm yourself, consider your position, run through your options, and if there's none, then make one up.' Though it didn't feel like it, I was fortunate. The last time I was in this position I had nothing to barter with, little to defend myself with, and I'd had to do various things I was not proud of, just to scrounge up the caps to live off. I'd not let that, or anything else defeat me then, and I wouldn't now. I was stronger, smarter, and better equipped than ever before. If I made it then, I'd make it again.
As I left the shadows of the city behind me I found myself following an old railway line, running adjacent to an elevated highway. Eventually the tracks split away from the road. I chose to follow the tracks. I was walking along the tracks for several miles, until I noticed it had started going through a small ravine, with steep rocky cliffs either side. I decided then to make my way to the top of the east side so I could see the highway, miles off to my right. Before long I found a suitable climbing place and, with great difficulty I eventually made it up there, and just in time too, as the sun was setting. Had I waited any longer I'd likely have been stuck in the valley, easy pickings for any predators lurking about the cliffs.
I continued walking north along the edge of the ravine, as the moon lifted higher and higher into the sky. "Though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, I will fear no evil." I thought to myself suddenly. It was a quote from someone, somewhere, however I couldn't remember the rest of it. I just wish I believed it. As I kept walking, I couldn't help but see tiny glimpses of light across the other side of the chasm, almost drawing me towards them. Several times I was forced to check myself as I moved along, as I was straying too close to the edge. The fifth time I did so, I couldn't tell if my fatigued mind was playing cruel tricks on me in the fading light, or if I was seeing correctly. There was a small bridge across the ravine, now at least thirty metres deep, and further up the hill on the other side I could see what looked like the telltale glow of fire.
Crossing that bridge was the single most nerve racking thing I'd ever done. Though I imagine it wouldn't have been too difficult in the daytime, it was nightmarish during the fading light, despite having my torch in my teeth as I edged across. In fact, the harsh torchlight did more to emphasise how high up I must have been. The light simply disappeared after the planks of the dilapidated structure. Not until the torch began picking up the rocks and grass on the other side did I finally breathe a sigh of relief. Once I had crossed I started moving up the hillside. I kept brushing past large shrubs, plants, trees, and other vegetation. I only realised I was approaching a farmhouse of sorts when I could see the line of tato plants growing directly next to the tiny shack. As I wandered over, holding my rifle at the ready, I noticed the place seemed deserted, yet I had the faintest feeling I was being observed. It was only when I walked up the door did I hear the snap of a twig from the darkness. I froze, and it was then that I heard the soft click of a safety catch, directly behind me. I knew I didn't have a chance to turn around, so I did the only thing I could.
"Don't shoot!" I said quickly and put down my rifle, before putting my hands up.
"Why shouldn't I?" The hoarse male voice replied quietly. "You and your raider buddies come up here, steal our food, kill our crops. Give me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you." He added, genuine fury in his words.
I struggled to find the right words, but all I could think to say was "I'm not a raider!" I heard him shuffling around behind me.
"I don't believe you." He growled in reply, and suddenly the world went dark.