Chapter 32: Res by the Res Part 2

The bars were aligned under a pavilion, each stall handing out moonshine, whiskey, and whatever unholy concoction passed for a cocktail around these parts. The usual clientele were merchants, caravaneers, adventurers, and prospectors looking for a bit of respite this far out in the wasteland. Captain Wallace sat at his table, his demeanor uncharacteristically grim as he nursed his mug.

Five fatalities. Five fatalities that he by all rights should have been able to prevent. If they had just plugged that bastard just a few yards away before he got in range, they'd still be alive. He wanted to just put the blame on his gunners and leave it at that, but he couldn't do that in good conscious. Ethan Wallace was the CO. Ethan Wallace was the leader. If something went wrong, it was all Ethan Wallace's fault. That was what leadership was all about.

As quick as the fight had begun, and as chaotic as the relaying of information had been between the units, Captain Ethan Wallace should have had the wherewithal to recognize the threats around him for the good of his unit. Five of his men were dead because he wasn't able to process that vital information in time. As Captain, his responsibility was to ensure his men were not put in positions where they could be in jeopardy.

The rest of the soldiers had given him a wide enough berth after the fight had come to a close. Milligan and Baxter were understanding, and Tandi was sympathetic. The Colonel and Commissioner had spent quite a bit of time telling him that he hadn't done anything wrong, and tried to assure him that the situation was well beyond his control and he adapted as well as anyone could have expected. The sympathy they provided was appreciated but, he personally felt, misplaced.

And then there was the other one. You lost soldiers? Why the fuck do you think they were brought along in the first place? Soldiers get killed, butterbars! That's what we pay them for, what they pay US for! People are going to die under your command and there is nothing you can do about it! If you couldn't accept it, you shouldn't have bothered coming along!

Wallace felt his grip around the mug tighten as Rathmore's words echoed in his mind. Rathmore was a wretched, disgusting, pathetic excuse for a zombie, all of which were facets Wallace was more than willing to forgive. But it was the callousness, the sheer and utter failure to register casualties and cost, that infuriated the 32nd's Captain beyond all reasoning. It was like Rathmore never realized what the responsibilities of an officer were. That man lost eight fucking zombies and a super mutant rushing a flank. An extra minute of consideration and he could have cut his attrition rate by half! Not that attrition was anything Rathmore was ever concerned about…

Mullens sat across from her captain, face resting in her hands as she watched her superior brood. So typical. Surrounded by the liveliest crowd in weeks and here he was fretting over Rathmore. So many evenings spent listening to rants over how superior his tactics and policies were to that "degenerate murder-happy corpse," and not once was she convinced he actually meant it. Always with the undercurrent of doubt, why else dwell on an otherwise successful op?

"…Permission to speak freely, sir?" Lt. Mullens finally spoke up.

Wallace briefly peered up from his drink. "Granted," he muttered, solemnly.

"You're pathetic," Mullens said, bluntly.

"Mh-hm," Wallace replied, disinterested.

"You're going to use your pass to sulk. We already radioed HQ, the families have been notified, we've done all we could," Mullens continued.

"If I did my job right, it wouldn't have come to that," Wallace muttered.

"…Screw it, I'm buying you pussy," Mullens threw up her hands.

Wallace finally snapped out of his funk. "Mullens, that isn't…"

"You aren't helping the guys by getting inside your own head and staying there. You can't just be any sad-sack grunt. You are Captain Ethan Wallace. You are a hard-drinking, straight-shooting, genius son of a floater who don't take crap from no man or corpse," Mullens encouraged. "Now let's go rent a whore."

"…Sandra, what would I do without you?" Ethan Wallace grinned.

"What you're doing now, just not as successfully," Mullens answered, flatly.

"…When are we getting married, anyway?" Ethan asked as he stood up and offered his hand to his adjutant.

"Never, sir," Lt. Mullens answered with a smile.

Kyra felt the eyes fall upon her as she made her way through the crowd. Thankful that Hypatia didn't go so far as to strip her naked (yet), she followed her charge as she made her way through the alleyway of tents, shopfronts, and trailers. Such places she had heard long ago were called "bizarres," and here all manner of goods could be purchased. She wondered, if her fate had been different, would she have been taken here after her tribe was destroyed, and how preferable would such a life be compared to what she had now?

A wolf whistle called out as a leering shopkeeper followed her body past. "She's a fine cutie. She available?"

"Not for sale," Hypatia spat as she shoved him away. "C'mon, sis."

Kyra breathed a sigh of relief. "…I thank you for your mercy," she conceded, the bile in her throat threatening to choke her.

"Let as much as a whimper escape about who I am, and you'll spend the rest of the night with your mouth full," Hypatia grinned in response.

Kyra looked away. There really was no hope or reasoning with this horrible creature shaped like a woman. She wanted to make a break for it, but throughout the crowd of unfamiliar faces, she could not find a friendly one.

They approached a woman manning a stall of sparsely arranged produce. She paid little mind to the noise around her, a nail file the hardest thing at work within her area. Her heavy-lidded eyes briefly glanced up at the newcomers with the barest whiff of interest. "Looking to buy or sell?" she asked in a bored tone.

"I was given a promotional code some time ago," Hypatia smiled.

"How soon?" the woman asked, hiding her alertness.

"Six weeks and a Thursday," Hypatia recited.

"…Code, please," the woman asked as she put away her file.

"L three nine one zero N," Hypatia beamed.

"…I believe you must be looking for the premium stock, ma'am," the woman said as she set up the "closed" post on the counter. "This way, please."

Hypatia followed the woman as she left, Kyra trailing behind her. As she brought up the rear, Kyra turned back to see a gaggle of urchins swarm the abandoned kiosk, picking it clean of the little remaining vegetables. "Uh, ma'am, your stall…"

The woman wheeled towards Kyra, her eyes blazing in contempt. "Who is she?" she seethed.

"Someone who doesn't know her place, sister," Hypatia placated as she got between her and Kyra.

"…Keep yours silent, sister," the woman growled as she returned to her course.

Hypatia shot a glare at Kyra. "Women talk. Property does not," she hissed.

Kyra turned her head back to the now empty stall. Why did she even want to help these people in the first place? She should have been rooting for the brats to rob the stall blind. Not that it mattered, that stall was clearly a front for Hypatia's sisterhood of the tyrannical bitches. She fought back a sigh as she followed them forward.

As they walked, they passed an old man as he set the last of the clothing on the line to dry. Dusting off his palms, Dinero took a seat on a soapbox to rest his tired body. He been working for hours, a thought all but unheard of for the man for years. He took a moment to watch the three women pass by in front of him.

The first two were cute enough, but the last one was particularly striking, and certainly not ashamed of a little immodesty. The third caught a glimpse of Dinero as she was about to pass. The man let out a small but friendly enough wave. Kyra, a faint and reluctant smile on her lips, gave a quick wave back before the three turned the corner.

"…Marcy! Marcy, where are you!" Tia called out as she left the animal pens.

Dinero, standing up abruptly, began scanning the immediate area for hiding spots. Seeing some upturned dirt just under the trailer, he called over Tia. "I found her," he said.

"Why'd she just up and leave, we were almost done," Tia asked.

"Marcy's… a bit easy to spook," Dinero admitted. "Give me a minute, I'll get her." He ducked down into the small hole under the house that Marcy had crawled inside. "Girl, we got hot food and warm beds out here, so I personally think that's the better…" he stopped as he caught a glimpse of her.

Marcy was shaking, her lips quivering as she pressed her hands against her ears. Tears were streaking under her sunglasses as she whimpered. Marcy was scared. No, Marcy was downright terrified.

"…What's wrong?" he asked, forgetting he wasn't going to get a verbal reply. "Marcy, what's wrong!"

Melody had finished cleaning the last plate. She felt exhausted, and the last few days had been particularly rough for her. She felt like she had yet to truly get her bearings together since the attack on the camp. Since she saw him again.

She had done her best to debrief Commissioner Boone and Colonel Gorobets to the best of her ability. Though they did not doubt her sincerity, the notion of Vulpes Inculta personally leading the attack was something they did not know how to process. Though they did not say as much, Melody could tell that they had both silently agreed to list Melody's report as a case of mistaken identity in addition to the trauma of seeing her husband attacked. She almost couldn't even blame them, it was probably what she would do in a similar situation.

Since then, she'd been fretting over Joseph as he recovered. The wound had been sealed, and they had stopped the internal hemorrhaging. Still, he was expected to keep taking his fluids, and every time the AEG came to a stop he had to lay down. Joseph was never much one to complain, but Melody could tell that her husband was in a lot of pain.

There he lay on his cot, trying to steady his breathing as he sweated. Melody immediately dipped a rag in a bucket of water to cool him off. Try as she might, she felt like she could barely keep her head above water when handling her husband's condition. As much as she wanted to ask the rest of the medical staff for help, she had a feeling Joseph wouldn't forgive her if she took help away from someone else on his behalf.

"…It's my fault," Melody finally said. "I don't know why I froze up. I don't know how to help you, just pick up the pieces of what's left, that's all I'm good at," she let out as she wiped his forehead. "You deserve better than me," she morosely muttered.

Joseph's body shot up from the cot, almost knocking aside his wife as she dropped the rag in shock. "…Where's my walking stick?" he said as he turned towards his wife.

"B-by the mouth of the tent, Joe, but please can you just take a minute to…" she tried to explain.

"I need to get down there," Joseph said, his intonation brokering no argument.

"To the city?" Melody asked, incredulous. "Why on earth would you want to get down there?"

"I have to. Where is my walking stick?" he pressed again.

"Why?" Melody repeated, her voice growing harder.

"It's too hard to explain, where is it?" Joseph pressed again, growing sterner.

"You are in no position to go anywhere, let alone down there," Melody countered.

"Melody, give me my stick!" Joseph snapped.

"Not! Until! You! Explain!" Melody shot back, enunciating each word.

Joseph was about to reply. He stopped, holding his tongue. "…There's someone down there. Someone like me."

Melody's previous agitation began to recede. "…Are you sure?"

"Got to check," Joseph gritted as he pulled himself from the cot.

"You're in no condition to go alone," Melody hissed. "…I'm coming with."

"That isn't…" Joseph tried to get out.

"You are one bad fall away from your seams busting," Melody scolded. "This isn't a spiritual problem, it's a very physical one and for once take it seriously. For my sake, please!"

Joseph paused, reaching out his hand for his wife's shoulder. "Get me my cane, please,"

Before long, he felt the cane in the palm of his hand, as well as a pair of shoulders that his opposite arm was draped around. "Melody, what…" Joseph tried to start.

"If you have to go down there, and I know there is no point in arguing with you, I'm coming with," Melody said as she made her way to the exit.

"…No point in arguing?" Joseph repeated, a little coy.

"None whatsoever," Melody concurred as they left the tent and headed to the city.

"Yoyoyo, barkeep!" Rosa called out as she sat at the counter. "Three shots of heavy shit, don't you dare water it down!"

The pavilion was something of an impromptu facility for drinking. The open-air stalls were congregated around the center, with all manner of tables, booths, and seats. Various throngs of people were sitting together, drifters and loners often found company, and right now four newcomers were currently crowding around one of the bars.

Rosa was already at home in the area, carousing with the locals as if she'd been here for years. Her date, Tobey, was on edge, constantly looking over the unfamiliar faces and trying to discern undiscernible motives from the strangers. Carla kept to herself, sticking close to her date as she wondered if there was any place quiet. Larain wondered if this town smelled this bad since the last time he was here.

A trio of unruly Mexicans let out a loud cheer as they threw another knife into a nearby designated target on a pole. A woman sang about something rather bawdy as the strap of her dress snuck further down her shoulder. Two groups, one dressed in leathers while the other was dressed in animal hide, got into a shouting match while several onlookers egged them on. To Larain, it was the closest thing to a city he had ever known. To Carla, it looked like hell on earth, an even more unruly Vegas. Tobey wondered what was the point of civilization if people were just going to act like animals, anyway? Rosa was just glad her drinks finally got to her.

"Hey, you guys!" she called out to her friends and Larain as she held aloft the whiskeys. "You guys want to get drunk or not?"

Tobey gingerly accepted the bottle. Carla tried to politely decline. Larain reached forward to accept the offering, only for Rosa to toss it out of her grasp, the bottle intercepted by the old woman she was sitting next to.

"Tough luck, Dipshit," Rosa shrugged, apologetically.

As Rosa turned forward to down her whiskey, Tobey snuck Larain his bottle. "That was bullshit," Tobey whispered. "And I don't trust the brewer," he continued to admit.

Larain put it behind his duster, hiding it in time for Rosa to turn back around. "So, what are we doing here for fun?"

"…Uh, that lake looks good for fishing," Tobey offered.

"Pfft," Rosa blew through her lips as she waved him off. "Any other ideas?"

"Find a place that doesn't smell like alcoholism and regret?" Carla offered.

"Boo!" Rosa cupped her hands around her mouth.

Larain opened his mouth to speak.

"I have an idea!" Rosa offered. "Let's put a wager on those three culeros playing with knives. Us against them. Losers keep Dipshit."

"Funny," Larain growled.

Rosa grinned as she turned to the barkeep. "So, any ideas for fun?"

"Lady, take one good look at this place I work at and consider how good any advice I'd offer would be," the barkeep deadpanned.

"Fine, if you say so," Rosa rolled her eyes. "How about you, grandma? You know of anything fun to do here?"

The old woman glared at her. "Shouldn't you respect your elders?"

"Shouldn't you be raising your grandkids instead of hanging out in this dump?" Rosa shot back.

The old woman barked out a laugh. "You're cute. Dumb and cute. Not a great combination."

Rosa smiled like a feral dog. "Oh, and what wisdom does my elder wish to part upon me?"

"How about how binge drinking and random hookups don't make you grown," the old woman offered. "And that this place eats tourists alive, tourist."

Rosa bristled. "I'm here on business, you miserable hag if you must know."

"I don't really care," the silver-haired woman leaned in. "You want fun, girl, try killing slavers. It's downright exhilarating."

"Oh, a do-gooder?" Rosa scoffed. "Like you ever even left the bottom of a bottle."

"I've forgotten more about drinking than you ever knew," Silverhair grinned.

"Wanna bet?" Rosa began to smirk. "Barkeep! Keep them coming til one of us passes out! Loser pays!"

As a modest crowd began congregating around the impromptu drinking contest, Tobey took Carla and Larain aside. "…Someone has to stay here and keep Rosa out of trouble," he rolled his eyes as Silverhair slammed away the first bottle.

"Tobey, you don't have to stay here by yourself. Larain and I could just…" Carla began to offer.

"Nah," Tobey shook his head. "She's a "me" problem. I'll drag her back to camp when she's finished with her fun."

Larain placed his hands on Tobey's shoulders. "You're a good man, Tobey," he said, solemnly.

"Yeah, well, we all have our faults," Tobey stated as he turned back to look at the fracas, Rosa stopping the contest to complain about rules they hadn't set before the game started. The judicial marshal took a position behind the three Mexicans as they whispered amongst themselves in Spanish, a language Tobey never took to. Carla, meanwhile, made a break for it, dragging Larain with her.

"Out with it," she said as they got clear from the pavilion.

"I… don't understand," Larain asked.

"You've been here before," Carla offered a smile.

"Oh…oh, right!" Larain replied, relief settling in. "I wanted to mention something but, y'know…" he pointed apologetically to the drinking contest.

"Well, c'mon," Carla said as she took his arm. "Now that she ditched us, you can give me a tour!"

"…Alright," Larain exhaled as he looked around him. While most of the services around this place catered towards either libation or fornication, there were a few places and stalls that offered something that promised to keep a pretty girl happy. Larain shook his head suddenly. Pretty girl? Where did that come from? He looked to Carla as she pressed her head against his arm in a too conspicuous display of affection. Think with your head, Larain, he hissed to himself, and not your… other head. The last thing you need now is more problems.

The wages he'd earned for today had been modest, but seeing her in distress had motivated him to put off his hired guns scheme by at least an evening to buy her something to calm her down. Remembering her preferences, Dinero had been haggling with the stall for the last ten minutes over a bottle of sweet cola and some snack cakes.

"I get it, you don't take credit," Dinero exclaimed as he surrendered the last caps he could spare. The child reached into her box hanging around her waist and surrendered half a pack of sweet cakes.

"Half! You little brat, I outta…" Dinero began. The kid snapped her fingers, and the super mutant sitting ten feet away got to his feet, a lead pipe tapping against his palm. "…This isn't over," Dinero hissed as he made a tactical decision to retreat.

Fuming but relieved to have gotten what he needed, Dinero began to hurry back to Daphne's. Rounding the corner, he almost collided with a couple on a stroll. "Oh, sorry! Don't mind me!" Dinero briefly apologized. The girl had her eyes closed and paid him no mind. The guy shot him a brief look before going on his way. When they made eye contact, Dinero felt as if he had just seen a ghost.

The old man watched as the couple went off on their way. As they did, Dinero began to run some numbers. "…Haven't seen him since he went west… he's long dead… he'd be damn near my age about now…" he laughed. "Familiar faces, nothing more. He's gone. They're all gone. Him and the kid who-"

Once again, Dinero added up the numbers. "…You've got to be shitting me…"

The trailer had been fairly non-descript from the outside. Just another example of the spartan but plentiful living spaces available to the people who spent enough time here to be considered locals. The woman, who Kyra eventually learned was named Delilah, had shared this trailer with two other women. As they approached, Kyra looked at the license plate mounted just above the doorway, the "word" L3910N emblazoned upon it. Even she had to take a moment to admire the tacky brazenness of these people.

The three entered the trailer, Delilah bringing up the rear as she scanned the area behind her before closing the door. Inside, an effigy of a god-like mask was propped in the corner, surrounded by machetes and knives. Along the walls, photographs of people, living and dead, were arrayed along the metal paneling. A bunk-bed and cot were propped in the corner, various documents stamped by a bull in wax scattered across the floor. Kyra felt a foot dig into the back of her knee, forcing her to kneel as Delilah checked under the shutters of the window.

Satisfied, Delilah breathed a sigh of relief as she took Hypatia in an embrace, kissing the sides of her cheeks as Kyra's captor repeated the gesture. "Mi amicus," Delilah purred as she pressed her forehead against Hypatia's. Kyra averted her eyes, refusing to believe that Hypatia or people like her were capable of warmth.

"You know what brings us here?" Hypatia asked as she took a seat.

"I imagine that the arrival of the Californians would cause some measure of concern," Delilah offered.

Hypatia grinned as she shook her head. "The Legate seeks Pariah."

Delilah couldn't stop her eyebrows from raising. "How unexpected. And the Legate is so desperate that he has sent you so far out here by yourself?"

"He's here, personally," Hypatia said, keeping her voice to a whisper.

For the first time, Kyra saw Delilah's demeanor begin to break, the woman pursing her lips together as a bead of sweat streaked down the side of her head. "…He won't be here, personally, I imagine?"

"You would be correct," Hypatia nodded, and Delilah breathed a sigh of relief.

"OK, I really don't want to explain to him that we haven't been able to find that girl," Delilah breathed.

"Haven't? Or won't?" Hypatia asked, straight up.

Delilah shot Hypatia an unfriendly look. "Those in positions such as we are do not survive by making enemies of either the Legate or the Oracle. If I found that girl, I would report it to both of them and let them fight about it, and stop having it be my problem as soon as possible. Besides, Caesar and the Senate would be far more concerned with the arrival of the Californians. If reports are true, the Spawn of the Hostis Publicus is amongst them."

Kyra wanted to ask what that meant but remembered that property wasn't allowed to speak. She kept her head down and her eyes downcast and was grateful for the reprieve from the constant abuse she had been put under. That reprieve wasn't going to last.

"One of my sisters has identified an officer looking for some… company," Delilah explained. "We would like an agent to intercept and rendezvous with that officer and get some information."

"Honey pot. Classic," Hypatia smiled as she shook her head.

"Both of my partners are otherwise occupied at this moment, but your arrival should prove most fortuitous," Delilah assessed as she approached Kyra. "What's your name, slave?"

Kyra shut her eyes and braced herself. "This one's name is Kyra, the personal property of Legate Barabbas."

Delilah turned to Hypatia. "…Personal?"

Hypatia shot a glare at Kyra. "She wishes to protect her lack of virtue. She's a used slave-girl, little else. I personally administered a punishment to her previously for insolence and won't hesitate to do so again."

Kyra bowed her head lower, biting her tongue as Delilah looked over her body. "…She does seem Scorpio's type," she murmured. "Not to mention she looks positively delectable," the woman snickered as she stepped back. "OK, looks like we have our bait. Hypatia, try to stick close to her and listen in on anything relevant our "friend" may spill after he's had his way with the slave. And as for you," she grabbed Kyra by the collar. "If you compromise us, my sisters will see to it that you will never know a moment's peace for the rest of your miserably short life. You don't even want to think about all the favors we can call in, so be a good piece of property and justify your worth."

Kyra felt as if her misery was about to consume her. With every passing moment, the light of hope threatened to be enveloped and consumed by the despair of her circumstances. At some point, she would learn not to do anything stupid like hope for the best. Kyra could merely bow her head as she left the trailer to wait outside for her next directions.

"I'd have figured you'd have one of your girls already in place. You aren't the type to surrender any opportunity," Hypatia asked her sister-in-arms.

"I already have one of my own girls in place, but when did a redundancy in a situation like this hurt. Besides, I'm planning on sending your "partner" after a target I couldn't convince Sophia to snare," Delilah explained.

"…What kind of target?" Hypatia asked. Delilah leaned in and started to whisper. Hypatia had to look away, lest the air in her mouth escape along with her laughter. "That's going to be a hard one to explain to Barabbas," she giggled.

"For us or for her?" Delilah let out a wild laugh as Hypatia joined her. Their shared laughter was so loud that it covered up the bawling of the woman sitting on the steps, face in her hands as she pled and wished for someone, anyone to help her. Karma, in the wasteland, was something few people understood and even less cared for, and sometimes the only way to see the whole picture was at either the highest point or rock bottom. Very soon, Kyra would finally begin to understand her true role.