Fallout: Blood Cries Chapter Three, a fallout fanfic

CHAPTER THREE

The nails. He remembered them biting into the palms of his hands. The memory of that pain speared through his being. But when he looked at his hands he couldn't see any nail holes. It didn't make any sense. He remembered their bite and the sound of the hammer. Yet there were no wounds and he could still use his hands. Had he imagined them? Then why had he felt the stabbing pain there in the middle of them? Eliza was skilled but even she couldn't fix hands ruined by crucifixion nails. It just didn't make sense.

You're losing your mind. Why don't you just give in?

He looked again and there were the long jagged scars. They weren't holes like he'd expect to see once the bandages came off. Instead they were deep gouges running across his palms. It looked as if someone had slashed at his hands in a cruel effort at inflicting drawn out pain. The nails would've destroyed his hands. Their bite would've broken the bones and sliced through his flesh. More blood loss and the agony of having to hold himself up with broken hands would've perhaps been too much. That would've been a kindness. They'd wanted him to suffer. There was a very specific point at which the body gave up. At that point the pain and bodily damage was too great. The body gave up and death came quickly.

His tormentors had denied him that. In the fragments of pain-clouded memory he heard their cruel laughter. He heard the crack of the whip and felt the gobs of spit landing on him. He felt every fibre of his being aching with indescribable pain. They'd wanted him to suffer. They'd wanted to push him to the very limit and leave him hanging to suffer in the baking sun. They'd broken his body and his mind had been on the brink. A few more seconds would've been all it took. If the stranger had been a little later he would've died there alone.

You deserved it! Every second of it!

"John?"

The voice sounded so far away. He heard it again and struggled to make sense of it. There it was again. The soft feminine voice that called through the haze inside his mind. It was becoming insistent and he tried to focus on it. But the memories crowded in around him and he felt his heart beginning to race again. The other voice did not like intruders. It didn't like this familiar interloper interfering in its work. Yet the more he focused on the softness the more he came back into himself and the other voice retreated.

Eliza was standing over him with fear in her dark eyes. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder and her long dark hair fell forward as she leaned towards him. She shook him gently at first and then more forcefully as he slowly roused himself from his stupor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mathias moving to stand next to her and recognized the same fear in his eyes. The sight of it was enough to bring him back. These were the only friends he had. A quiet part of him didn't want to worry them.

"I'm….I'm okay," he lied "I was just thinking….about things."

So now you're lying to your friends. Pathetic!

The voice was right. Who did he really think he was fooling? Okay was something that he definitely wasn't. In fact he was probably the furthest away from okay as one could get. Even madness would be a strange sort of freedom. At least then he'd be able to lose himself. But it seemed that he was to be denied that mercy. Instead he was left to the pitied glances of those around him and the constant torment of the mocking voice in his head. The voice never passed up an opportunity to torment and mock him. It cut into his mind like a razor robbing him of a moment's peace.

You are far from okay. Why delude yourself?

Was this how madness began? He wasn't sure how much more he could take before his mind began to unravel. Or perhaps it already was. How did one know? There were countless tales of people who had lost themselves out in the wastes. They wandered out into the desert never to be seen again. Would he be the next? Perhaps that would be a fitting fate for the failure like him. The father who'd failed to save his little girl. The husband who'd been too weak to protect the woman he loved. It was the very least he deserved. Another wandering madman out there in the wastes.

"Sometimes the mind is not our friend," Mathias said softly "it tells us things that aren't true. It can be hard to tell the difference between what is true and what are lies."

Mathias rose slowly to toss another log on the fire producing a billowing plume of sparks as he did so. Night had fallen swiftly and with it had come the eerie howls of coyotes. There was something a little unsettling about the way the wind played with their wailing calls. It was as if they weren't from coyote at all but rather mournful spirits roaming in the blackness of the desert night. Perhaps his wife and their little girl were among those lost souls. All because of him.

"A troubled mind is a powerful and dangerous thing," he continued after a thoughtful pause "it takes great strength and determination to bring healing. That journey lies ahead of you John and you have many choices to make. Terrible things have happened to you. I can see it in your eyes my friend. But you have to face them."

"You are always welcome here with us," Eliza added "but you cannot stay here. You have to face the demons John. That is the only way."

Leaving the safety of Mathias and Eliza's homestead wasn't something he wanted. There was no way of telling what waited for him out in the wastes. Every fibre of his being screamed at him to stay put. It was far safer to stay hidden away from the world at their remote home. Its dome-shaped abode form offered shelter and protection from what lay out there. The thickness of its walls was a barrier behind which he could hide and shut it all out. But the small part of him that was increasingly trying to make itself heard knew that they were right. The voice wouldn't leave him alone no matter where he hid himself away. Eliza was right. If he wanted to silence it for good then he was going to have to face it. Even if that meant having to do something that he desperately wanted to avoid.

As if you have the courage! We both know you're a coward!

John woke early the next morning and packed what few belongings he had into a rough burlap sack. It was a rather humble bundle; a hand-made hunting knife, a spare set of clothes scavenged from the wastes, a worn metal canteen and a small assortment of medical supplies. All of it had been given to him by Mathias and Eliza. They weren't about to let him venturing out into the wastes with no supplies. Having to say goodbye to them was going to be hard. Especially after everything they'd done for him. They were the only friends he had. He promised himself that he'd come back to visit.

"Go well my friend," Mathias said patting him on the back "it's not safe out there so travel fast and be careful. If I were you I'd head south to the lower lake Follow the green. It will take you there. There's a camping ground on the water's edge where you can spend the night."

"You're always welcome here," Eliza said as she wrapped her arms around him "take care of yourself out there. Be careful who you trust and travel safe."

After one last hug John said his goodbyes and walked out into the wastes. He decided to head south as Mathias had suggested. After all, Mathias had lived in the area he called Upper Pahranagat for a number of years. He'd have been a fool not to follow his advice. It wasn't as if he had any idea where he was going or even what he was doing. Heading south was as good a start as any. But what was he looking for? Where was he going to begin? Perhaps he would simply walk out into the hills and let the wastes take him. But wouldn't that be failing Mathias and Eliza?

Listen to yourself. You don't even have a clue. Pathetic!

Having Mathias and Eliza's company had helped to keep the voice at bay for a time. But now he was walking out into the wastes alone. Who would help him keep it quiet now? Perhaps he would end up losing his mind completely out in the desert. Or maybe, just maybe, he would take his first step on the journey Mathias had so often hinted at. The man spoke with a wisdom that amazed him. For the first time he felt the tiniest twinge of hope. But he knew that the voice wouldn't let him have that without a fight.

You're going to die alone out here! What makes you think you have a chance?

Was he fooling himself? He hadn't been able to protect his wife and daughter. What chance did he have of facing his demons? The doubts raced through his mind as he made his way southwards along what could just barely be described as a trail. The sun beat down upon him draining his energy and scorching his skin. It seemed that the mercy of even the slightest of breezes had been denied to him and there really was a very real chance that he would die out in the wastes. He'd heard of others being overcome by exhaustion or heat-stroke and falling dead in the desert. Eliza had given him the canteen and packed him a meal but would it be enough? What was he going to do when he ran out of food? Far to the south of him lay the Mojave. The New California Republic's latest acquisition that they'd swiftly made a state. In some faint memory that was slowly returning he recalled his captors talking about it as they beat him. What lay to the north, other than Mathias and Eliza's homestead, was a total mystery to him. But he had to go somewhere.

Why don't you save yourself the time and just give up now?!

He didn't notice the shimmer of greenish-blue at first. He'd become so lost in his thoughts that it had escaped him. The lake and its slightly larger sister to the north was one of the only sources of water in the area. It was a well-known spot frequented by the few travelers brave enough to attempt to pass through the region. Or at least that's what Mathias had told him. He'd also warned him that the area was as far from safe as one could get. There was no law or any sort of order. The NCR hadn't yet come this far north and there was little in the way of civilization. You really were on your own out in the wastes.

Good. Maybe you could drown yourself in the lake and do everyone a favour.

The sun was high in the sky by the time he reached the lake. He sat down slowly in the shade of a tall tree on the water's edge and let out a long sigh. There was still plenty of daylight left. If he wanted to he could keep going. But his tired muscles screamed at him for rest. If he kept going there was a very real chance that he would collapse somewhere out in the desert. No, he would rest here for the night like Mathias had suggested. It wasn't like there was any particular rush. No one was waiting for him and he didn't even really know where he was going.

So he cupped his hands and splashed lake water on his face. The coldness was a welcome shock to his thoroughly sun-parched body. For some reason he'd expected it to be hot like everything else. He drained the last of his canteen and refilled it. As he straightened up from doing so he finally noticed a weather-worn canvas tent not far from the edge of the water. It was arranged in a loose semi-circle with two others with a long dead fire pit in the middle. He rose to his feet and slowly made his way over to the sun-ravaged shapes. He'd found his shelter for the night just as Mathias had told him.

Not that you deserve it!

"Hello there friend," said a jovial voice with a thick Southern accent "I hadn't expected company but you're more than welcome to join me."

A tall fair-skinned young man with curly red hair emerged from the middle tent with a broad smile on his face. He crossed the distance between them in long loping strides and stretched out his hand for a brief but firm handshake. John, rather uncharacteristically for him, instantly took a liking to the young man. From his disarming smile to his jovial nature there was just something likeable to the man. Though John didn't fail to notice the hunting rifle propped up against the entrance flap of his tent or the .44 magnum revolver clipped to the belt of his Brahmin skin jeans. It wasn't unusual for a wastelander to be armed. Not having a weapon was a death sentence after all. Especially in a region largely populated by raiders, chem fiends, slavers and all kinds of perils.

"The name's Jeremiah," he added "Jeremiah Watson. And who might you be friend?"

"I'm John" John replied letting go of Jeremiah's hand "John Reynolds. I'm sure if I'm intruding. I'll get out of your way if you like."

"No need for that! There's plenty of room and enough spare tents. You're more than welcome."

Are we making a friend? You know it won't last!

"You can take the left-hand tent if you like," Jeremiah added with a friendly chuckle "doesn't look like anyone has stayed in there in quite some time so it might need airing out some."

John had never heard an accent quite like Jeremiah's. But there was something likableand perhaps a little amusing about it. It was entirely different to the usual wastelander and that made Jeremiah stick out. His jovial nature and seeming easy-going nature quickly put John at ease but the voice wasn't silent for long. It never really was. The possibility of his making a friend was not something that it was going to let him get away with. But did he really deserve any sort of friendship after what he'd done? He hadn't been able to save his wife and their little girl. He'd failed to be there when they'd needed him the most. He'd most likely only get Jeremiah killed.

Maybe he'll kill you in the middle of the night. But that's too good for you.

Jeremiah left him to settle in. He made his way over to the tent he'd suggested and pushed his way through the canvas flap. Jeremiah's assumption that no one had stayed in some time proved to be very much correct. The interior of the tent had a distinctly musky smell and a layer of dust covered everything inside. John tied the door flaps open and proceeded to make himself at home as best he could. He was grateful to be out of the sun at last and his aching feet thanked him for sitting down on the rough-made cot.

"I'm so sorry Natalie," he said softly to himself "I know I failed you. You should be here. Not me!"

At last he speaks the truth! A miracle!

The memories returned as he closed his eyes. He heard Natalie's screams of agony and the crying of his little girl. He heard the jeers and laughter of their captors. He saw them hit her again and again as he struggled against the arms holding him back. He saw them savagely shove her to the ground as his little girl sobbed. There had never been a kinder hearted and gentler girl than his Anne. What had she done to deserve this? An eight year old child forced to watch as her mother was savagely beaten in the dirt like an animal. They'd made her watch before they'd finally killed both of them. He really had failed them. He should've been able to break free and do something. He really should've been stronger.

If he'd just fought harder they'd still be alive. Or at the very least he'd have fought to give them a chance to escape. That's what a real man would've done. A real man would've fought to get himself free and saved his family. But he hadn't really tried to fight had he? At least that's what the voice had told him again and again. But it would know wouldn't it? The screams repeated themselves over and over again in his mind. He saw them pull Natalie's head back and raise the machete to up to her throat. He saw them shoot his little Anne in the back of the head. The memories played over and over again in a tormenting loop. But one really couldn't expect to see such savagery and horror without being scarred could they? The knowledge that he could've prevented it if he'd fought would not let him find peace. They were dead because of his choice and that was that. If he'd only chosen to listen to Natalie instead they were never have been caught. But he'd only thought of himself.

"John?" the voice broke through the noise in his head "Are you okay friend?"

John slowly opened his eyes to see Jeremiah standing over him with a worried look on his face. Had he been talking in his sleep again? Had he even be asleep? He only remembered closing his eyes for a moment. For most people sleep was a restful escape. But for him it was nothing more like a stream of tormenting nightmares, night terrors and an endless cycle of the memories he wished he could do away with. He slept but there was no real rest for him.

As if you deserve rest! You who failed the ones you love!

"I'm fine," John said pulling himself upright "just...bad memories."

Lying again are we? We both know you're far from fine!

Jeremiah frowned and leaned back into a not entirely comfortable looking crouch. A strange gleam flickered in Jeremiah's soft hazel eyes. Was it concern? John never had been good at reading other people's expressions. Natalie had been a natural at it. She had always seemed to be able to tell what a person was thinking or feeling simply by looking at them. That was something he'd loved about her. Perhaps that is why she'd been a natural with the Followers of the Apocalypse. That particularly hardworking group of idealistic former wastelanders-turned-humanitarians who devoted themselves to caring for the more destitute people of the wastes.

He'd always quietly admired them. The way that they took in every sick, starving or otherwise needy wastelander they found and cared for them. Not to mention the various ways they tried their best to improve the lives of the everyday wastelander all without any help from the NCR or any other group. It really was an admirable cause for such a small group with few supplies to their name. He'd used their help several times during his time as a scavenger in New Vegas. He would always be fond of them. Because, after all, it was in their Freeside compound that he'd first met Natalie. She'd been an eager young nurse who'd pulled several bullets out of him after a scavenging run near Fiend terrority had gone bad.

"Bad memories?" Jeremiah continued as he lowered himself down onto the canvas floor "I've seen that look in your eyes before."

The fact that Jeremiah seemed to care surprised him. The voice in his head delighted in telling him that people didn't really care. That it was all just a facade for some other motive. They didn't care at all. They simply pitied him and to tell them anything was nothing but a burden. The voice told him that he deserved to suffer. That he should carry it silently. But Mathias and Eliza had cared about him. So was it really possible that Jeremiah did too? Even though he'd only known him for little more than half an hour now? Natalie had always told him that some people were just naturally very quick to care about others. She'd been the perfect example of that?

"I've...been through a few things," John answered shifting his position to match Jeremiah "but if you don't mind I'd rather not talk about it."

Yes. Keep your mouth shut and don't bother the poor guy.

Was that rude? Would Jeremiah take offence to it? Had he just spoiled what could've perhaps been a new friendship? The questions played upon his mind as Jeremiah slowly rose to his feet and made his way back outside. The young Southerner had cared enough to come and check on him. Here he was effectively slapping him in the face. John knew that the voice had have great fun with that. It'd be a new toy to torment him with over the coming days. Perhaps he should've opened up just a little bit. Mathias had said that it would do him good. But something deep down inside himself just wasn't going to let him. No matter how good it might be for him. It was his burden to bear and there was no sense in troubling anyone else with it.