» Thu Jan 13, 2011 8:51 pm Man, I'll tell ya. There ain't no place like http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B1mqJWotuAE&feature=related. No town is anything like it here. No sir.
What do I mean? Well for starters, they love animals here.
Most of the time, when you run into a dog out in the waste, your first thought is, "Dinner is served!" Well, once you kill it, butcher it and, unless you're in a hurry, grill it up. Dog is a fine meal.
But out here, the local indigenous folks love their pets. The raiders call themselves the Fangs, and they raise the cutest little things you've ever seen. I saw one once. Well, let me step back. I saw a poster of the dog they raise, this cute thing despite its tiny, rat like features. Some blonde bombshell had it in her purse, with giant eyes that reflected the light. My partner Joe called them, "Che-hu-ah-hu-ah." Poor schmuck never learned to read.
Poor schmuck is also dead. Turned out those Che-hu-ah-hu-ahs kinda sorta mutated since the dumb sonuva [censored] put that poster up. Now? They're more ratlike, and got a thing for spitting some of the most toxic barbs ever to brace a man's skin. Joe's arm went purple and black in a hurry and he stopped breathing as the swelling forced the air out of his lungs. I miss Joe, but I sure as heck don't wanna join him just yet. So I ran.
Speaking of which, I'm still running.
Reuben's worn boots kicked off rocks and debris, pieces of cement torn from the sidewalks of what was once Astor Avenue in Bronxdale. The dying light of day was burning a bright orange in the distance, but for the dwindling warmth of the sky, Reuben's stomach felt cold. They were still chasing them.
"Why'd you have to get yourself killed Joe? We coulda taken them if you just ducked your damn head," Reuben muttered to himself and stole a glance over his shoulder.
The mutated dogs were still in pursuit, although their shorter legs and the uneven terrain made keeping up with him hard. Their hair was wet with passing through puddles of muddied water, their thin tails whipping against their sides. It was when they opened their mouths and the membranes along their gum parted did Reuben throw himself behind the shell of an New Age Cadillac, long since dilapidated and rusted from time and disuse. The Rathuahua's barbs drummed against the panels of the vehicle, and the sound made Reuben sneer as he reached for his holster and drew the 10mm.
Putting his elbows against the hood, Reuben narrowed his gaze and tried to control his pounding heart and hastened breath. With slow deliberateness, his fingers squeeze the trigger, and the hammer came down. The sound of man made thunder cracked despite no clouds in the sky, and Reuben was rewarded with a yelp as one of the dogs took a lethal round.
The other Rathuahua's, startled by the gun shot and the death of one of their own, quickly turned away, cringing before dashing off back the way they came. Reuben trained his sites on them, but didn't fire, content to see them off in the distance. Once they were gone, he turned and sighed, lowering himself onto the ruined streets of Bronxdale, "Why does everyone in this town wanna piece of me..."
Reuben's skin became to crawl as he felt the chill of night approaching, the last rays of the sun dipping below the horizon to the west, and with a sigh he realized he should probably find a place to hole up for the night.
Joe's death hurt because I lost a friend, but also because he had most of the water we were carrying. Sure, it was mostly dirty stuff we picked up from Hoboken, but it was wet and satisfied. I had a couple of bottles, some cram, dried apples and a few other odds and ends to munch on so I could afford to go without scavenging too much tonight. But I was just putting off what had to be done.
It's my first day here and that was one helluva welcome. We managed to get passed the bridge that was once Interstate 95 to the west, and were hoping to find a friendly face or two. Instead, all we found were patrols of raiders and their dogs. We skipped passed most of them by hiding among the buildings, but then one patrol got too close with those dogs and bam. Race was on.
I went ahead and walked a few more blocks to the south before deciding upon some house to settle in for the night. A quick sweep confirmed that no one was home and no one lived there anymore. On the bright side, I found a can of Pork 'n Beans in a cabinet in the kitchen. Looks like whoever scavenged this place left in a hurry and overlooked it.
There was a basemant, with walls of cement and no lights. I thought about it for a second and decided to go ahead and camp there for the night. As I descended, I kept the door open long enough to rip boards of wood and anything else I could find, gathering it in the center and taking my hatchet to them. Setting up the wood, I sprinkled a little of the higher proof alcohol I had in my pack before striking an old match and lighting it up. Once done, I ran back upstairs, taking a last look around. Outside the window, I saw buildings and dead trees, and the last rays of light disappearing in the distance over the horizon. And slowly, I shut the door and set up the board to block it from being opened again by placing it between the handle and the jam.
Nights like this were rare in the wastes. You couldn't find much shelter to hide from the raiders, so Joe and I would sometimes go a day or two taking fast naps and keeping an eye out. Moments like now, where we could let our guard down were what we lived for. We'd laugh and told old jokes our families and friends gave to us.
Family.
Man, when you're out in the wastes, you begin to want for one again. Families are the building block of everything most of us have in our youths. They protect us, try to feed us. Lotta young guys don't get the value of family 'til they're trying to struggle on their own. I pulled over the mattress I found in a corner towards the fire to keep warm, and felt like thinking about family as a blessing and a curse.
When I was about six, mom ran out. I mean, dad treated her right. About as right as one could imagine in the wastes, ya know? He found or worked to earn food as best he could. We even got ourselves some brahmins, took care of them to keep milk available. But mom? She hated it. Before having me, mom and dad used to wander, swindle, survive. Then mom got pregnant. Dad was happy. He was getting kinda tired of goofing off in life and stealing, so he worked hard to start a life. He screwed up a lot at first, but got better at it. But mom? She wasn't ready. She didn't want to milk brahmin or defend anything, least of all some shack out in Maryland.
So one day, this posse comes by. Bunch of guys, well armored and armed. Everyone's a little nervous but they didn't want any trouble. Just trade some caps for goods. Except for the leader.
Man, this guy was one suave schmuck. Something rich too. Word was he had a little harem, and the real reason these guys were there was to pick through the girls and find the pretty ones to add. They didn't have to steal them either: They had food and plenty of drinks and protection. So when mom caught their eye, the choice was being someone's prosttute for everything she needed, or staying here and carving out a good life through hard word and defending against raiders. Guess for some people, it's easier to spend their life on their back then to stand up on their own.
So mom just disappeared. No notes, no goodbyes. She didn't wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me she loved me and dad. Just a cold spot in dad's bed.
I was scared afterwards that dad would just up and leave me too. But he didn't. He struggled and he worked and he kept me alive. She may have quit to find an easier life, but dad didn't. Maybe it's cause I was all he had. But now dad's gone too, and the only reason I came here was to see her.
Somewhere in the Big Apple, she was here. I don't really know why I came or care. But she ran out on him. And now he's gone. I don't need her to survive or go on, but... I just, I just need to look her in the eye when I tell her how he died.
The fire had gone out in the middle of the night, and when Reuben awoke in the morning, he climbed the stairs and carefully opened the door. The sun was rising in the east, and over fields of gray and brown, the towering sky scraqers of New York called out to him. His mother was out there. And maybe a new future here, somehow.
As the sun rose, a shadow over a billboard began to fade. And in its place, a poster. It was the Vault Boy, smiling widely in a fine three piece suit while waving. The sign in cursive read, "Manhatten welcomes you to New York!"
"Gotta love this town," Reuben murmured.
