Chapter Thirty-Five: Simple Revelation

The next couple days passed by in a blur, as I'd constantly found myself shifting between consciousness and unconsciousness. The doctor in glasses would visit on occasion and check my condition, and at times he'd give me something and not long after I'd find myself slipping back to sleep. It wasn't until four days had passed that anything different happened...

The cloth partition shifted aside as the gate guard I'd met, Trish, stood there, her eyes fixed upon me for only about three seconds before they moved to the rest of the room. It was clear I wasn't worth the consideration in her eyes, because an important guest had stepped within the confines of my little room and held a raised brow, as if the sight of me was different from what he'd expected.

A thin trail of smoke followed him closely as he took one measured step after another until he reached the little stool beside the bed. The body of the fat cigar lit up as the man sat upon the stool, at the same time he set an ashtray beside me on the bed and gave a small nod to Trish.

With that, the guard closed the partition leaving Fredrick Manheim and myself alone. "It was my intention," he began with a puff of smoke, "That your merry little band would complete that job for us and then you'd all pass on your way. You'd get what you want – safe passage across the river – and I'd get what we want. So can you imagine my surprise when I heard that you had collapsed at one of my fine establishments?" He placed his cigar along one of the grooves in the tray, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and continued, "And that wasn't even the best part. No, that was learnin' that you were in critical condition and required emergency care."

"Now, I ain't a monster and while I'd like to push you out of my bridge as soon as possible, I can't very well turn away one in such state." He narrowed his gaze and his lips curled down into a slight frown, he rolled his shoulders as he studied me. Seemingly not getting the answer he was hoping for, he sighed. "I'd feel guilty if I caused the death of someone so competent... yet so abrasive toward their own self that they'd use copious amounts of drugs to not only keep fighting, but to just stay standing."

"Normally I wouldn't be privy to that sort of information," Fredrick explained in a matter-of-fact manner, "However, due to the special circumstances around you – and that I was footing the bill – I was allowed to know what was going on. I saw the file about your injuries and thought: Now there's someone that doesn't know the meaning of the word 'give up.' Someone as tenacious as you... I don't know any, but at the same time... you're likely to bring trouble."

"While one part of me wants to let you stay here all comfy-like until you've recovered, another part of me doesn't believe you'd mesh well with my people. You're a dangerous element, so I thought about what's best for my people and myself – but I also tried to do right by you. You may stay until you recover. But I want you off my bridge and away from my folk as soon as possible."

At that, he grasped his cigar and took a long hit from it as he straightened up on the stool. Finally, after an impressively long pull, he set the cigar back within the groove and let out a long, smoke-filled sigh. Once done, he shook his head, "You probably don't even know the extent of the injuries, do you?" I shook my head. "Right... the good doctor operated on you shortly after you arrived within his clinic." As he spoke, Fredrick pulled a small folded paper and handed it.

I clumsily plucked it with a shaking arm. Unfurling the piece, I gave it a cursory scan; it listed out numerous points of medical jargon relating to various types of physical injuries. Some of it had to be an exaggeration as there was no way someone should be capable of standing with all of that.

"On the off-chance you can't parse the information on that sheet I shall explain: shrapnel was pulled from barely tended wounds, stitches were required to properly close many, numerous bruises were discovered, and your arm is likely broken. Pardon the comparison, but the amount of bullet holes put in you reminds me of a pin cushion."

"I haven't the faintest what you might be after – truly after, I mean. While erudition on the subject may... prove you're not a threat to my people, I'd rather not take that kind of risk. While tough, there are simply far greater forces out there that deserve my attention. So... I'm sorry. It certainly seems rather unreasonable to say all of this and not give you any sort of definitive reasoning, but this was the conclusion that I arrived at after three days of deliberation."

Grabbing the cigar tray and standing, Manheim began toward the partition, casting one last glance back, "For what it's worth, Mrs. Shear, I hope you don't turn out like those other vault dwellers that trot around and mix with the wrong sort. The Wasteland has the potential to be a beautiful place, but only when worked for – and not against." His vague words were all that was left after he walked through the boundary of my little curtained off space.

I spent the rest of the day thinking about what he had said and trying to find some sort of meaning behind his words. Had he just been a madman speaking his mind or had there been some truth behind it? What had he meant when he said I was dangerous? Was the last thing he said a thinly veiled threat? My mind was jumbled as that mess of a conversation spun itself around and around.

Would I find any answers to those questions if I turned inward? I doubted it. So I let my mind ruminate as I waited. I waited for myself to come to a decision. Is what Anton is doing dangerous to me? That had been at the forefront of my thoughts. If it were dangerous to not only myself but others, then would stopping my assistance be enough to deter or even put an end to his actions, or would that only spur him on, leading him to truly take action against me?

A sharp exhale, the cold stone met my bare feet. That's what I'd worked up to these past few days of rest. My vision was cast toward the floor, my stuff placed neatly on the ground beside me. I sent a secretive glance toward the end of the bed, or rather the partition curtain, and saw that I was in the clear. Wincing, I moved my weight toward my feet and stood.

The aches and electric shocks were a sharp deterrent, but I persisted with a little huff of pain. My eyes darted toward the partition, checking to make sure the coast had still been clear. My heart pounded in my chest, it sounded louder than the screams of my own body, and after a handful of seconds with no reaction on the curtain I relaxed.

I studied my figure, now that I was standing. Despite days having passed, I'd done my best to ignore my state, but no longer. My right arm was in some sort of cast, wrapped up tight, but I could still use my fingers and much of my hand. Multiple points were either wrapped or bandaged across the rest of my body, and I felt what could almost be called a creak whenever I moved. This was all accompanied with that aching, something that I'd assumed would never fall away.

Just then, the curtain flipped open and I felt like a dog being caught doing something it shouldn't; my head twisted toward the entrance, my eyes wide like saucers. But unlike a dog, I was far better at hiding my emotions. And with a short repose I was back to normal.

"You looked like you were caught stealing a cookie after mugging someone, Miss Shear," the dry statement came from the nurse here, Mr. Goodfelt. "You really shouldn't be standing, but... eh, you simply must be eager to leave. Tell ya what, I won't tell the doctor if you–"

He stopped mid-sentence once I started reaching for my bag, "Right, right. Of course, I'm sorry for even suggesting." He stepped closer and offered me a hand. After a long moment full of a hard glare, I relented and took it, and he helped me sit back down, "There we go."

From there we went through the daily check-up, this one being slightly different due to my having started to stand. Through these tests, we learned that I did, in fact, have feeling in my legs – perhaps too much. Once the process was over, the nurse stood, jotted down some information, and then disappeared without another word. Leaving me with an odd look as I could only watch it happen.

Just as I sighed, the curtain swayed again and a face I'd been dreading to see appeared. "You're awake..." his tone sounded both strained and disappointed, but it was clear that he felt awkward. The last time I'd seen Kyle he was telling me that I was pushing myself, and whether he was right or not, I didn't think the way he did it was all that good; but I pushed my conflicting emotions aside and gave him a half-hearted smile, it was the best I could manage at that point.

"I didn't think I'd see you standing, I was told a little about–" Despite myself, I let out an exhale and turned toward my stuff. What little energy I had had been whisked away, and I just couldn't be bothered. "What?" Silence permeated between us as I started shifting through my things until it was broken with an, "Oh..."

I heard the shuffling of feet and the rustle of the partition, "I'll wait outside, have someone get me if you want to see me." And like that, he was gone.

Did I overreact?

I shook my head, pushed not only my thoughts aside but my feelings as well. Once I was finished with my things, I began to get suited up. The clothes I was wearing now were different from my vault suit. These looked dirty, almost patched together. Some sort of jacket, and pants held up by a belt. Underneath it all was some short-sleeved, plain shirt. Granted, when I informed my intentions of leaving I'd been wearing some sort of thin veil that left my rear bare; they gave me these saying that I shouldn't leave with such a dirty suit or in their gown.

Pulling my chest plate on and slinging over the bag. I stretched a little, felt the screams and aches, and concluded that I was doing relatively well. With an added weight to every step that wasn't there before, I moved past the partition and got a glimpse of the other areas in the clinic; more partitioned off areas, clean counters with bagged supplies, and several bodies moving about.

I didn't see the nurse or doctor, so I just marched toward where I thought the front door was – which was easy to do when you had a Pip-boy. Bursting out the door, I spotted Kyle right away and there was an immediate shift in the air. I thought about waving to him or motioning that I was ready to leave, but I didn't. Instead, I just started walking.

Soon enough I had passed the bathhouse and reached the opposite end of this bridge-settlement, Kyle followed a short ways behind. Like the wall on the opposite side of the bridge, this side had been erected out of spare sheet metal and other such materials, and a gate had been left open for people to pass in and out of. But what I hadn't noticed on the other side was that the platforms near the top only provided enough cover for someone small or crouching, and the lower areas had small slits to view out of. Perhaps that explained why I hadn't seen anyone when we had first arrived at Siman's Ridge the other day.

One of the guards approached as I neared the gate, he was holding a piece of paper in one hand and a sack the size of his palm in the other. He looked between the paper and me multiple times, as if confirming something in his head. I had slowed to watch, and it wasn't until he flagged me down that I finally stopped.

"Righteo, you Miss Shear?" I nodded. "Great! Mr. Mayor Manheim... er, Mr. Manheim gave instructions to the gate to pass this to you," he stated as he thrust out the bag. I gave him an odd look, and he just shrugged and pushed his hand out farther.

Once I took it he released a relaxed sigh of a job well done, waved and ran off as quickly as he'd come. Inside I found a folded piece of paper and some bottle caps. The note was from Manheim and said that the bottle caps enclosed were both a thanks for doing the job – as well as the remaining bottle caps that he had intended to use for my stay – and a bribe to never visit Siman's Ridge again. I dropped the sack in my bag and my Pip-boy notified me of the eighty-seven bottle caps being added as well as a 'note from Fredrick.'

There was one last bit of information on the note: Anton had been kicked from the city days ago and had been camping just outside the wall, waiting (under constant vigil). As I stepped outside, I glanced to my left then right and spotted a small area that looked like it was cuddled right up to the wall. Marching closer, I spotted Anton sleeping in a sleeping bag beside what looked like a makeshift fire pit – the fire having died out some time ago leaving only embers behind. A small tarp had been angled to keep potential rain off him and the fire pit.

One look at the chronometer told me it was 1:14 PM, so why had he been sleeping at that time? I lightly thumped him with my foot and winced at the pain as it shot up my leg, it seemed to have done the trick as his eyes flashed open and shifted about as he studied his surroundings with near-violent intent. Finally, he settled on me and that faux smile adorned his face, "Ah, Miss, good to see you. Good morning."

"It's evening," Kyle's flat tone resounded from behind. I didn't give him so much as a glance.

Anton yawned, stretched, and stated, "Our next destination is to the north, northeast."

I checked my Pip-boy's map and saw something that left me aghast; the location we'd visited before, Con Corp's Westbank Factory, had been completely changed and was now called Westbank Crater. Closing my mouth, I shook my head and focused, looking toward the northeast. I exhaled and looked at Anton, giving him a look.

"Yes, Miss?"

"How about you tell us what you're looking for by heading that way?"

Anton sat up and brushed himself off as he did. Once done, he popped his neck, the cracks sound out like cries for help. He started to climb out the sleeping bag, "Well, that's simple," he began, slipping his feet out, "I seek an old friend – and revenge."

What...?

"What...?" Kyle matched my thoughts with an utterance of disbelief.

Anton chuckled but it held no humor, "I've noticed the way you two have started to look at me – how your gazes have shifted. Besides, it isn't like I've tried to hide it. I'm after revenge, solace to my woes. Is that so wrong, Miss?"

I didn't know when but at some point I had started rubbing the bridge of my nose with my index finger and thumb. Normally, I'd have been willing to try and talk with him – Kyle, too, for that matter – but that day just didn't meld to normality. At some point I turned and just started walking away.

A pair of shouts called after me, but I elected to ignore them. Being outside the wall, I drew my 10mm pistol and made sure it was loaded and that I had a spare magazine readied, which I slid into the hard cast on my arm.

Kyle had caught up within moments, but kept a few paces behind. I could tell by the noise of the footsteps. Anton, meanwhile, had rushed to pack what he could and scrambled after. We stepped atop a faded black road, one which my Pip-boy marked as snaking far to the north so we'd be able to make considerable progress by simply following it.

-Message Received-

This chapter came about five days later than I meant, but I'm still happy I've been able to get an average of two chapters a month.