Now I'm Learning to Love the Wasteland

Charlie

The sun was beaming down mean and hot through the jeep window like it was out to zap me.

My brother Frank was chipper and mean as ever, meanwhile.

“Nine across.... oh, wait, that's not right. Two across, starts with 'A', six letters.” He paused to sip from his canteen, “Goddess of justice and warfare, born from Zeus' head.”

“Persephone?” Phillip guessed aloud from his seat next to me.

“Shut the fuck up, Barrowman. For Chrissakes it starts with an 'A'.” My brother snarled. I don't know why he hated him so much. Then again, Frank hated anyone I had affection for.

"Just riling you up, Mac." Phillip murmured.

“That one's easy." I interrupted. I only answered on a count of it'd been a long drive, and I didn't feel like sitting through their bullshit any longer, "Athena.”

Frankie hounded me for getting it right on the first try, “Egghead trash.”

Philly piped up, breathless with nerves but trying to mask it, “Our destination's coming up, huh?"

“Uh-Yuh.” Frank mocked.

“Did you all take your Rad-X?” I asked. When no one answered, I asked again, shouting. The ute roared, but the panic in my head was louder. The orange landscape around us zipped by.

“For the last time, yes. Why are you always on about that?"

Philly nervously interrupted Frank's jabbing at me as we passed a run down gas station. "Oh, oh! I see civilization. "

“I joined the war effort cause I thought I was going to help people.” Philly'd complained in training. “...Dad was right.”

Frank had laughed in his sadistic way, “What kind of idiot joins the military to help people, huh? You join up to shoot commies.”

“And if you kill an innocent or two, they give you a medal.” Philly said bitterly.

I remember laughing at that. I hadn't adjusted well to the life either, but at that moment I'd resigned to know my place.

Frank had complaints, but opposite reasoning.

“Nevada? What the hell do they need in Nevada? We won't get to shoot nothin' there. Send us to Anchorage.”

"You ain't shooting anything." I snapped, "We just interpret."

"Spies. We're spies."

I rolled my eyes.

“I heard there are many classified operations in Nevada.”

“Like what?” Frank had snorted temperamentally at Phillip's interjection, “Digging holes?”

We had no idea.

The three of us went on operating with our usual dysfunction--Phillip biting his nails and Frank so insistent on doing the damn crossword even with talk of the world ending. We glanced over the brief again. There were some nuclear testing grounds nearby and the Big Hats wanted a small farming village nearby to be evacuated.

"Are we negotiating? Escorting? What?" Philly wondered aloud.

Frank made an ugly joke. Hatred whistled like a screaming kettle from underneath my skin.

But something was all wrong. The thought trickled in the moment we pulled onto dirt roads, growing as we slowed, and I felt I knew the second my eyes spied a mean little bark scorpion crawling near my booted feet as we stepped out of the jeep.

The scene was unlike what we'd seen before. People lined up all up outside on a main street. A few more troops and trucks, too.

The mood in the jeep shifted as we parked and Philly looked as though he were going to vomit, he was so anxious. My brother was leering all-wheres and nowhere with an expressionless face; chewing his inner cheeks slow.

"This is.... off." He said to me. I didn't respond. I felt like I wasn't all there, drifting and fading in the background. As we joined the other soldiers, the picture became clearer.

The Big Hats had dragged out the townspeople. Even the elderly—one woman so frail I swore a wind could sweep her up and carry her off. I watched her struggle to climb down the steps of a feed store, her adult daughter helping her down; a baby cradled in the crook of an arm, wrapped in a thin blanket.

The baby began to wail, like the nearby testing sirens would in days time. I watched the Sargent's face wrinkle up with impatience as he pulled out a clipboard.

We formed up quiet and mild, though the air seemed to snap around us. Skies were clear, but a storm was building.

Then, we heard the words straight from the Sarge's mouth: 'Little Yangtze'.

We'd never been stationed out there. But I'd heard stories.

A low murmur from a few grunts. Philly was hissing nervously at my side, "I thought we only sent prisoners there."

The Big Hat barked an order to be silent.

Phillip protested again, louder.

"Sir, that's against--"

The Sargent corrected him. He shrank back into line. Something ignited and died cold in me all the same. My fists clenched. The tensions on both sides of the authority were strong now. It swelled as the baby screamed louder. The more it swelled, the more belligerent things became.

"Somebody shut that baby up!" Frankie hollered. The antagonizer to the end.

Phillip's voice was high and cracking with anger, "They can't go to Big Mountain! We can't be--"

Frustration and disorder mounted. When the Sargent snarled and grabbed the old lady, that's when all hell broke out of me.

If you asked why, I didn't have an answer. I was a strong personality guided by bad temperament. And when my emotions screamed too loud, my body sought to respond in kind.

Like the numerous, bridge-burning brawls I'd gotten myself into prior, I Had to Do It. That's what I told my folks, anyways. And they'd laugh. From the first time I overturned little Timmy's lemonade stand to the 'unsportsmanlike conduct' that cost me a full ride at CIT; my violence was always excusable, situational. As far as my elders were concerned, it was the other guy's fault for standing in the way of my fist.

“You should consider joining the Service, Junior. Your brother's meeting with the recruiter tomorrow. It'll be good for you. Builds character.”

Such a casual tone, while The War ravaged all it touched. The military itself was rife with corruption and infighting by now. But no one told us to stop pretending. And nobody told me that being a soldier would only sharpen the things that made me ugly.

I remember grabbing the offending Sergeant by the arms, digging so he'd release his grip. I pulled him back from the townsfolk as the other soldiers broke rank to form a horseshoe shape around us, and what started out as a simple impulse to snap the Sargent's clipboard in half quickly accelerated into what would later be referred to as 'The McCarron Incident'.

We wrestled in the sand like beasts, cursing and spitting. Commie rat! Bastard. Dead meat. I can't even recall his name, but I remember the springing pain as he cracked my nose, the blood wooshing in my ears as I jammed my knee into his dipping stomach.

That baby's crying was still crystal solid over everything else.

I was too busy watching the Sargent's sand-stained hands frantically reaching to grab his pistol. Such a trivial thought in that frozen millisecond: pissed off at the wrong place in the wrong time. again.

I thought I was dead. I was the opposite. I recalled my college days and the sound of a runner's gun, my feet bounding off the track. The little yellow bark scorpion flashed in my mind. I'd always been faster, stronger. I dropped my opponent. Jolted my weight and fists forth like a supernova exploding to eat the dark. And there, in broad daylight, I became someone no one could recognize.

I saw red. Purple, yellow, blue. And when I finally realized that my bloodied hands were capable of stopping, when my brother finally seized my shoulders and dragged me away from what could only be called a bloody mess--that's when I realized for certain: this world was going to end, but I was going to Hell regardless.

“He killed him!” I heard a civilian cry.

“Jesus, Charlie! Jesus!” Was all Frank could muster out. You knew it was bad when my brother sounded lost and wavery.

I stumbled like a towering drunk to face terrified innocents and squadmates huddled together in clusters--frozen in place despite the heat. No one wanted within ten feet of me. No one would so much as peer in my line of sight, save that family with the infant.

Phillip was the one to start directing the civilians back into our trucks.

His tone was heavy, dreadful despite its command, “Get his keys. This can't be for nothing.”

My unprecedented outburst turned driven and focused. I was splattered with blood and still trembling with adrenaline as I searched the deceased superior's uniform. I brought the large keyring to the only real friend I had. Phillip took them gently. The elderly woman didn't so much as blink at Philly when tried and failed to hand them over, however. She and her kin did finally follow when they saw me grabbing the canisters of gasoline out of our own ute, but not without staring at us like we were insane.

Frank was in the background, screaming at us the whole way. I could only half hear him.

“You're giving them our gas, too? Fuck. Jesus. We are so fucked. Bickle, somebody get a jacket or a towel or... or.. somethin'. Cover that... face.... ”

Philly did not leave me despite the chaos. He always held onto his kindness and morals like it could stop the bombs. It wouldn't.

Arguments about who to call in and what to do with me circulated in panicked outrage.

There were gunshots in the air. Frank demanded quiet. "Nobody touches my deadmeat brother, or I start making this worse."

He looked at me. The darkness and vitriol in his eyes was what kept the rest of the soldiers silent.

How quickly we dissolved, when a single atom split the wrong way.

Philly kept half sobbing while he worked. I couldn't think, couldn't breath. Somehow I was still moving.

The townsfolk followed the old woman like it was an unspoken rule. She followed me to the largest of the vehicles on the outskirts of the desert, helped round up everyone and what little belongings they had without speaking to us.

I opened the door to the driver's seat and Philly tried, once more, to give the keys to the old woman.

“Home,” He kept clumsily repeating with watery eyes, “Just.... go home.”

The old woman squinted down at me after climbing into the driver's seat. Finally snatched up the keys from my outstretched hand:

“I speak English, you damned fools. You greenhorns have any idea where home is after this mess?” She cursed as she adjusted the driver's seat. She was right. Mean old women usually were.

"You could hide out in the old testing grounds a while." Phillip suggested, nervously taking a step back as soon as the woman looked him in the eye, "They don't start construction for another month. It's a risk, but..."

His voice trailed off. He hid behind me slightly.

"We will survive." She said plainly, "But you? You're all dead."

I'll never forget that steely grim line that twitched in her brow as she started the ignition and drove off. We watched tire tracks in the sand stretch and stretch until the truck looked like a mirage, then, no more.

When dusk came, Phillip was the only one who dared to sit next to me.

"They're gonna do worse than kill us, you know." His eyes were teary, sea green. He sobbed quietly. I just clasped my hands and stared into them.

"I'm sorry, Charlie."

We rarely used first names. But coming from Phillip, it felt warm.

"I.... did the wrong thing. Did I do the wrong thing?" His voice shook. He looked like he was going to rip at his hair again.

The feed store sign above us swung in the desert wind. I offered him my hand. He took it furtively. The sun had lowered, but not by much.

By nightfall, we could hear the sirens and helicopters. It was all a bonebreaking fall from here. I couldn't feel sorry. I couldn't feel very much at all.

Penny

They brought the big ghoul in a little while after noon. I'd been in the fits of a nasty fever or some such. The new arrival fell into the Mungo pen like a giant tree, straight and face down in the dirt. So dense that clouds of dust had to settle around him.

Squirrel and the others scuttled to the opposite side of our small pen.

“Penny, get over here before he eats ya!”

“All day you've been mocking me and now you want me to come sit over there? Buzz off.” They'd been on my case about crying when the slavers sent Rory to The Box. I couldn't help it. I'd known Rory for two years, and to a lamplight kid, that was practically forever.

My tears tapered into sniffles. I'd never seen a ghoul this close before. I wondered if all ghouls were Mungos. MacCready said he saw a ghoulified kid once, but MacCready was as much a false talker as he was foulmouthed.

“Does he stink?” Squirrel wiped his snotty nose on his crusted shirt, “If you touch his skin will it fall off?”

"Shut up." I ignored their stupid chatter and did what was always habit: watched and listened. The guards were too preoccupied and all abuzz about a brahmin or something. Clueless.

The ghoul looked mean, but not in the way the raiders were. His leather pants were filthy and his shirt untucked and torn. They'd come a long way, and I had a clue as to how they kept him half-asleep the whole way. Those funny mezzers must've zapped him. Obviously Eulogy thought he was important—fetching one guy from a long distance just wasn't smart, even for a stupid Slaver.

I backed away when the Mungo's hand suddenly twitched to life, and he gasped a wheezing breath. It wasn't the noise or the movement that startled me. It was his eyes; flying open like his own ghost was back in his head again. They were clouded over, almost like he was really dead.

“Wild.” He coughed. He said it a couple more times. His voice cracked and parched like it meant “water”.

He dragged himself into a sitting position against the brick wall we shared. I continued to eye him carefully through the bent up chainlink that separated our respective pens. The ghoul started breathing funnier and curled up in a ball for a minute. I looked away then, gave him what little privacy we could afford.

I broke out into a gagging cough, doubling over with a burn in my stomach.

My eyes were watery and pained. My skin felt slimy from the inside. My gut broiled. I heard the Mungo's voice rasp,

“Kid. You have radiation poisoning.”

The cave mushrooms would fix that. But I wasn't anywhere near Little Lamplight. I was in the dread Paradise Falls with a collar around my neck and no hope of escape. I retched a breath, lacking the energy to explain.

A small bottle rolled to a stop at my scabbed up elbow. RAD-X. I picked it up furtively. There were only two pills left. It took me a second to realize what it was. We Lamplighters never bought any--we didn't have that problem in the caves--but I knew Rory always kept it in supply.

“Please. Take it.” His chest rose and fell hard. He blinked upwards, swallowing hard at the sky.

I hoped he wasn't gonna die. I'd seen too much of that today.

“Tell me your name.” I said.

“...Sharon.” He answered quietly. There was a struggle in his face, like he was grasping to remember. How someone forgot their own name unless they were a fiend, I didn't know yet.

“I'm Penny.” A cool breeze swept through, hitting some windchimes strung up near the pens' shabby entrance. You could almost forget the stench of rotting carcasses and rusted cars that walled us in for a moment. “If you see anything we could use to get out of here, tell me.”

“It's too late.” Squirrel bemoaned, “Soon as we hit that gate running, our heads'll just pop from the collars.”

"Squirrely," I swallowed the Rad-X as soon as I saw the coast was clear. “I'm not dying here just because you gave up. Watch the guards.”

Wilde

I awoke to a headache and a rotten worry still buzzing in my bones. I cursed my way to the showers and sat beneath the water. Wondered about the rain. Dogmeat was whining and scritching at the door by the time I emerged clean and sober enough to carry onward. I found my underthings and zipped up my vault suit in a hurry.

I was sifting through a sloppy mix of emotions while I hastily poked at a cold breakfast. I dragged my feet and chewed at myself about the decision to see Dr. Li. Truthfully, I didn't want to do it without my guide. The young girl at the diner refilled my water glass with a concerned smile. I needed to apologize, and perhaps a little selfishly, receive an apology in kind. Dammit! Why did I bring Harkness up? Why had Charon spoken to me like that? The night before had been... unlike us.

He's just a salty, harsh fellow. And misery loves company. I rationalized. But my gut said something else.

Something was wrong. I could see it in the way Dogmeat panted and refused to make herself comfortable. I could practically taste it in my eggs.

When Charon didn't return by nightfall, I went looking for Harkness for help. Busy, of course. I chewed at another nail.

It was the infamous Mei Wong who found me pacing just outside of Rivet City. It seemed like a twist of fate. I remember I'd been staring distractedly at the moon, debating whether I should seek help in Underworld.

"The moon's a lovely thing." A cooing voice said next to me in the shadows, "So far removed from all this pain. I wanna be just like him, don't you?"

Mei's gesture slapped me back into reality.

"Typically, the moon is referred to as a female." I replied with a smile, welcoming the conversation. Part of me wondered if I was weak, finding so much comfort in strangers. I was very aware of the irony--being a Lone Wanderer who couldn't stand to be without a friend.

"Typical is boring." She leaned on the rusted railing. She was sweating.

"What's typical, huh?" I winked.

Her eyes snapped to meet mine. Her demeanor changed as swift as lightning:

“I'll cut to it, Blondie. Your problems are now my problems.” I couldn't tell if her tone was now annoyed with me or in earnest. Mei began moving down the bridge and waved for me to come along. I followed, partly because I was curious, but mostly because she had that kind of command. We were wordless all the way across and down the stairs. She stopped us at a dark patch outside the muddy banks of the Broken Bow.

She threw up her hands like the moment called for fanfare:

“And? See the problem?”

I shielded my brow as though it might help me see clearly in the dark. “What are you talking about? I don't see anything.” Only the dirty sheen of the moon reflected off the water in the cold night.

“Exactly!” Mei framed the empty landscape with her hands, “My horse was waiting here, do you understand? I don't know how, but they stole my Ghost.”

“I'm sorry. Who?”

She glowered while she tugged at her scarf, “Angel Eyes really thought he could handle it, I'm guessing? What a mess. I think your man was wrapped up in some trouble. Unless he stole Ghost?”

I assumed she meant Charon. I'd never been so threatened by a stare. "He wouldn't."

"Oh yeah?"

I stood my ground, "Absolutely not. How do you know my partner?"

"Shh. Not outside. They might have ears." She glared.

I could only squint. I disliked the ominous vagueness, but I would soon find it was crucial to Mei's operations.

I quieted. When Mei seemed satisfied, she glanced around shiftily once more in the silence of the night, as though she felt the statues themselves were watching. She wore the same restless frown that she'd introduced herself with the night before at the Muddy Rudder. Then she softened, her voice steadied,

"Follow me."

My heart jumped into my ears from the moment she said that, all the way back to Rivet City and up to her room. The bitterness and the confusion in my soul was still clawing away, but it could always be set aside for other people. I immersed myself in her and my surroundings. Her space was cozy, clearly temporary. It smelled of sex and smoke. Pages from old magazines speckled the walls. The subjects were oddly clashing: home décor and women in sleek, polished clothing were the primary focus.

“I think it's pretty janky how we used to dress.” Mei became less chilling after lighting a cigarette, motioning to some of the magazine covers.

I blushed. I was caught red-handed, nosing through people's things again. Mei didn't seem to care. “Did you know we used to shave? Isn't that just the craziest?”

She seemed surprisingly relaxed with me now, even as she hurriedly dragged a familiar looking duffel bag out of a corner. Where had I seen it? My hungover brain–shorted and snappy--simply didn't want to register.

I found myself drawn to an icebox in the corner. I couldn't believe it was in such good condition.

"It's locked for a reason." Mei's tone was darkly serious again, flicking her cig in a dusty red ashtray at her bedside. I blushed and apologized. She'd already continued on,

“I came here to find Mr. Burke a few days ago. That trail's gone cold, unfortunately, but things started looking more fun when you arrived.”

I could only stare blankly as she opened that duffel bag, full of guns and small explosives.

"Fun?" I composed myself upright, "I'm trying to find my friend and my father, I'm not here for entertainment."

Mei's puzzling, dramatic brand of wit cut as deeply as her eyes, "Says the gal with the bright blue leather jumpsuit and a dog at her heels." She smiled. It was curiously alluring, disturbing. It carried its own weight: a laughter at companionship, the knowledge that she worked better alone in ways the rest of the world did not.

"Listen, I'm a liar and I'm a thief. I think you caught onto to that last night at the bar. But if my premonition is right--and you bet The Cowboy it is--you have no chance of reaching your ghoulfriend without me."

"If you're a liar, how can I trust you?"

"Do you think I'd just tell you that if I planned to axe you? Come on."

"Alright." I nodded, "What's your stake in this?"

"I give you the name of the man who might've seen him last. Do some digging. In return, I tag along and you help me find my horse. They must've stolen her when they ambushed your companion."

"Are you saying... Charon's been taken? Who? How?"

"How should I know? I just know a vulture was looking for him. A gal's gotta keep tabs on a vulture--especially one that dabbles in the slave trade."

A sour taste reached my throat. Every cell in my body seemed to grip and vibrate with an indignant, quiet rage that I felt was from another person, another time.

(we have to do something)

Mei Wong smiled. Big and bright. She saw the answer on my face already. Venom and warmth in her hand as she offered it to me, "Let's make a deal."

Charon

(can't all be for nothing)

It was painful getting up, all the mind I had left swerving in my head like I had no business telling it what to do. The contract was gone, after all. I scrambled for my senses as I grasped for the shoddy support of the chain-link fence. I gripped feverishly for the bobby pin in my pants pocket. The nearest guard, Forty, barely noticed me with the bottle of liquor hanging limply in his hand. He jolted, spilled some of the amber liquid on the lifeless earth. I twitched as it hit my toes, holding my breath as Forty stilled, and muttered himself back to sleep.

The lock slipped out and through easy enough. With the threat of the explosive collar around my neck, the pens were really more of an effort to dehumanize than anything else. The windchimes started up again. I made my move. When the gate screeched a little I winced, relieved by the mystery confusion that had driven all the guards away to the front gates.

Every slaver other than Forty was circled shoulder-to-shoulder around what looked like a mutated animal. I didn't really care what was distracting them; but I was thrilled to find they were inattentive. And why shouldn't they be? Any captured slave with sense would try to run, and the collars would surely take care of that. They had little reason to look up.

But I had even less self preservation after losing my damn contract, coupled with a rabid force in my body that only wanted to rip and punch and tear. Was it the lack of a leash or the backwash of remembering all my mistakes? Either way, I only wanted to lash out. Just like before, and there was plenty to stand in the way of my fists.

Even in the haze, I had my sights set on the man in charge.

Eulogy Jones took no effort to spot. His red coattails flapped in the wind, revealing a shining purple liner. Looked like a split tongue. And it was appropriate. As cold as he was self-absorbed, Eulogy was only missing his devil's prongs.

Before my fingers could even reach the trim of his collar, the cursed technology at my own neck began to emit jarring beeps.

Eulogy whipped around to reveal a cattle prod, buzzing ugly and catching me in my hamstring before I could even find surprise.

Ymir and Jotun were hurtling me towards the ground in an instant. I clawed and cursed as they dragged me back to the Slave Pens. From there, it was a beating I didn't know I could take that afternoon--their boots in my already storming gut and throws battering my long scrambled head.

Scrambled. Eggs. Sunlight overhead stabbed my eyes as Eulogy barked out, "Control yourselves! That's merchandise, dammit!"

I groaned. I was certain I lost a molar. I coughed a fit, till it felt like the skin and muscles in my chest were ripping, tearing apart all over again. I spit blood and enamel. Yep. There went the molar.

I laughed weakly, turning my head to meet Eulogy's boots. Spotless in the cracked, gray earth.

"Where's my guns, Red?" Eulogy tapped his foot with a snobbish air. "Hm?"

I dragged myself upright again. Stumbled. Again. I wondered, briefly, why I kept doing it.

Eulogy continued with confidence. A guy like that loved to hear his own voice. "You know, I was in talks to get your contract and everything. But looking at you now, you're pretty weak."

I spit out more blood. Not daring to give the satisfaction of attention.

"It's alright. Take your time. I'll get my cap's worth out of you eventually." Eulogy brought out a shining case of cigars from his breast pocket. They were thin and smelled like cherries, the kind Wilde liked best. I rubbed at my torn lips with the back of my hand. I couldn't even feel fear, despite my head head being a jam. I was the lowest I'd ever been since... my name'd changed I suppose.

But I was breathing and not under Eulogy's employ. That was something.

"You've gotta give me coordinates, Red." He traced a section of the chain fence with elegant fingers, "Or maybe point me to more of those Mezzers Ahzrukhal enticed me with when we met. Can you?"

"Only thing you're getting from me is a fight." I said finally.

Eulogy extinguished his cigar real slow onto one of his obnoxious cuff links. He slowly smiled despite the slow burning rage in his black eyes,

"Then you will suffer until I find a buyer."

Same as it ever was, I thought.

He announced loudly that I was to be given no food or water for the next two days. Then he zapped Forty into a drooling mess of tears, "Don't let me catch you drinking on shift again."

He smiled at me coldly before leaving, "You'll crack. The bird always eats the worm."

I slid against the brick walls behind the pens and crumpled in a heap again as soon as he disappeared into a nearby building. Penny spoke up after a while,

"If you keep pretending to be brave like that, you'll wind up in The Box." Her voice trembled, "...Where they put my friend Rory."

"Mind your business." I exhaled a shaky breath. My halfway mind recognized the small barrel of radiation nearby. I winced away from it just slightly.

"Cold way to treat someone after offering 'em rad-x." Penny spit.

I sighed, staring up at the unusually clear sky, losing myself and the passing of time while Penny paced incessantly on her side of the chainlink.

I hoped Wilde was alright. I could feel myself slipping away into a world I did not want all over again.

"Why, Charlie?"

I shrugged, "Just had to."

"That's no decent answer."

"This ain't a decent world."

"....What do we do now?" Frank's and Penny's voice in my head at once.

I blinked into the yellow sun. We'd wait and see if justice would be kind. That rusty old wind chime sounded again near the now hazy, falling vision of 'The Box'.

Nodding off.

"Hey. Hey, Mungo." One of the boys skittered nervously up to the fence as Penny sobbed, "Hey! Don't fall asleep. Don't leave us here."

Whimpering. I heard a familiar sound. (hooves ? no)

"Izzat a bird?"

"That's definitely not a bird." Penny sniffed. "Look alive."

Too late for that. I would've laughed, had I been able. Instead, I just tasted the blood in my mouth and the grit against my face as I sunk face down, losing consciousness again.

Remington

"Are you quite sure you know where we're going?"

What in the steamed hell gave him that kind of an idea? I'd asked him first. I squinted.

"I don't, sir." I affirmed aloud.

"You... haven't got a map... or?"

"I got a sweet compass. Err... no object permanence, though." I joked.

James did not take it as such, and was visibly frustrated. He smoothed away at his silver hair, the creases in his eyelids bunching up at my unappreciated cleverness still lingering to the silence in the night air. The fire played with his features in a soothing rhythm. I brought out my guitar and hummed.

Most times, I just went along with where the weirdness took me. Maybe I didn't wind up where I wanted some days, but I was always going somewhere.

James rattled on, "Perhaps we should go north? A merchant in Megaton mentioned a Vault without a number..." He muttered as though some of the pathways in his head were clogged, "An anomaly...but if... hm..."

James tugged at his hair some more. I coughed. When he looked up, I smiled conversationally, "Have you ever seen a Gary?"

Wilde

Sister was indignant and vocal in his outrage when Harkness took him into custody. It didn't matter to me in the least.

"Getting angry won't solve anything." I told him cooly. Harkness nodded emotionlessly. I matched his pace as he pried open a rusty door to the railing on the upper decks. Seeing the greasy informant squirm wasn't pretty, but this was my lead and I needed information fast.

I didn't know I could twist at a man's arm so hard or claw into the flesh so deep. I was the hawk with a mouse in that moment, like in my old nature magazines.

All I could think about was my friend.

"Where is Charon?" I lurched forward and stamped on his toes. It sent Sister's quivery frame gripping for the railing behind with fear; a fear I found far too much joy causing.

"H-hey I don't know what you're talking about." Sister stammered. I could see in his eyes a panic brewing. The blooming awareness that he'd fucked with the wrong forces of nature.

Harkness calmed the rage I felt overtaking me with his patient, monotonously clear voice: "We can hold you here all night, Sister. Take some of your own advice, Wilde. Anger isn't going to solve this."

My hawk's grip on the man loosened.

(can not will not)

"You're afraid." Sister licked his lips from beneath the curtain of his greasy hair. "You should be. Red's gone to Paradise Falls."

My eyes turned to shimmering slits. I could feel my bones shake as I finally, fully released my hold on the greaseball. I pushed him before moving on entirely, just enough to make him squeal and flail to catch his balance on the vessel.

I nodded my thanks to Harkness in silence while I rechecked the ammo in my belt.

“You’re not truly going there, are you?” Harkness glanced back to me. Sister was quivering on the floor, not acting tough anymore. The light dawns on marblehead.

“I have to.” I told Harkness. "I have to fix this."

"He worked with slavers..."

"Under orders for a very evil, very sick man. Isn't that what you did, before you stopped being a course--"

“Sh, sh. Keep your voice low. It's just... you’d better come back.” My friend remarked worriedly, “And you can tell Sally I’ll keep her room safe. The Railroad owes her.”

Harkness and I said our farewells. I heard Sister trying to bribe Harkness to let him go.

Cold and swift, “I’m sorry, Sister. I can’t let you do that.”

—

I stopped by my room to retrieve Charon's leather jacket. The weight of it on my shoulders felt heavy with a mix of hurt, screaming nerves, and longing. I rechecked supplies. Scarce.

Dogmeat whined near the door. I found myself saying, "Guess I really am a mess on my own, huh girl?" I wanted to break down and scream. Cry under the shower again. I didn't have time.

When I made it back to Mei's quarters, I was in full disbelief over how quickly she’d gotten packed. The woman was a flurry, a blizzard of productivity. She’d laid out a change of clothing on her lushly covered bed—black leathers paired with red, silken pinstriped fabric. The ensemble had been sewn together into a cutout, raider reminiscent mess, but it looked sturdy.

“Got in touch with a friend from The Outcasts for help, but they rarely extend more than a greeting for outsiders. That means we need a Plan B.” She insisted between drags of a cigarette.

I had no sensible response. Each time I opened my mouth, it seemed she had a new and interesting thought to share. I could only watch as she gathered more things from a chem station--bottles of luminescent purple going straight into a dusty canvas bag. I saw the spent cans of black spray paint in the corner near a dimly lit lamp, then heard the proverbial light click.

I interjected, "It's you! You've been leaving me the caches!"

“They're for anyone with the mind to take them." Mei explained, "Yep. Sally Hatchet, as she's known out west. I've been helping humans and non-alike make like Houdini from their masters for years. ...And ...cutting down the ones who piss me off.”

"Harkness mentioned the rail--"

"I've been working alone since long before you stepped out of your Vault. I help the occasional traveler or gun club; if they align with my whims."

“And that's why you want into Paradise Falls with me?” I said as conversationally as I could. I'd wondered why a perfect stranger might volunteer for such a thing. Something in her dark eyes still made me tremble, but they were brave. Undeniably brave.

“It'll be fun!” Mei said brightly. Her hands shook with excitement and something else as she deposited several tins of mentats into a smaller rucksack.

Remington

"How about a tune instead? OH, the big rock candy mountain--"

"Remington, please."

"Yessir." I muttered, scritching under the brim of my hat.

Dusk was on us. We'd paused at a Red Rocket so I could siphon some fuel and search through other junk. James wasn’t having any more of my stories, and now my songs were off the table, too. Some people didn't know how to have fun.

"I must admit that I find you trustworthy, Remington, but.... we've been collecting trash for an entire day now." James finally made his distaste known. I never understood people in a hurry. We all got to the end of it, one way or the other. If he wasn’t so damned attractive, I’d have dumped him long past Falls Church.

And you need those bottlecaps, my hand reached for the trusty pendant around my neck without thought. I struggled to find that tattered list of Vaults hiding in my duster. With a lazy grudge, I swept the horizon with my night scope. Felt my stomach on the ground and let the sounds of D.C.’s Capital shell filter in and out of my ears with its creeping sounds. I stilled and stayed and listened to my heart, listened to my gut.

There were many different ways to survive out here in the asshole of America, but those who excelled knew the fundamental; we were all at the world’s messy mercy now, and if you weren’t patient, you were going to have be ready to carry a hell of a lot of firepower and mistakes. James knew this too (a fella that old had to), but he was letting the sight of his end goal crowd him.

Smith. Casey. West. A voice that had no body gently prodded way, way back in my head. With it, the smell of gasoline. Marlon Brando was right. He always was. Except when he wasn’t.

James paced behind me nervously. To an outsider, it would seem clever--a genius simply consulting himself. Really, I knew better than most, it was a quelling stress. More fundamentally, the chatter was messing with my quiet.

“I have also found several terminals in Vault 101 that mention a Dr. Braun….? If that helps. The Garden of Eden Creation Kit…. A device capable of removing irradiated particles from its surrounding radius. Such a device could filter the Potomac in a near instant. Salvation exists, Remington. If we could only find the answer..."

I coughed loud, snorting impertinently when James' steps finally slowed.

"First order of business: you need to set down." I finally sat up straight and stowed my gun to the side.

James paused to itch at the back of his head, his face budding red like the gas tanks behind him. Despite his flustered reaction (I'd gander very few had dared to tell him to stop moving), he mirrored my movement and sat. I instructed him to feel his seat on the hard earth, and take a deep breath.

After he'd done so a few times, I sighed,

"Does the name 'Smith Casey' mean somethin' to you?"

"Is this another story? I do not wish--"

I raised a palm and shook my head slow, "Keep an eye out for it. That's all I'm saying. For now, we're heading west a-ways."

James no longer questioned me, and I could tell I'd earned his trust from here on out. Satisfied, I dug again into my duster to find a packet of dried macaroni cheese. I ripped it open, sneakily watching the murky sky for any plumes of colorful smoke. I knew there wouldn't be any, but boy, was it a habit that made me.

Penny

"Is... is it dead?"

"Sharon's asleep." I corrected Squirrel.

"Looks dead t'me."

"What are you, a doctor? Shut up." I snapped. We were all quiet, reserving energy, till the sun went down. I spoke up after a hard, short nap in the dirt.

"Sammy, did they take your binoculars?" My stomach was no longer screaming at me from the inside. I stared intently at the slumbering ghoul, like I was trying to garner some of the inhuman bravery I'd seen earlier that afternoon. I needed to investigate further and find a way out. Help Rory. My mind was settled. I would stop at nothing.

"Psst. Penny."

Sammy looked first to see that the other guards were still distracted in the dark. When they were, he furtively brought them out from under his scarf. I motioned, quietly stacking some old milk crates atop each other. One way or another, I was going to get to that fire escape and reach the roof.

I waited for a rotation and ignored the other boys' cowardly rejections. I moved up and along the red bricks with silence and shadow. Even when the rust scraped against my fingers, even as my knees threatened to give, I lost myself in the climb. I would only go mad, sitting still. Stillness meant death.

When my small hand found the boarded up rooftop (thankfully neglected and dark) I threw my tired bones onto it. I shook, still dealing with exhaustion and the heavy blow from radiation sickness. I tried to sit up, but checkered stars interrupted my eyes. Splotches of black and white. The moon and the stars were cool, crisp blue. Dusted across the sky in endless clusters, like the little glowing cave mushrooms back home.

I remember thinking how funny it was, finding beauty in such a high, awful place. Freedom felt far off, either way. I blinked away tears. The time to cry certainly wasn't now.

I lifted myself into a sitting position and raised the binoculars. Adjusting to the grainy green landscape was too much, and I considered then and there to drop this plan--but when I caught sight of the unusual aircraft landing on the outskirts of Paradise, I felt stilled. I watched for a while with dumb clarity. Hope, curiousity, and fear swam around in my chest. It was a big machine, whirring. It whipped up a cloud of dust as it landed.

Eulogy's guys on the outskirts were already scrambling. Soon, they'd be up and alert out here.

I panicked. The climb back down was a rushing blur. I prayed as I worked to find my footing quickly in the dark, and didn't dare breathe. Sammy was there to help me down from the fire escape, making grabbing motions with his grubby hands. Probably just wanted his binoculars. I couldn't care less.

"You're a clever little punk, aren't you?" The voice when I finally hit the ground was a nightmare.

When I turned and blinked to realize Eulogy had been standing there with a searing white flashlight and a shit-filled grin the whole time, that's when I cared.

"I've no time for clever things."

All the wind came up out of me as I stood icy cold near the felled milk crates. And when Eulogy personally grabbed hold of my arm and had me marching towards The Box, that's when I cried.

Wilde

The hangar door to the Science Lab was half open when Mei and I finally slinked out of her abode. Her plain manner of dress was now covered in pieces of chromed recon armor, shaped in a way that made her look light on her feet.

Any other day I might've been caught staring again, but I was distracted by the Lab and the silver-haired figure I swore I could recognize. Doctor Li exited then, clearly not interested in visitors. She was arguing cooly with another colleague. Her authority was made clear by the way the guards stood at alert and surrounded her suddenly.

I would've approached, but the air was tense and I felt distracted. Torn up and inside out was more accurate, though I wouldn't let an outsider see it. The man I'd punched was back on duty. His eye was a delightful shade of eggplant. At least I didn't feel torn about that.

I turned my attention to the inside of the lab. That silver-haired figure within turned his head to reveal a profile that looked too much like my own. The heavy door was halfway through its weighted course to slam shut. A horrifying thought: I was watching fate slip through my fingers like sands in the glass, and if I missed it, I would miss my father. But I wasn't ready, was I? The weight of the leather jacket on my shoulders. I felt sickened and chilled. What had I done, speaking to Charon that way? What had we done?

"Blondie." My confused and tearful eyes spun around. Mei cleared her throat. She gave a rare, soft smile and let Dogmeat sniff her hand. My new friend hardened again when her eyes met mine.

It was strange. As if she could sense exactly what I was wrestling with, "You going to stick to the plan? Or follow me?"

There was little time to hesitate, was there? My partner was in trouble.

"I'm with you." I nodded.

A chesire's grin, "Cool."

Charon

Even after being further addled by sleep and memory, my adaptive eyes could spot them easily. Eulogy was marching angrily past the pens, that kid Penny in tow. She was crying, worse than ever.

The crying's what I remember most.

A siren of pain from my shoulder crunched down on my bones. Made my neck lock uncomfortably.

The shift from stillness to aggression was sudden. It was so easy to slip into, time and time again. I reached for the barrel of rads nearby with blind and spiteful grace. A heap of sludge was in my hand before I could inhale and I lashed out, fast and forced. Eulogy was screaming in heated panic before I could flinch from touching the damn radioactive waste myself.

He clawed at the side of his face, desperately trying to wipe nothing long after removing the offense. "The Box!" He foamed, "You bitch! To the Box!"

I couldn't be bothered when Clover grabbed at my collar and yanked me out into the open. I only turned my gaze once. To confirm Penny was, at the very least, led back into the pen in all the rush.

Eulogy was screaming babbling threats. He didn't need me; he was going to sell my shotgun to the Evergreen fucks. "Your corpse would make a fine scarecrow, Guy! One way or another, I'm breaking even!"

I wouldn't dignify him with a response. And I couldn't besides. Before I could get a handle on my bearings, Clover'd already shoved my broken body into the modified Life Preservation Center.

The cold metal door slammed and locked. I had nowhere to go and nothing left to lose. You'd think a fellow would grow used to the feeling by now. I hadn't. A sick weight occupied my core as the silence settled in around me. I settled in with it.

I heard a body move close to me in the darkness.

Light flickered weakly from above. I thought of Wilde's stealthboy phasing in and out back at the science museum. My lungs struggled and my temples pounded. I half wept. Turn it on or turn it off. Don't leave me in between.

"I remember you." Rory managed to croak out between the ugly flicker.

He continued, despite the dismissive wave I gave him, "You and that Vault Dweller? In museum station."

I groaned, hugging at myself and dreading the fact that so many people were recalling my face. So far, my being "memorable" had only led to more loss.

Rory went on, "I did what you said and grew a spine. Some fun it's been."

"Yeah, well. If you were smart, you wouldn't take my advice." I snapped.

The little redhead laughed, "I can't say I regret it. I took some of them down, that's more than I ever did before." Rory nodded while wiping at his blooded chin. I softened some, grunted in agreement. Rare that I could find a sense of friendship in others so quickly, especially smoothskins. Rarer still in Paradise.

"So this is it, huh?" Rory kept talking to plug the silence, "Two rats in a trap, stuck in this... this uh... what was this place?"

"A strip mall." I answered him, despite it flying over his head. Few weeks ago I wouldn't have an answer, but now, the row of dilapidated shops and the giant Big Boy in the center of all the little shopfronts... just made sense. The answers were there all along. And now, a bit of the pre-war me was sticking around, for good or ill.

The lights flickered again. I remembered more, blurrier things. The swelling emptiness I felt as we were being sentenced. Not to death. But something secret, something underground.

I could hear the screaming metal. That big, beastly cog of a door. Being... trapped.

A very familiar voice. A hated voice. Slimey, slinky. One that made me feel vulnerable and violent in one move. Doctor Khaulman:

Specialist McCarron. Though I suppose it's just "Charlie McCarron," considering recent events. What can you tell me about yourself?

"Nothing." I wheezed aloud to no one, leaning my head against the thin metal. Wincing with another flicker of the lights.

how long has it been
three weeks? can't remember
i haven't eaten. i think my hair is falling out. in my hands. it's definitely falling out. the lights.... the lights why do they keep flashing that damn light
how am i alive
my name is.... charlie mccarron... oh my god. i remember it today
is my brain falling out?
me i'm... it's slipping again. i'm
nobody.


Rory began to weep, startling me out the memories. He reached between the already cramped space between us. A mixture of pity and unease when I cautiously held him to my chest. It may've seemed unexpected, but I strangely felt bound to ease the dying man.

I thought of Philly. Something deep panged. Tears in my eyes.

"I don't want to rot in here." Rory whispered. "Not in Paradise Falls."

I sighed, "This is bad. But it ain't necessarily over." I told him.

He wiped his eyes on his filthy flannel as he scoffed, "How do you know?"

Because, surprisingly, a sliver of me had a hope that whatever path had led me to this horror would also allow me the chance to get out. That despite coming to the realization I was a wrathful monster, I was still worth saving.

That it wasn't all for nothing, I was more than a nobody.

I couldn't say that all out loud. Too vulnerable. So I answered Rory with fact,

"I've been through worse. And I'm still here."

I watched the night turn to sunlight in the small cracks of our prison, focused on the sharp smell of roasting brahmin outside our prison just to stay awake. Rory was slumbering with shallow breaths. I still held him, but there was no peace in my own quiet. Flickering light continued to mock what little left of me was sane.

Whatever came next--death or salvation--I dared it to come fast.