Chapter 3:

Reunion

It's rarely a good thing to see three heavily armed individuals making their way purposefully towards you. All of them were dressed in similar attire. Dark green and black shirts and pants, with ragtag pieces of olive and brown pre-war combat armour. I knew immediately what they were. Gunners are by and large feared and despised, yet there was something odd about the way they were moving. One of the men was supporting the other, with an arm under his, while a shorter red headed woman wearing a beret was watching their back with a laser rifle, scanning the terrain all around. They didn't seem to be wary of the farmhouse at all. In fact, the man supporting his comrade raised a hand to David. A greeting of sorts.

David cursed. "It's Fredrick." He called to Pamela. She glanced up from the boy's leg and sighed.

I was confused. "Wait, you know these people? They're gunners!" I exclaimed. I was certain they'd seen us at the window by now.

"No, they look like heavies." He said after a second or two.

"What?" I demanded. What the hell did he mean by heavies?

He wasn't really paying attention to me, instead looking around for something in the nearby filing cabinet. Eventually he pulled out a scrap of paper, unfolded and read it quickly, before returning it to the cabinet. He then returned to the window and expertly aimed my rifle at the group. "Freeze!" He commanded.

"That's a bad idea!" I whispered, but to my surprise, they froze, and the woman lowered her laser rifle.

"Do you have a geiger counter?" He yelled to the group, not lowering the rifle. A fucking geiger counter, was he mad?

"Mine is in the shop!" The injured man yelled in reply.

I froze. I knew that voice, I heard that voice so many times the past year I'd know it anywhere, and I thought I might never hear it again.

"Jerry!" I yelled out, and before I could stop myself I was running out of the shack towards him, intent on embracing him, but noticing he was injured far worse than myself, I stopped just short and gave him an awkward hug, trying to avoid the large, blistering laser burn on his neck.

I stepped back and supported his other shoulder, before helping escort him inside. I had little chance to catch up with him though, because as soon as we got him inside he collapsed on the other mattress and passed out.

"What happened Freddy?" Pamela asked in a serious tone, directed at the other guy in the group; a short, pale man with bluish eyes and short, black, swept hair.

"HQ was attacked by Gen 1's and 2's." He replied in a sombre tone.

"Did De-" Pamela began, but Freddy cut her off with a forced cough, and a pointed look at me.

"No, Des got out, she's alright, so is Dec, Boxer, Drummer, and the doc. Jerry was hit in the neck, Tommy was left behind, and uh, five or six others were killed." He continued, choosing his words carefully, glancing across at me, as if perturbed by my presence.

"She can be trusted, I'd swear on my life." David growled. Freddy sighed in resigned frustration, looked across at me, sitting on the edge of Jerry's sofa, and frowned, as if remembering something.

"How do you know J?" He demanded bluntly. I suddenly felt like I was being interrogated. My first instinct was that I couldn't tell him the truth, that I was a raider, but then again, supposedly so was Jerry. I didn't know what was going on here, but I doubted normal rules applied.

"Corvega." I replied without further comment.

He nodded thoughtfully. "They're going to be coming after us." He said to David quietly.

"The Institute?" Pamela exclaimed, horrified, before covering her mouth.

"No-" Freddy began, but I cut him off, I'd had enough, they owed me an explanation to all this.

"Wait just a minute. What's this about Gen 1's and 2's, what's this about HQ, and what do you mean the Institute, you're not synth spies, are you?" I snapped at him, demanding an answer.

David snorted with laughter. "Spies..." He said with mild disgust.

"I barely know-" I began angrily, but Freddy cut me off.

"Shut up." He snapped. I stopped talking and sat glaring at him.

"We're not spies, but I am a synth." Pamela said quietly as she walked over to treat Jerry.

I stood up as she approached, and backed away in a hurry, knocking over the ammo crate lying in the corner, drawing my pistol and holding it tightly at my side in a defensive manner, causing my fresh bandages to stain with blood due to the pressure of my grip.

"She's not going to bite you, put that away." David snapped angrily at me, gesturing with a rag as he cleaned my blood off the rifles.

"My original designation was G4-71" She added quietly as she started pressing an IV bag full of a glowing blue liquid against Jerry's neck. "I was a nurse." She added with a hint of a smile. I knew she wasn't lying there.

I needed some air, so I decided to sit on watch outside. I got up and walked outside to go on watch. The woman in the red beret was standing outside by the door with her laser rifle, scanning the terrain. I didn't say anything, but sat on the other side of the door and began toying with my empty pistol, locking and unlocking the slide, flicking the safety, all things that I probably shouldn't have been doing due to the slowly dulling pain in my hands, but it was worth it, anything to distract myself. Why would she have saved me? I mean, she's a synth, and what would a gen 3 synth be doing out on a farm in the middle of nowhere? Synths were robots, they were infiltrators, killers, machines. I'd heard a terrifying story just a few days prior to leaving Corvega. A small trading settlement not far from Quincy was completely wiped off the map, and promptly garrisoned by gen 1s and 2s. Some people reckon the synths took over because they needed exclusive access to the university campus it was built on. Others think they just went haywire. It wouldn't surprise me, as from what I've heard, nobody has ever reported meeting a gen 1 or 2 synth and not being immediately shot at. My thoughts were interrupted by the woman in the beret talking to me.

"You may want to load that thing." She said quietly. I gave her a look, and loaded a fresh magazine into my pistol, before storing it in the back of my belt. "So, you think we're institute spies?" She added after a while, still not looking at me. I could hear an argument starting inside, something about 'not being mobile.'

I sighed. "I've always been told it's just a myth, you know, the institute, but this crazy reporter says otherwise, and I've seen the metal and plastic synths from afar once, they're like robots, but smaller. And of course, you hear about the infiltrator units, that look just like humans..." I replied, leaning against the wall and folding my arms, before turning away.

"Imagine what it's like, being an escaped synth." She said suddenly, and placed her rifle against the wall as she turned to face me. "You don't have anything, or anyone who cares what happens to you. You left the institute because you didn't want to be a slave, and now in the outside world, should people know who you were, they treat you with resentment and hostility." I turned around to face her and opened my mouth to speak, but she wasn't done. "What's more, you spend the remainder of your days looking over your shoulder, terrified that one day you'll see a courser walk out from behind something, and utter your reset code, at which point your free will ceases to exist, and you'll have no chance of escape." She finished, and was silent thereafter, until I asked one last question.

"So who are you then?"

"We're the Railroad."

I slept poorly that night. The familiar memory returned to me in dreams often. The odd thing is, unlike my other dreams, which were often hazy and unfocused, with different elements changing regularly, this one was always the same. Nothing ever changed, nothing was ever even the tiniest bit different, no matter what, and in some ways, I'd made a kind of peace with that. It didn't make it go away though.

"You know as well as I do that we can't keep this up Carol! These raiders are different, especially since the NCR left! They're only going to get stronger!" My father shouted angrily, pounding his fist on the kitchen table.

My mother shut him up, finishing the ongoing argument with a pointed look at me, standing at the doorway, carrying the cat around with me, as I had been doing the entire day. I wasn't stupid, even then I knew what this meant. The end of days, the end of peace, and the beginning of what I'd later come to refer to as the second chapter of my life. It was then that my father did something that surprised me. He walked over and picked me up, letting the cat spring away, before sitting me down at the table. Him and my mother, likely just him, had set out all our weaponry and ammunition. There was my old, unreliable .22 rimfire bolt action we'd taken from a dead raider, the automatic service rifle from my mother's days in the NCR, along with three or so spare magazines, my father's .45 auto, with one spare magazine, and a full size double barrel shotgun with about four shells of birdshot. It wasn't nearly enough, even I knew that.

"We can't leave all of this." She muttered quietly, looking at me with a worried expression. "We'll make a deal with this group." She added, louder this time, I suspected for my benefit.

"They won't take a deal, not after today." He replied somberly. It was then that I noticed the silhouette of a man's head in the glass of the front door. I wouldn't normally notice, but with the ominous yellow glow all around him was hard to miss.

"Dad!" I yelled, and pointed at the door, right as it was kicked open by the same man from earlier in the day.

For once my father was taken off guard, and wasn't facing the door. My mother couldn't reach the guns in time. I could have, but I didn't, I just sat there, staring, for what felt like an eternity. The man was aiming a short pump action shotgun directly at my father as he reached for his .45, but not fast enough. I watched, motionless as he shot my father in the chest, just as he was turning around in his chair to face him.

I woke up in a cold sweat. I'd been staying at the farm for about five days now, resting, and catching up with friends, old and new alike. The woman in the beret, Trish, seemed to take a shine to me, and we'd spend ages each night just talking. She always seemed to be smiling, and I could see why, it was a good look for her. Her smile was infectious, and her bright red frizzy hair seemed to add to the idea that she was a very carefree person at heart. She'd been just a messenger for the railroad until a few months ago, when Jerry brought her into the fold. I really liked her, and I suppose she reminded me of my mother a bit, besides the red hair of course. The other one though, Frederick, or Freddy, as the others called him, he was an odd little man, short and stocky. I didn't like him very much, I don't know why, he just gave off strange vibes. Truthfully, I wouldn't say I trusted him, but I trusted Jerry, and if he trusted him, then that should be good enough.

No matter what I tried they were reluctant to tell me much, except Jerry, he knew me well enough to know I could be trusted. It was great to talk to him, especially now that his burn was healing up. The kid I'd found was still unconscious, though his wound was healing, but nobody had any idea who he was. We'd probably have to wait until he woke up and ask him where he came from. If he didn't wake up we'd probably have to bring him with us to Bunker Hill and bring him to the doctor there. Although Pamela was a gifted doctor herself she had limited supplies, and she and David were busy getting their house and fields back in shape after the radscorpion infestation had damaged both heavily.

"Jerry, who are you really?" I asked him, as we sat outside on guard in the early morning.

He paused, as if trying to find a suitable explanation. "I'm an agent, a spy, I guess you could say." He replied after a while.

"And so are the other two?"

"Freddy and Trish, yeah. They're field agents, they would normally do all the combat missions with the heavies, I'm just an agent, I do all the scouting, undercover stuff." He replied quietly.

"How did you know what would happen?" I asked, suddenly remembering his note. "You left me that note. I was going to head to Bunker Hill, but Lonnie said you'd been seen heading north." I added after a moment.

"I shouldn't have left that note, if you hadn't taken it someone else could have." He muttered quietly.

"What? But, Jared would've killed me had I not left." I exclaimed, feeling betrayed suddenly.

"Jared isn't the problem." He snapped. He pursed his lips, and put a hand on his burn, wincing slightly, before explaining fully what the warning meant.

Jerry was undercover at Corvega because the Railroad's HQ was based underneath a café diner of sorts on the outskirts of Lexington. He found out that one of Jared's groups had spotted people moving in and out of the diner at the dead of night, acting stealthily. Jared wanted to hit the place. Jerry warned the HQ, but they needed time to move everything important out. Unfortunately, Jennifer had gotten wind of it. He knew she was a synth spy almost immediately upon arriving at Corvega, but killing her then would've drawn too much institute attention to the place. He was on his way to warn them to expedite the evacuation when he noticed her following him, carrying a tranquiliser gun. By that point there was no going back, he shot and killed her just outside the plant and swiftly ran back to leave me a note, because he knew the institute would likely want to recover their dead synth and her data, shooting up everything within a two mile radius in the process.

HQ was attacked the morning I left, whilst Jerry was supposed to be on guard, and we both ended up heading north around the same time, but taking different paths, due to his group being pursued, before coincidentally meeting here, at Tenpines Bluff, a sort of in-between house for runaway synths and injured agents. He had to rendezvous with the remaining survivors at Bunker Hill, but they were run off course, and needed to get to a safe house. They managed to kill some gunners at a stream and steal their gear and weapons while en-route here.

"Would you really have left me there?" I asked eventually.

He grinned. "Well I didn't, did I?"

I smiled back, before looking back out at the night. "Will the institute come here?" I dared to ask.

"No, we wouldn't be worth the trouble of following." He replied. "The SRB wants us gone, but they don't have a huge budget, so they have to limit their resources." He added after a while.

"SRB?" I asked, confused.

"Synth Retention Bureau. They catch runaway synths. We help them escape." He said simply.

"Have you ever failed?" I blurted out tactlessly, almost immediately wishing I could take it back.

He looked pained, but answered regardless. "Many times. Sometimes it's my fault, sometimes other's, but usually no-ones."

"I'm sorry." I muttered. "I didn't mean to-"

He cut me off with a wave, seemingly regaining his usual upbeat demeanour. "Don't worry, I've long since accepted that you can't save everyone. I'd've lost my sanity years ago if I hadn't."

"When do we set off for Bunker Hill?" I asked after a moment of awkward silence.

"When the kid wakes up. I don't want to wait, but Pam and Dave can't escort him to where he needs to go without us. They have a farm to run, after all."

As luck would have it, the kid did wake up, and we were in for a surprise when he did. It was getting to about five in the morning when I heard a crash from inside the house. Jerry and I ran inside to see the kid on his feet, with three guns trained on him, holding a knife to Pamela's throat. It was then I got a decent look at him. He was older than I first thought, about fourteen or fifteen maybe, his brown eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. He was tall, with long, curly dark hair, and an athletic figure. The knife he was holding must have been hidden in his shoes somewhere. I was about to raise my rifle, but I figured it was unnecessary. I put my rifle down by the door and raised my hands up in a calming manner. Though I tried to give off a cool and collected vibe, my heart was beating out of my chest. One slip of that blade and Pamela could be toast, as would he, more than likely.

"Where are you from?" I asked cautiously, eyeing the knife closely. He had it close to Pamela's neck, but not touching. He knew what he was doing, but he was on edge, so I wasn't confident he wouldn't hurt her accidentally.

"Back away!" He spat at me.

"I will, I just want you to let her go." I replied wearily. He looked hesitant, but didn't drop the knife.

"Put the knife down kid..." David said quietly, his eyes locked with Pamela's.

"Come any closer I'll kill her!" He shouted at David, the fear and uncertainty clear in his voice.

"Don't do that, for everyone's sake, please." I said softly.

"I SAID SHUT UP!" He yelled, and pointed the knife at me, moving it away from Pamela's neck. David moved forward a bit as the knife came away from her neck, but the kid noticed. He backed right up against the wall, putting the knife back underneath her chin. "Stay back!" He warned. David moved back, still holding the revolver tightly in one hand. I could see his hand shaking slightly.

"You think we're going to hurt you." I guessed out loud. The way his eyes immediately darted to me confirmed my presumption. I glanced across at Pamela. She looked completely in control, despite the knife at her throat. "You're running from someone who you know would hurt you." I continued quietly, in a questioning tone. His eyes locked with mine, unmistakable fear there.

"I know what you are. Zeller can get fucked if he thinks I'm going back there." He growled with disgust. I stepped forward slightly, almost within range to disarm him, holding my hands up in a passive surrender position. He didn't say anything, but tightened his grip on the knife. "Back up, and let me leave." He demanded.

"Do you even know where we are?" I asked him, concerned.

"Get back!" He snapped in reply.

"You're at a farm north of Lexington and the woman who took care of you these last few days is the one you're hiding behind." I stated matter-of-factly.

"This one here, she risked her life to save you, and nearly lost it." Pamela said quietly, trying to avoid scratching her throat on the blade as she spoke. The kid seemed unsure of himself now.

"Please, just put the knife away." I practically begged him with overwhelming finality. If he didn't, I'd have to try to disarm him, which I absolutely did not want to do. I'd done it before, with some success, but with my hands all bandaged up, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to keep control of the knife. If we couldn't get control of the knife, I suspected David would shoot him. I couldn't blame him if he did, honestly, but I'd nearly died saving this kid's life, so the idea that he'd end up getting himself killed after the three of us had moved heaven and earth to save him was repugnant to me.

He hesitated, before finally taking the knife away from Pamela's neck. He pushed her away as she walked towards the back of the room, rubbing her neck, breathing heavily. He held the knife at his side, but tensely. The relief in his face when the guns were lowered and we parted to let him out was palpable. Nobody made a move to go after him, not even David. I was shocked, we were just going to let him go back out there and get himself killed? I slung my rifle over my back and walked out after him. He was walking slowly away to the southwest. I walked quickly after him.

"That goes towards the radscorpion nest I found you at." I called after him as he started limping up the shallow slope in the weak morning light.

He stopped and turned to face me. "So what?" He snapped.

"Do you want to die?" I asked, confused.

"Why do you care?" He yelled.

"Because I nearly got sliced to bits saving your ungrateful ass, twice. The least you can do is tell me why."

"Tell you why what?" He demanded.

"Tell me why you seem to have a death wish, and why you know Judge Zeller." I replied with a narrow look. I knew who Zeller was. Everyone at Corvega did, he was ruthless, and would torture his prisoners until they agreed to join him. Pain and suffering would break them, turning them into his army. Even the brutes at Corvega hated the mere idea of Zeller's group.

The kid was intrigued. "Wait, you know-" He started, but I cut him off.

"When you run with any crew in the Commonwealth, you hope they steer clear of East Boston Prep." I said simply. I sat down on the bed of a nearby defunct pickup, resting my rifle between my legs. "You pray to god they do." I added after a moment, remembering the gruesome stories I'd been told about the place.

"You do at that." He mumbled in reply.

"So, how is it you know? I've told you my secret, now you tell me yours. Come over and sit by the truck." I invited him over to sit on the end of the truck bed with me, watching the horizon.

He followed behind and eventually sat down next to me. "Are they going to shoot me?" He asked quietly.

I snorted with laughter, remembering my run in with David a few days prior. "I doubt it, Pam is the forgiving one. Stay out of Dave's way though."

"I need to go back to the prep school." He said quietly, deliberately looking away from me so I couldn't read his face. I didn't want to question it. He had unfinished business.

I tried not to ask, but failed. "Who's still there?"

"Nobody." He replied firmly, his tone making it clear that further questions wouldn't be answered.

"Do you know where the prep school is?" I asked, curious as to how he knew.

"Yes." His voice was odd, like he was remembering an unpleasant memory. I tried not to ask, but eventually my curiosity got the best of me for a second time.

"H-How-" I stuttered, before finding my words. "How did you end up here?" I asked finally.

He did not reply.

"Talk to me. Come on." I pleaded with him.

"My mother." He replied quietly. His reverential tone made something pretty clear to me. I don't know why, but I immediately felt responsible for helping him.

"We'll help her, we'll figure something out. I'm going to Bunker Hill, but it can wait." I practically begged him.

"Bunker Hill!" He snapped angrily, and jumped up off the truck, before crossing the Tato field towards the ruined house, swinging his knife at the plants in anger. I followed him quickly, afraid he might stir up something still sleeping. "Those cowards! They could help, but what do they do instead, they fucking hide away and pay them off. I knew we wouldn't-" He trailed off, muttering quietly to himself, fidgeting with his folding knife, while his free hand twitched with anger. I suspected he'd lost a gun and felt weak without it. I'd had that feeling before.

"We'll get her back." I stated loudly and confidently, locking eyes with him as I did so, standing tall and strong. He looked back at me and smiled. I just wish I was as confident as I sounded. If even a fraction of the stories I'd heard about Zeller and his crew were true, I didn't think we'd have a chance in hell of getting his mum out of there.

Several hours later the five of us were about to set off. Freddy, Jerry, Trish, Myself, and the kid, who still hadn't told us his name. I'd begrudgingly given the kid my pistol at the suggestion of, oddly enough, Pamela. He seemed a lot happier now that he had a firearm. I'd stocked up on ammo, and Pamela had made us some antibiotics and other essentials. We were going straight to Bunker Hill, and we would organise a raiding party from there.

"We'd need to keep it quiet if we go from Bunker Hill. Kessler doesn't like war with gangs, and will do a lot to try and keep the peace." Jerry had said when I explained the plan. Despite his pessimistic reply I felt heartened by his comment, as he made it clear I wouldn't be doing it all alone.

We made our way east, following the roads where possible, cutting across the country to avoid raiders and other dangers. I was on point, mainly as I had the best weapon. We were moving as a squad, stopping along the road occasionally and scouting the area ahead. With Jerry as squad leader, he was the one orchestrating a lot of the stops. I'd been out on patrol many times with Lonnie's crew, but not as much as him. He knew all the tricks in the book. When we came across a young man lying against a car in the middle of the street, supposedly moaning in pain, He stopped us dead and went around, far around, despite Trish's pleas. By the time we reached the coast we'd already encountered two lone raiders, picking over the body of a settler. One was lying dead the moment he drew his gun, the other one, an unarmed woman, took off running.

We'd found another elevated highway following the coastline. We had to take many detours to avoid raider strongholds, super mutant camps, and several other dangers. By the time the Bunker Hill monument was in sight it was almost dark. I was on point, and we were probably less than ten blocks from the gates when it all went to shit.

I was arguing with the kid, I wasn't paying attention, and it cost us all dearly. "I can see the fucking monument, if we keep going this way, we'll come across it, let me do my job." I snapped, holding my rifle tightly at one side.

"And I can see where we're fucking headed, while you can't. We should've taken a right at that fork by that other farm" He hissed in reply. I turned back towards the direction of travel, silently fuming. Stupid kid, I give him my sidearm, and now he thinks he's the shit. "We need to head back and take that right at the fork instead." He said simply.

I ignored him. Jerry was equally unfamiliar with the territory, but he knew me, and not the kid, so he just stood behind us and stayed quiet. Trish was bringing up the rear with Freddy.

He repeated what he said before, with more urgency, before stopping fast, and tugging on my arm, bringing me to a halt. "This is bad country, we need to head back. Now." He said simply, and I could hear the urgency in his voice. I knew I had to recognise his argument now. None of us had any real knowledge of the local area, whereas his mother was held in the prep school, so he must know more than us. I was trying to think of a way to let him have his way, but not appearing to let him win when it all went to shit.

A loud crack rang out at close range, and Trish hit the dirt, fast. The kid spun around, drawing his handgun, but as he did so, a spotlight flashed on, and I was near blinded. Someone shot, and I heard Jerry yelling, but I couldn't hear anything. Suddenly two figures with rifles appeared out of the brightly lit fog ahead of me. I didn't hesitate, I shot them both and as I was scanning for more targets, I was flung sideways onto my back as something large, heavy and painful collided with my ribs. My rifle was knocked from my hands across the road. I scrambled across and grabbed it, rolled onto my back and sat up, scanning for more threats.

As I raised my weapon at the first unfamiliar figure I saw, a rogue hand grabbed hold of the carry handle, and pulled the rifle away from me, upsetting my aim. I instinctively fired as my assailant wrenched it from my hands, with several shots going wild. I was getting to my feet, drawing my knife as I did so, when a foot pushed me back down again, and a gun barrel was pointed right at my face. I was slightly deaf, but I could understand him clearly when he said If I moved he'd shoot me dead. I stopped fighting, but held my knife tightly in my left hand, hidden under my leg. I looked to my left and saw the kid, pinned down by another raider's gun barrel. I tried to hide the terror in my face from him. He could see me clearly though, and I noted he'd steeled himself for what was to come.

"We'll make it through this." I said simply, just wishing that I believed it.

I didn't hear what he said in reply. Unfortunately, someone else heard him fine. "Is that Jackie boy I hear? Oh, me and you, we've got some catching up to do!" A sharp, cruel voice exclaimed with delight. I had only enough time to think that this could only end badly, before a rifle butt appeared above me, and the world went dark.

It was my mother who saved me that day, but had I only picked up the gun then, I might have saved them both.

"Dad!" I screamed hysterically and ran to him. I wish I hadn't. Looking back, seeing his chest just pulverised the way it was by the buckshot almost broke me, and it was only my mother who'd managed to drag me out of it. As I was saying goodbye to my father, I was only slightly aware of events transpiring behind me, as the raider tried to claim his prize.

"Don't you touch that!" I heard him yell, followed by the sound of him racking his shotgun, chambering a new shot.

"Don't shoot!" She replied hysterically.

"Now don't you-" He started, but was swiftly cut off. I didn't see what happened, but I heard a struggle as my mother fought with him, and eventually got her arm around his neck.

"This is for my Arthur." I heard her whispering, as she began strangling him.

It took a little over a minute for the man to die, of which I'd been at my father's side the entire time. I wish he'd said something as I laid next to him, instead he just sat there bleeding, looking at me with sadness, as the life slowly left his eyes. Once my mother had killed the raider, she set about gathering weapons and ammunition. She took my father's .45 and her rifle. It took her a good few minutes to gather supplies and pack them into a backpack, all the while I was there, sobbing into my father's shoulder, inadvertently staring at the gruesome mess the shot had made of his stomach and torso. Eventually my mother dragged me away. I've taken a lot of my strength from the memory of her that day.

"Kay, if we stay here, we'll both die too, we have to go. Back door, come on."

She led me from the house, and we sprinted up the grassy hillside into the sparse woods beyond. We escaped into the trees and took a moment to catch our breath, and it was from there we had an excellent view of the crops and before long, the house, burning brightly, no doubt lighting up the horizon to the south for miles. I don't think I felt much at the time, I was all cried out, and my mother was pushing me forward, deliberately not letting me stop to think. I didn't know a thing about where we would be going next, and truth be told I wasn't thinking about it at the time. I'd have plenty of time to think on it though.