Crawlout Through the Fallout - Ch. 01

"No loss. The bitch's shot shattered his collarbone and shoulder. He would have slowed us down and whined the whole time."

"You never forgave him for grabbing your tit last year."

Willie scoffed. "Hell no, I didn't."

"It's fine, I only brought him 'cause he begged to come. I thought about killing him right then but figured he might have a use. We were going to have to kill him anyway if we didn't want him running to Nelson and ratting us out." Wade chuckled. "It worked out though, he soaked up a bullet for us."

"Yeah. Forget the whore and let's get moving. Franks used to bring Nelson some good shit. He's going to have a meltdown when he finds out we popped Franks and I don't want to be anywhere near here when he does."

I grimaced. I did not know Matty had traded with the raiders and suspected no one back at Ratchet Falls would have been happy he was enriching people that harassed and antagonized the local communities.

Not that anyone will figure it out now. Well, serves you right, Matty. You laid down with the dogs, so don't be mad you got fleas.

Twigs crunched underfoot as the raider siblings departed, talking about possible directions to flee.

I slumped, glad to hear them go. When I was sure they'd left, I waded out of my concealment. My feet were so cold they were numb. I climbed the bank, found a warm spot, and set my boots and pants on a sunny rock to at least get a little dry. I had a spare set of trousers but I'd have to wait for my shoes.

No matter what, it sounded like getting to Boston was going to be an adventure.

#

Twilight cast an increasingly dim glow over the ruined town. I gazed down at it from the ridge. It was a cluster of mostly-intact buildings about a central square. At a distance and in the fading light, I couldn't see a whole lot but there was definitely movement and the way some of the figures moved, there was no way they were human. Gunfire chattered in the distance and at one point, there was even a flash and a fireball arced skyward. A few seconds later, a low rumble, like far-off thunder, rolled across the hillside.

Looks lovely, Beth. You sure thought this through, didn't you?

I tore my gaze from the village and looked to the horizon. It was growing harder to see them by the moment but the semi-ruined buildings of Boston rose above the landscape. Some looked bigger and taller than anything I had ever seen and I refused to believe humans could build something so large. But every time I blinked, glanced away, and looked back, the buildings were still there.

I made it.

It had taken me three days of creeping through the woods to cover the distance of what the cart would have covered in that last day. Still, looking out over the tangled ruin of the city, I felt a certain sense of satisfaction. I didn't think Jim Bradson would chase me this far and even if he did, he'd have a hell of a time finding me somewhere in this mess.

My eyes fell to the town downhill from me. First things first.

I hunkered down for the night. Unless you had enemies already on top of you, moving around in the dark was dangerous to begin with and given the fight I was seeing, perhaps even more so than usual. I'd managed to snare two squirrels the night before and had spit-roasted each over a low fire, one of which I had saved. The cold meat was tough and a little dried-out but I thought it would fill my belly. It didn't and that brought a frown, over missed opportunities. Franks--he was back to being "Franks" and not "Matty" now that he was dead--had kept a bunch of food in his cart but that was all in the hands of raiders now.

Another flash erupted in the town below, followed by a second and a third, and then a chain of explosions rippled across the central square. As I watched the fires, a figure passed in front of the flames. I gasped at the sight, since the figure stood with head and shoulders level with the tops of two-story buildings. As fast as I'd seen the image, it vanished as the fires faded.

I shivered and wrapped my arms a little tighter around myself.

I woke to the morning song of nearby birds and a pale, cloudy dawn. Like every other night since I had left Ratchet Falls, I was mildly surprised I'd woken at all. Between the fierce beasts of the world--including the ones for which I had no names--and the even more monstrous human beasts, being asleep and vulnerable in the wilderness was always an invitation to have your throat cut.

Since I had awoken, I considered myself lucky for at least one more day. My stomach growled but I had nothing left to give it for now. I tapped the bag of bottlecaps hanging around my neck. I thought I might be able to find someone from whom I could purchase something to eat.

What if they don't use bottlecaps here?

I had never thought about it but the only reason I thought other places might use the same currency was that traders like Franks were always ready to deal in caps. But maybe they just shifted currencies for every community they visited. If that were true, my backpack still held a bunch of items of salvage, some of which would be valuable to someone. And failing that ... I took a deep breath. I'd do what I had to in order to survive.

I surveyed the town at the bottom of the hill. In the growing daylight, I could see a large lake behind it, stretching north to south across the direction I needed to travel. Naturally. Columns of smoke rose from several locations in the town and as I watched, the irregular crack-crack of rifle fire reached my ears.

I shook my head. Whatever was going on down there, I needed to avoid it.

My path took me north along the ridge. I kept the town to my right and made intermittent stops to check but I couldn't spot any movement coming my way. My eyes were drawn east as I walked. I planned to work my way around and see if I could skirt the lake. From there, if I followed the broad paved road in the distance, it might be a straight shot into the center of Boston and--

Loose soil slid underfoot. My hands shot out in an attempt to arrest my motion but I was too slow. I tumbled down the slight slope to collapse in a heap at the bottom. I stayed still for a moment, breathing heavily. I'd fallen into some shallow bowl-shaped depression in the middle of the woods. Fallen leaves and grass covered the bottom.

I gingerly raised my feet and legs, rotated my shoulders, flexed my fingers, and felt my ribs. Nothing appeared bruised or broken. My rifle and the pistol that had belonged to Franks were both still with me and appeared undamaged. Something wet sloshed at my back. I un-slung my backpack and opened it--and was dismayed to see my last can of purified water that had been sitting on top of my stuff was crushed and ruptured. Over half of it had drained into the pack.

Sighing, I grabbed the can, twisted the lid free, and drained the rest of it. I wasn't super-thirsty but better to get some benefit out of it rather than tossing the whole thing. I took out my salvage and dried it off as best I could, though nothing looked ruined or waterlogged. I replaced everything and just turned to see about climbing out when I saw it.

I picked up a stick and moved to the far corner of the depression. The pile of leaves had mostly obscured the body but one decayed hand still stuck out. As I gazed at the desiccated corpse, I could not help but notice the large round hole in the center of the unfortunate woman's forehead. Her clothes had mostly rotted away. Then I realized the body lay atop something. I gently rolled her to the side. A bulging backpack, similar to mine, lay beneath the body.

Wow. Maybe some ammo, salvage. Food? Caps?

I scoured the pack without touching it, looking for thin wires, pressure plates, or even explosives. Raiders were known to set out decoys like this and booby trap them. Old Rufus had found a crate on the road the previous summer and eagerly tore into it, ignoring the fact that it had not been there the day before, and also the beeping mine at his feet. There hadn't been enough of him left to bury.

Seeing no signs of a trap, I touched the pack. When nothing happened, I lifted it from its shroud of half-decayed leaves. Bits of debris clung to the leather exterior but it looked whole. I realized that I was more excited than at any point since I had left Ratchet Falls. Pops had referred to me fondly as his "little packrat," and I had to agree. I always loved finding new stuff, just for the thrill of discovery. My fingers trembled as I worked open the snap.

The pack was full. Right on top were two sealed cans of water. I exhaled in relief and transferred them to my pack. I pulled out an odd-looking hat that looked kind of silly to me but it was clean and whole so I figured it could be worth a few caps. There were two screwdrivers and an adjustable wrench, which was great; tools always sold well. I found a dozen bullets of a caliber I couldn't identify but that I still shoved in my pocket, figuring someone might want them. Under that were two small rectangular tins, each bearing the word, "Cram." I wrinkled my nose; Cram was preserved pre-war food, which meant some rad contamination. But in a pinch, the processed meat would do. I took them both.

The bottom of the pack was filled with a bundle of fabric. I pulled the wad free and shook it loose. It was a blue one-piece outfit of some kind. The fabric was soft yet resilient, resisting as I pulled on it. The number "81" was emblazoned on the back. It looked like it might fit me, if maybe a bit snugly.

I wondered if the suit was a tribal uniform of some kind or part of a specific raider gang or something. Still, the material felt good under my fingers and something told me that it would be warm. I thought about it for a moment, then shrugged, peeled off my clothes, and tugged the thing on. I'd been right and the garment fit like a second skin: tight but not uncomfortable. I scrunched my eyebrows together. The suit sure didn't leave much to the imagination either. But it was indeed warm, and thin enough that I was able to pull my outer garments back on, over top of it.

I took one last glance in the pack and was rewarded with the sight of twenty or so caps rattling around in the bottom. I couldn't help but smile.

Maybe things are looking up.

The skyward drift of smoke from the town below caught my eye.

Don't get ahead of yourself, Beth. Still a long way to go.

I climbed out of the depression and, keeping my head down, angled north and slightly east, moving from cover to cover. I paused every few minutes to listen and examine my environment. One thing I learned moving about the wasteland was that death could come at any moment, from any direction, and even if it did, I was going to do my best to not go easy.

My path carried me down the slope, to the more open ground north of the village and around the end of the long lake and the road there. I wasn't thrilled about moving out from cover but didn't see a lot of options. The broad road was more intact than most and made up of some sort of crumbling white pavement that was very unlike the tarry black chunks of road back home. In the distance, I could see it zooming into the sky, held aloft by thick white pillars of the same substance. Here and there, the white had flaked away, revealing rusted metal within. The whole edifice was amazing and I couldn't imagine anyone traveling on roads suspended in air, for fear of falling off.

Rusted hulks lined the pavement; Pops had called them automobiles or cars, which he said were carts that moved on their own, without a brahmin pulling them. Then Pops had told me to be careful around them since stray bullets could set them on fire, which would be followed by an explosion that would "rival a mini-nuke." Even though I had no idea what that meant, it sounded ominous. But I took his warning to heart and gave the metal vehicles a wide berth as I followed the road. As the path started to climb, waist-high barriers topped by metal rails appeared, lining both sides. I debated getting off the road but it still had a few ups and downs before it began a steady climb, and being slightly elevated, I could see a bit further, so I elected to stay on it for a while.

A handful of random pops echoed in the distance. I realized I'd heard gunfire almost non-stop since arriving on the ridge. Most of the time it was distant but still, it was ever-present, understating the dangers.

A guttural moan reached my ears. The hackles on the back of my neck stood up.

Twenty yards to my left, a twisted, yellowed body dressed in rags lurched to its feet from between two of the cars, uttering thick syrupy grunts. Only a few scraps of hair clung to its scalp and its eyes shone with a hungry light.

Fear tickled my heart. Feral! I raised my rifle.

Beyond the ghoul, another three also rose, moaning along with the first. As one, four heads swiveled my direction.

Oh God.

I panicked, firing twice. Without any sense of aim or patience on my part, both shots went wide and struck the vehicle just behind the feral. Flames erupted from the rear half. A minor boom popped, throwing a metal panel in the air.

Pops's words tore through my head: rival a mini-nuke. I wheeled and sprinted in the opposite direction. The savage snarls of the ferals followed.

Bright light and a detonation louder than any thunder rattled my bones, followed by a wave of heat washing over me. Scraps of metal zinged past my head. I staggered as I ran but through some miracle, I managed to stay on my feet. I glanced back and saw with horror that more of the cars were on fire, which appeared to be spreading even as I looked.

I veered right to the road's edge and dove over the rail. The ground was only a few feet below the edge. Even so, the impact drove the air from my lungs.

The world to my rear lit with explosion after explosion as the chain reaction blasted the road, raining fire and debris around me. The shattered, flaming frame of a car crashed down twenty feet to my left. I curled into a ball, praying nothing landed on me. The detonations continued for several seconds before fading. A moment later, there was no sound save the crackling of low-burning fires.

I slowly stood, checking for injuries. Impossibly, I seemed okay. I clutched my gun and scanned the area. There was no sign of the ferals.

No shit. If they were in the middle of that, I could probably scoop up what's left in a spoon.

The immediate threat might have been avoided but who else had heard the commotion and would come to check it out? I hurried away, trying to stay moving east but getting away from the smoldering mess behind me.

I'd had my fill of roads for the moment.

#

I kept waiting for someone, or something, to investigate the explosions on the road but no one did. I thought maybe that such events, like the distant gunfire, were a common-enough occurrence in the area that the residents ignored them. Maybe they didn't fear such things because they'd accepted that their deaths would probably be random and brutal. That made me laugh.

Maybe if I'd stayed in Ratchet Falls, my death would have been a clean one. Seeming less and less likely here. I shrugged. Nothing to do now but press on.

I entered another stretch of woods and walked for another hour. I eyed the tall buildings on the horizon and remembering that Franks told me Diamond City was in the middle of the spires, I kept correcting my course toward them. I didn't see anyone or anything bigger than a rabbit, for which I was thankful.

The sun had about reached its peak when I decided to take a break and see what I had to eat, which turned out to be precious little. I drained one of the cans of water I'd found and with reluctance, opened one of the tins of Cram. The processed meat tasted like ass but it stifled the grumbling in my belly. I scraped the thing clean.

I'd just finished when a harsh laugh drifted through the trees. I froze and waited for a second laugh, so I could pinpoint the source. A second later, I was rewarded with another.

To the east.

I gently put down the empty Cram tin and picked up my rifle. I didn't need to think, the number of remaining rounds was embedded in my brain. I'd fired one at the wagon ambush, then two panicked shots at the ghouls on the road. After escaping the attack, I'd counted the bullets in Franks's pistol. There were five.

Thirteen rounds left. Unlucky thirteen. Perfect.

I slung the pack around my shoulders and crept through the trees, reaching the edge of the woods quickly enough. I stationed myself behind a thick trunk and peered out. Two men strolled up the road, one in front of the other.

I gasped. The one in the lead was completely naked. He was a little darker-skinned than me and clean-shaven, with collar-length brown hair and an open, honest face, though it was at the moment twisted in a scowl.

The one in the rear was head-to-toe dressed in black leather and was considerably shorter and fatter than the first. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He held a short-barreled gun in both hands, that he used to prod the other man forward. "Come on, Thompson. I haven't got all day."

"You don't want to do this, Rogers." The leading man's voice reflected a mixture of fear and defiance. "When Valentine finds out, he's gonna--"

"That bucket of bolts isn't going to do shit." Rogers flicked his cigarette away. "We'll recycle his ass."

"He'll get the Vault Dweller after you."

A shadow of fear passed over Rogers's face but only for a moment. "Too bad for you she'll never find out. Okay, I think we've gone far enough. Stop right there."

They halted. The naked man turned and faced his captive. Hate covered his face.

The short man motioned. "Turn around."

"You're going to have to shoot me in the face."

"If you say so." He raised his weapon.

The smart move would have been to do nothing. The smart move would have been to let the one shoot the other, wait for the shooter to leave, then move on. I could hear Pops saying the words: don't get involved. Look out for yourself.

The image of Matty Franks as he lay dying filled my mind and my guilt at leaving him stabbed straight into my heart. I raised my rifle, took aim, and fired.

My round caught the shooter in the side of the head. He toppled without a word.

The naked man gaped, then scrambled for his enemy's weapon.

I lunged from the bush, the rifle out in front of me. "Hold it."

He stopped, his eyes wide.

In an instant, the guilt receded, replaced by utter dismay at the foolishness of my actions. Goddamn bleeding heart. What the hell was I thinking? I don't need this trouble. I jerked the rifle to the right, in the opposite direction from which he'd come. "Go on, get out of here."

His eyes flicked to the dead man.

I shook my head. "Uh uh. My salvage." I raised the rifle. "Beat it."

He shook his head. The motion made his whole body shake, including his dong, and I had to suppress the urge to laugh. "I need something from him."

"No."

"Just a holotape," he said, his tone stubborn. "That's it. You can have the rest."

"I can kill you now and take what I want."

"You wouldn't have saved me just to kill me."

I swore to myself. He'd read me a little too well.

The man glanced in the direction from which he'd come. "We don't have too long. His friends took all my gear and clothes and told Rogers to take care of me. They were expecting a shot to finish me off but when he's not back in a few minutes, they're going to come looking."

Fuck me. I gritted my teeth. "Back off for a minute."

He did.

Without taking my eyes from him, I knelt by the body. The dead man's gun was a short shotgun with two barrels but it had a shoulder strap, so I was able to sling it. Seven more shells lined his belt and I took those, as well as a knife strapped to his hip, plus the handful of caps in his pocket. Finding no other weapons and no salvage aside from his clothes, I stood and took a few steps back, keeping my weapon at the ready.