» Fri May 27, 2011 6:37 am Victor Jones pulled at the collar of his uniform, it seemed to be constricting and choking him. He knew it was only his imagination, it was only his nerves. He hated being nervous. Through his entire career he tried to channel the emotion, and had succeeded. At times of worry and stress he did not give in to the clenching feeling that seized his gut, instead he shaped it into awareness and preparation. In his opinion an Enclave Officer should never exhibit any kind of weakness to those under his command, and the indecisive anxiety of nervousness was something that should be hidden from them at all times. Regardless, sitting on the bench outside his commander's office he could not stop but feel the gnawing apprehension grip his stomach in an iron fist. Captain Kitchener was not a man to be trifled with. He had the Colonel's ear, and some said that he was the third most powerful man in the remaining Enclave forces. In the turmoil of the push out East, it was Captain Kitchener who had proven his understanding of tactics and employed said tactics to great effect against the mutants and wastelanders that dared to confront the Enclave troops. Victor was nearly overcome with pride when he received the order that he had been requested by the Captain to lead a squad of soldiers charged with the security of Project Themis. Victor had no idea what the project was concerned with, that was 'need to know' only. Before he arrived he apparently had no need to know, but once here he could not help but feel disappointed at his posting. Who would have thought that one of the Enclave's most distinguished commanders, and the youngest officer ever to make the rank of lieutenant, would be assigned to guarding a small compound of ghoul prisoners? The Captain referred to it as a Mutant Rehabilitation Centre, but Victor knew what it really was. It was a prison, an internment camp. He did not understand why the Enclave was even bothering to pen the damn zombies up, what was the point of keeping them alive? Victor remembered his training and the lessons from his schooling. Mutants were nothing but a blight on humanity's attempts to struggle back from the abyss, a hindrance to humanity reclaiming the world for itself. The only good mutant was a dead mutant, as far as he was concerned. They should all be lined up against a wall and shot, but it seemed that his Enclave superiors had different ideas. So Victor assigned the guard duties, made sure the compound was secure. There had been no incidents of any mention, well until the attempted escape of one of his ghoul inmates last week. The junior officer who allowed himself to be overcome and had his sidearm taken from him had been duly punished, the prisoner executed on Victor's order. Was that what the Captain wanted to talk to him about? Was the Captain displeased? Victor did not have the time to consider any more possibilities. The door to the Captain's office was carefully opened and the aide-de-camp, a young sergeant with a grim expression, stepped out.
"Lieutenant, the Captain will see you now," was all the sergeant said, and Victor stood with a sigh before pulling himself straight and marching crisply into the office.
Hugo suddenly found the ground racing up to meet him at an uncomfortable velocity. He landed face first on the dusty floor of the compound, the air rushing out of his lungs. The two power armoured guards behind him laughed in their sealed helmets.
"Damn skinless," crackled the one loud enough for Hugo to hear, "You'd better hope my armour doesn't stink after having touched you."
The other laughed mockingly, "Couldn't smell any worse than you."
"Shut up, Bryce. And close the damn gate will you. Don't want another of these zombies getting out."
The metal gate shut behind Hugo with an audible click, and he rolled onto his back with a groan. There hadn't been any need for them to hit him, but they seemed amused driving their batons into his crotch. He hadn't struggled, obeyed every single one of their commands. Still, they took relish in smacking him across the back of his legs and telling him to walk faster. When he did they lashed out again and told him to slow down. He knew that if he still had skin covering the now exposed and hardened musculature of his body, he would be covered in a myriad of swelling, purple bruises. He was about to push himself up onto his feet when a hand was suddenly extended over his face. Looking up he saw another of his kind. The skin and lips of the ghoul's mouth had tightened, being drawn back from the yellowing teeth that were now bared in a forced smile. The cartilage of his nose had long cracked off, and the skin on the hand and face turned to ashen flakes in a time forgotten. What remained of his hair was patchy, clumps of dead blond precariously holding onto the remains of his scalp. Hugo reached out and took the hand, letting his fellow ghoul help him to his feet. His would be welcomer suddenly leaned in close to his face and took a long, hard snort of his scent.
"New one, eh?" came the hoarse, croaked question as the ghoul released a cackled giggle, "Still smell a little fresh. After the bombs, eh? What happened? Fall in a vat of something, live near a rad dump? Name's Thomas the Tongue, 'cause I talk a lot I guess. Been here for seven, no make that eight weeks. You just got here right? Let me show you 'round, lots to see."
Hugo brushed the dust from the front of his red and black plaid shirt with his free hand, the ghoul called Tom still hadn't released the one he was shaking. The talkative ghoul was short, but there was no way to guess how old he was. Hugo looked down at his captured hand still being vigorously pumped by Tom.
"Oh, yeah. Heh, guess you want that back," he chuckled with a gurgle, "don't want that falling off, do we?"
He released Hugo's hand with a wink of his good eye, the other seemed to be completely covered by a persistent cataract. Tom stepped next to Hugo and then gave him a gentle shove in the small of his back.
"Not a good idea, friend, to be standing too long in front of the gate," continued the ghoul incessantly, "Makes the boys in the suits a little jumpy. Don't want you getting shot before the tour, do we? Heh, lots to see, lots to see."
Hugo let himself be guided away from the compound's main gate. On the side were the buildings and barracks of the the men who had imprisoned him, according to Tom. He said they called themselves the Enclave, or something like that. On this side was where the prisoners lived. Tents had been erected in the centre of the dusty compound, and a small hastily erected ablution block had been constructed to one side. The entire compound was ringed by a thirty foot fence, and Tom gleefully informed Hugo that it was electrified. He said that one ghoul prisoner had attempted to scale it. The guards just cranked up the juice and fried him dead before he even got half way up. Every time Hugo opened his mouth to ask a question, Tom hushed him and either introduced him to a fellow ghoul, who merely looked away, or his guide pointed out another innocuous landmark of the compound. The brief and somewhat whirlwind tour ended with Hugo being half shoved into a tattered tent. Bunks lined the sides and back of it, and a small table had been set up in the middle of it. Four other ghouls were inside, three seated at the table and a fourth lay on one of the bunks. The three at the table looked up at Tom and Hugo as they entered, one shaking his head in Tom's direction.
"Another one?" was all he said, not even bothering to remove the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
Tom ignored him and led Hugo over to a nearby bunk. The mattresses were dirty, filthy beyond comprehension. The bunks themselves looked barely stable, their metal frameworks rusting and decaying before his eyes.
"This is my bunk, but you can have the top one, okay? We can be buddies, you seem like a good listener," Tom then shot a dark glance at the three ghouls seated around the table, "Not like some other ghouls here that I won't mention. Some won't even give a fella the time of day. Inconsiderate bastards."
The smoking ghoul looked up from the hand of cards he was holding and fixed Tom in his gaze, "Best you keep that hole you call a mouth shut, Tongue. Or, I can come over and close it for you. Want that?"
Tom sneered at the card playing ghoul and then sat down on the bunk. He patted the mattress next to him, an indication that Hugo should join him. Still somewhat bewildered and certainly confused, Hugo couldn't help but sag down next to the ghoul they called Tongue.
In a whisper that was clearly uncharacteristic of Tom, the ghoul leaned close to his ear and spoke, "That's Ford. Thinks of himself as a big man 'round here. His buddies are Dodge and Lincoln. They're always hanging out together, playing cards or something."
"Where are they from?" asked Hugo with his own hushed whisper.
Tom shook his head, "Can't rightly say. All I know is that Ford's a pre-War ghoul, like me. Don't know 'bout the other two, though I heard Dodge say something about being a soldier or something."
Tom shrugged and Hugo took this rare opportunity to squeeze in a second question, "Who's that on the bed?"
It was difficult for a ghoul to express themselves fully. It was amazing how the lack of a significant amount of facial tissue rendered the ability to read the small nuances of human expression impossible. Hugo did see something though, Tom's good eye betrayed him. It was alarm, a tempered fear that seemed to creep up from inside the ghoul and momentarily flash in his eye. Tom shifted his weight slightly away from Hugo.
"Oh, him. Um, he's nobody. Just a pretty shaken up fella. I try to do the best by him," and then in a louder voice, "None of these other bastards give a damn 'bout anyone but themselves."
There was thump from the table. The one called Ford threw down his cards in disgust. His chair scraqed gratingly on the floor as he pulled himself to his feet. Hugo glanced over and saw that the man had curled both of his fists into tight little balls. His fellow card playing ghouls shook their heads and watched their friend as he slowly strode over to the bunk where Hugo and Tom were seated.
"Tongue!" growled Ford, not even attempting to hide the anger in his grated voice, "Thought I told you to shut the hell up?"
Tom shuffled to the far end of the bunk as quickly as he could, his body hunched in expectation of the blows that were to come. Hugo was on his feet before Ford could reach the cowering ghoul. He found himself standing chest to chest with the raging Ford.
"Get out of my way, new-meat!" ordered Ford, but Hugo stood his ground.
He wondered if he would be able to take Ford if it came to blows, but he still felt compelled to act. Tom was so far the only one of them that seemed to have any time for him, it would be a disservice not to defend the ghoul in his time of need. Ford reached forward to shove Hugo out of his way, but as his palm pressed into his shoulder Hugo suddenly reached up with one hand and grabbed the offending arm by the wrist. He deftly twisted the wrist in its naturally opposing direction until he felt resistance and heard Ford gasp in both surprise and pain. Chairs at the table toppled over as Dodge and Lincoln sprung to their feet and rushed over to assist their friend. Hugo did not hesitate, soon he would be outnumbered three to one. Still holding Ford's wrist at the jarring angle, he lashed out with his foot. The short kick made solid contact with the inside of Ford's knee, and the bigger ghoul began to topple over. Hugo released his opponents wrist a split second before shattering point, when resistance would have given way to tendon tearing and bone snapping. Ford fell to one side, grabbing at his damaged knee and then suddenly gripping his throbbing wrist. Hugo didn't know if it was Dodge or Lincoln that reached him first, introductions hadn't gotten that personal. The ghoul swung at him with an arcing punch, one that he easily ducked under before bringing his own fist up to jab into his attacker's solar plexus. The wind and the fight rushed at of the ghoul as he too fell aside gasping for air and grasping at his chest. The third hesitated at that moment, uncertain at seeing both his friends so quickly dispatched. Hugo didn't waste the precious opening he had been given and stepped close to the reluctant ghoul. One hand darted forward, the space between his thumb and index finger slamming into his attacker's throat. Simultaneously he hooked one foot behind his one of his opponent's, in essence giving himself leverage to offset the ghoul's larger weight and trip him. The ghoul was perfectly horizontal to the floor for a brief second, hovering well above it. Hugo pushed down on the ghoul's throat, adding force to the fall. The third and final attacker joined his friends, rasping sounds rattling his throat as he tried to svck in air. Ford was recovering, rising to his feet. Facial expressions in ghouls may have been difficult to read, but Ford's body language wasn't. He meant business, he meant murder. Hugo took a step back, and Ford advanced. As he reached striking zone, a unsettling sound rose up from the bunk on which the tent's other occupant lay. It struggled forth, full of effort and suffering.
"Ford!" was the harsh whisper, a single word. It was enough to freeze Ford in place, enough to have every ghouls head swing slowly to look at the speaker. The seemingly bedridden ghoul had pushed himself onto one elbow, his other emaciated arm held outstretched. A single skeletal finger pointed in the direction of the altercation, both as an accusation and a warning.
"Enough," came the second forced word as the figure slumped back down onto the bed.
Ford nodded slowly and then moved over to the bed, the still extended finger bidding him to do so. Ford knelt next to the thin ghoul, lending his ear to the man's croaking lips. Hugo heard the hoarse, hushed whispers but could not make out what was said. Moments later Ford pulled himself up and without looking at anyone else spoke an order.
"Everyone out! Now," and almost as one every ghoul in the tent began to shuffle for the exit, "Not you, new-meat. The Doctor wants a word with you...alone."
Hugo froze in place as the others filed out quickly. Tom was the last to leave, and as he did he briefly turned back to look Hugo directly in the eyes. Then, inexplicably, he winked before departing from view. Hugo was unsure of what to do, but then the finger that was nothing more than bone waved him closer. Hugo followed, cautiously. He dropped to one knee as Ford had when he reached the ghoul's bedside, and the ghoul looked up at him slowly. He was clearly suffering, the exposed muscles on his arms faded nearly grey in places while on others they seemed a swollen bright red. His bright blue eyes were bloodshot, and starting to yellow in the corners, and his hands trembled slightly every several seconds.
"Fear not," the Doctor didn't speak the words as much as he seemed to push them out with the greatest of effort, "It is not transmutable, uh...it is nothing you can contract, catch."
Hugo nodded and then let the words tumble out his mouth, "Who are you? What has happened to you?"
The ghoul coughed, a wracking heave that shook not only his body but the bunk as well, "Doctor Elegnem, at your service. What has happened to me? Torture, my boy, torture."
With that the ghoul pointed to a cup of water lying on the floor next to his bunk. Hugo picked it up, and out of habit sniffed the contents. It was pretty clean as far as water in the Wastes went. He held it to the doctor's lips and let a trickle slide into his mouth. He stopped pouring only when the ghoul started to cough once again.
"Thank you," said the Doctor with effort, "A by-product of the chems they pump into my system with each...interrogation. They have little idea how much we can...take."
Hugo was unsure of what to say, what to do. The doctor reached out with a fleshless, bony hand and rested it gently on Hugo's shoulder.
"That was very brave, my young friend," continued Doctor Elegnem with renewed effort, "Coming to Tom's aid like that. But take this as a fair warning, sometimes it is better to err on the side of caution."
Hugo was about to speak, to defend himself. However, the Doctor closed his eyes and rolled onto his back with a sigh. Ford appeared in the tent's doorway and barked at Hugo to get out. He said Elegnem needed his rest and that he should be left alone. Hugo had no choice, he had to leave the ghoul's bedside. As he walked past Ford he couldn't help but notice that there was no anger in the ghoul's eyes, only a measure of amusemant. When he stepped outside and into the harsh sunlight, Hugo saw Tom a little way off talking to Dodge and Lincoln. They seemed to be a lot more familiar than he expected them to be. Tom nodded in his direction and ambled over slowly.
"Now, friend," he said in a calmer, soothing voice, "Don't be mad..."
Hugo was. He was angry and embarrassed. He didn't enjoy being played for a fool, but that was exactly what Tom had done to him. The Tongue told him that the welcoming at the gate and the encounter in the tent was all a test, a way to discover what kind of ghoul Hugo was. There had been incidents in the past where newly arrived ghouls had caused nothing but trouble, there had even been ghouls willing to collaborate with those holding them prisoner. Doctor Elegnem prided himself as something of a student of ghoul nature, able to read an individual by placing them in a high stress situation. Apparently he was satisfied with the way Hugo reacted to his little charade performed by Ford and Tom. Hugo was not impressed. He stormed away from Tom and spent the next week avoiding the Doctor's tent and any of his subordinates. He bunked in another of the tents, and stayed clear of them when the meagre food supplies were dumped over the wall. He had no desire to be part of their little plans, whatever they were.
That all changed on the morning of the eighth day of his captivity. The ghouls were required to line up in front of the gate every morning for roll call. It seemed that the guards had no desire to entire the compound unless it was completely necessary. Every morning it was Ford who half carried the Doctor into line as they were counted by the armoured guard from the security of the gate. This morning was different though. As they stood there the gates slowly swung open and three guards marched in. They swept their laser rifles over the assembled ghouls, almost taunting someone to make an erratic and irrational move. Everyone stood stock still. Two of the guards each grabbed a ghoul by the neck, one had been standing right next to Hugo. The third marched directly over to where Ford was holding up the still trembling Doctor. The power suited soldier did not even bother asking Ford to release the Doctor. He merely struck Ford aside with the back of his gauntleted hand, Elegnem dropping to the ground in a slump. Then, without concern for the ghoul's condition, the guard hooked one arm under the doctor's armpit and dragged him from the compound courtyard. Still none of the ghouls moved. When the gate finally slid closed, Lincoln and Dodge rushed over to help Ford back onto his feet. Hugo felt someone move next to him. It was Tom the Tongue.
"You know either of the other two?" he asked in a weary voice.
Hugo shook his head. He recognised them, one was called Squirrel if he remembered correctly.
"Good," said Tom as he turned away, "'Cause you won't see them again."
"Wait," was Hugo's hushed reply, "Tom, what is going on here?"
Tom the Tongue sighed, and then with an absent minded wave of his hand bid Hugo to follow him. He led Hugo to a table set up out outside one of the tents far from where the other ghouls were milling around. It was there that Hugo learnt the awful truth of the place he was being held in. It was unsettling to say the least, unsettling and most definitely disturbing. He was told of the Enclave, their seemingly insatiable need to recover as much pre-War technology as they could. He heard about how they consider the mutations of the waste nothing more than a blight on the future of humanity. Tom continued by telling him how Doctor Elegnem had once been an imminent pre-War scientist, working for the American government in its war effort against the Chinese. The good doctor was a member of a secret project to assess the effects of radiation on living tissue, what the consequences of prolonged exposure would yield. He was not the only one, their were others conducting similar experiments. Few of the test subjects survived such experiments, apparently those that did were complete aberrations. Then, one fateful day, the doctor made his breakthrough. He discovered a way to ensure that although tissue mutated under the effects of radiation, it did not mean that the subject had to be rendered nothing more than a mass of corrupted cells. He immediately began to develop a serum from his 'resistant' tissue samples. The Elegnem Serum. Tom turned to stare at Hugo with his good eye as he broached this point.
"Imagine," said Tom, "Soldiers modified at a genetic level by this discovery, completely impervious to radiation. Even better, a civilian population with no fear of nuclear attack. Hell, the Doc would have been a hero. No need for them Vaults, everyone safe from the bombs. No bloody ghouls either."
"Vaults?" asked Hugo, there was a lot to take in.
"Yeah," replied Tom as he scratched his bad eye, "Story for 'nother time I guess. So, now the Doc is working on his serum, getting ready to save humanity. Small glitch, bombs start falling out the sky. They try and get him to get in the Vault they got all set up. He says there's no bloody need, and refuses. Now, the Doc's not stupid. No way he's testing the stuff on himself first. Some lab assistant volunteers, and the doc shoots him up and then sticks him in a chamber where he gets bombarded with radiation. Wouldn't you know it, the bastard lives. Stumbles out the the radiation chamber, begging for a drink of water. Naturally the Doc gives him one. Next thing you know the fella is lying on the floor coughing up his now cooking internal organs. Seems the water acted like some type of catalyst. Fella was stone dead, and the Doc's serum a failure. Well for humans at least."
Hugo couldn't help but shake off the disbelief that had crept into his consciousness. A failed scientific experiment, so what? What did that have to do with him? What did it have to do with any of this? It made no sense. He was about to voice his concerns when Tom idly held up a hand to silence him.
"Not finished yet. See, the Doc had a plan to release the serum in the air, like some type of gas. Don't ask me how. Now, think about it. This Enclave hates us mutants, right? Probably hate all them radroaches and radscorpions, too. Who knows what the hell else is out there. We all irradiated, it in our genes so the Doc says. Don't know about you, but I can't go too long without a drink. The Enclave would like nothing better than seeing us all cook up and die."
All the pieces of the puzzle fell into place for Hugo at that moment. Now, it all made perfect sense. The Enclave wanted Elegnem's secrets. They wanted to use his discovery as a weapon against the mutants of the world. Ghouls included. Obviously they didn't know where his lab was, that was why they were interrogating him. Killing him slowly, causing enough pain to have him beg for death at the expense of the knowledge he had secreted away.
"But why the rest of us?" asked Hugo slowly.
Tom shrugged, "Maybe they think some of us also got secrets. We the only things living from before the bombs, right? Maybe they think we know other things they want. Then again, maybe they just use us to try and make the Doc talk. He said he doesn't see any others when they take him away, but he hears them screaming. His eyes tell that he's not telling me the whole truth, though."
Tom placed a hand on Hugo's shoulder, "One day they going to kill him, or he's going to talk and then we've all had it. We got a plan though, we got a plan."
Hugo looked up, "Plan?"
A group of ghouls wandered over to the table and started to sit on the chairs ringing it. They interrupted their conversations just long enough to glare at both Hugo and Tom. Tom grinned at them madly and then with a bob of his head had Hugo follow him away from the others.
"Not yet," said Tom looking around carefully, "Loose lips and all that. Let's just say you impressed the Doc when you took on Ford and the others. We going to need you, Hugo."
With that Tom the Tongue walked away from a slightly dumbfounded Hugo, leaving him standing in the courtyard with his thoughts swirling around in his head. Hugo knew things were coming to a some type of fruition. He couldn't explain it even if he wanted to, but he knew something was going to happen. More importantly, he was going to be a part of it. His stomach knotted in anticipation, a twinge of fear taking hold. The consequences of failure would be dire. He walked over to the empty tent he had been spending his days and nights in. Lying on the filthy bunk he closed his eyes, and let his mind drift over what he had been told that day. There was a plan, he just hoped it meant a chance to get out of the predicament he found himself in.
It was nearly three days later that the gate swung open once again at that morning's roll call. Doctor Elegnem was dragged into the courtyard by two armoured guards, each holding one of his arms. They deposited him without remorse at the feet of the other ghouls, many of whom backed away from the Doctor slowly. It was Ford, Tom and Hugo who rushed to the ghoul's side, and Ford slowly rolled the him over carefully. There were burn marks on his face, the exposed flesh singed black. His right hand was now featureless, the bones crushed so badly that it was difficult to distinguish individual fingers. He was alive, barely. His breathing shallow and laboured, the only saving grace was that he had succumbed to unconsciousness. Ford lifted him gently from the ground and carried him into their tent. The others followed. Hugo was reluctant at first, but eventually filed in behind the others.
Tom shook his head, "This is the worst I've seen them do to him. Can't imagine he can make it through many more. He didn't talk though, that's a blessing I suppose."
"How can you be so sure?" asked Hugo, unable to completely disguise the sudden alarm in his voice.
Tom sighed, "'Cause he's here. If he told them what they wanted to hear, then he'd be dead."
They spent the next three days nursing the doctor back to consciousness. Each took turns to carefully spoon water into his mouth, each took turns to sit with him during the fever dreams that made him groan restlessly. It became increasingly clear to all of them that Doctor Elegnem would never walk from his bunk ever again. He was a ghoul dying, a ghoul that had no hope of surviving another interrogation session with his captors. On the the fourth morning since the Doctor's return, he started to slip back into unconsciousness. They tried to keep him awake, tried to save him from death's embrace. They were failing. As they sat around the table in the tent, none willing to look another in the eyes, it was Tom who broached the subject of the plan.
"We got to do it soon, the Doc's not got long now," he said as he rubbed his bad eye.
The others nodded in agreement, all except for Hugo. He still had no idea what the plan was. Perhaps they had decided that he was no longer needed. Tom had said that he was going to be part of whatever it was, but he still had no idea how. Lincoln stood and walked over to the tent's entrance, standing guard. Tom reached into the tattered coat he always wore and pulled out a small piece of yellowed parchment. He laid it on the table carefully, smoothing out the folds. Hugo leaned in to take a closer look. It was a map of some sort, there were particular landmarks that he recognised. The outcropping of a rock, a dry river bed that forked in two, the towers to the East. Hugo looked up to Tom who nodded.
"Doc and I worked on this," he said in a whisper, "Leads to his lab. We got to get there, destroy his work. Even if the Doc never tells them where it is, one day they could still find the place. Then its all over for all of us."
Ford, Lincoln and Dodge stared at the map sombrely. Ford coughed lightly to clear his throat.
"Digging is as done as we going to get it," he said with heavy fatigue coating his voice, "Wide enough for the two of you to get into the pipe now. We'll do our part. Sunrise tomorrow?"
Tom nodded, "Yeah, guess so. Now, I got to have a little talk with Hugo here."
The others rose slowly from their chairs, it seemed to Hugo that a sudden shroud of foreboding and utter doom had settled over them. They looked as sad and depressed as a ghoul could. Tom patted Lincoln, the biggest of the three on the back as he exited the tent. Then he wandered over to sit back down with Hugo.
"Friend," he started, "We need you. It be too stupid to just send one of us out there to get to the lab. You seen the others, they too big for it."
"Too big for what, Tom?" asked Hugo confused.
"Well," replied Tom with a crackled laugh, "We ghouls are always in the crap, but you and I going to be really in it this time."
Hugo's eyes would have opened wider had they been able too, "The ablution block? That's what ford meant by digging."
Tom nodded, "Yeah. They've dug a hole just big enough for us to get into the larger sewer pipe. It goes all the way out of the compound. Ford says he's got a little distraction planned to give us time to get away. We got one shot, Hugo, and we taking it tomorrow morning."
Hugo nodded, his fate was sealed. It seemed that the ghouls were all dead either way. If Elegnem died, they were no longer a necessity. If he gave up the location of the lab, they would all die horrible deaths at the hands of the Doctor's serum. There was a single, slim chance of survival. At least for two of them. Hugo tossed and turned in his bunk that night, and not just because of the foul odour rising from his mattress. Swimming in the sewage seemed to be the least dangerous part of the plan. Finally the tent was holding sleeping ghouls, deep breaths mingling with gargled snores. Sleep had come and stealthily taken each of them, in spite of the dangers the morning would bring. Well, all save one. As the others slept soundly there was a creak of springs as someone got to their feet. Shoes and clothes were hastily put one, and soft footfalls were barely audible as the ghoul made their way to the tent's exit. The flap was quietly drawn back and the ghoul stepped into the night air while the others he was abut to betray dreamed their dreams of escape.
Morning came as mornings tended to do. All the ghouls in the camp rose and dressed, then began to file into the courtyard of the compound for the morning count. It was going to be two short. Tom and Hugo were already in the sewer pipe, heading towards perceived freedom. The stench was unbearable, and both Tom and Hugo had to stop at times to allow themselves to throw up. Hugo thought it was all over when the radroach leaped out of the muck in front of Tom and the startled ghoul let out a yelp. Once he had recovered his composure though, Tom simply raised his fist at the inquisitive creature and slammed into into the muck. It was enough to send the radroach scurrying away. They continued their crawl through the foul wastes for what seemed an eternity, but in reality could have been no longer than twenty or thirty minutes. Then Hugo saw it, the literal light at the end of the tunnel. The speed of their crawling intensified, and soon they found themselves tumbling into a pit filled with drying bodily waste. It took another good ten minutes to climb out of the pit and wring as much muck from their clothes as possible. Tom turned to look at Hugo, a huge grin on his torn face. They had made it, so far so good. Confusion once again crept into Hugo's mind as he saw the grin slowly melt from Tom's face. Where there had been obvious glee and delight only moments before was now being replaced by abject fear.
"Tom?" whispered Hugo cautiously.
Tom raised a pointed finger directed just over Hugo's shoulder, and Hugo swivelled his neck. Rising from over a small precipice were four figures, two clad in the power armour of the Enclave soldiers. The remaining two wore black uniforms, marked with insignia. Officers. The armoured soldiers hefted laser rifles that were aimed at the two ghouls. Tom began to shake his head, mouthing silent a 'no' over and over again.
"Run," he suddenly hissed at Hugo, "We've got to run."
With that Tom turned and sprinted in the opposite direction of the Enclave soldiers as fast as his damaged limbs could carry him. Hugo stood as still as stone, his legs frozen in place.
Tom looked back over his shoulder as the Enclave soldiers fell in next to Hugo and he shouted back over his shoulder, "Run, Hugo. Don't give in to your fear. Run!"
The officer wearing the long black trench-coat looked Hugo up and down once and then turned his attention to the fleeing Tom.
"Lieutenant Jones," he barked dryly, "Do your duty."
The other Enclave officer at the scene called for one of the armoured soldiers' laser rifles. He caught it deftly as it was tossed to him. Lieutenant Victor Jones dropped to one knee and brought up the rifle to take aim on the fleeing form of the ghoul. He had him clean in his sights when the ghoul turned its head one last time to look back at the comrade he had left behind. Lieutenant Jones squeezed the trigger just as Tom's eye began to close in a strangely inappropriate wink. The energy bolt from the rifle took him cleanly in the head. Tom stumbled onward to his goal for a a few more fragile steps before falling dead on the dry earth.
Captain Kitchener applauded softly with a clap from his black gloved hands. His aide-de-camp, the young sergeant stepped forward.
"Good shot, Lieutenant," he said taking the rifle from Victor Jones' hands, "Or do you prefer Hugo now?"
Victor shot him a dark look, "Lieutenant will do, Sergeant."
Captain Kitchener cleared his throat, "I believe you have something for us, Lieutenant?"
Victor, a ghoul named Hugo, nodded, "The map is in the ghoul's coat pocket."
The sergeant nodded and trotted over to where Tom's corpse lay at a brisk pace. Victor wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. An old habit to wipe sweat away, but without skin there was none to be found. Then he heard it, they all did. A loud explosion rocked the air from the direction of the compound. Captain Kitchener arched a grey eyebrow in Victor's direction.
"The distraction," replied Victor hoarsely, "I was unable to discover what they had planned. I doubt even the one named Tom knew."
A second explosion plumed high into the moisture-less sky, a second thick tendril of black smoke joining the first that spiralled skyward. One of the power armoured soldiers suddenly stepped forward, his heavy boots crunching into the caked earth.
"Sir!" he addressed the Captain, "Two of the three vertibirds at the base have been destroyed, the third...commandeered."
"What?" ordered Captain Kitchener, the legendary rage boiling to the surface.
The sergeant returned, the folded map grasped tightly in one hand. He offered it to the Captain with a salute. Kitchener snatched it from him and impatiently unfolded it, his eyes first growing wide and wild then narrowing dangerously.
"Care to explain this, Lieutenant?" he ordered and thrust Tom's map out to Victor.
Skinless, sinew hands took the map and Victor stared at it in disbelief. he had seen the drawings, he had seen the location of the lab. Now, in their place was just some scrawled writing. 'Up yours, Enclave. Yours too, Hugo'.
"I believe you've failed me, Lieutenant," said the Captain harshly.
Victor swallowed hard and stammered, "Sir, I...I..."
At that moment the air suddenly seem to vibrate, then a noise that threatened to deafen burst forth from overheard. The vertibird soared to their left and then circled around the small group of enclave soldiers and the body of Tom. As it circled closer Victor looked up and could clearly see the three occupants of the vehicle, one was waving at him with a malicious grin. Ford, Lincoln and Dodge. Pre-War ghouls with military backgrounds. Victor felt his heart leap in his chest. They were not the diversion, he and Tom were. They had played him for a fool from the beginning, but how had they known? How could they have known? Victor had no way of knowing that when he fought Ford, Lincoln and Dodge they had no intention of really attacking him. Expert hands had searched his clothing, brushing against the hidden transmitter stitched into the fabric of his shirt. Victor thought the other ghouls were ignoring him because of his affiliation with Elegnem, but their eyes were always on him. Even when he snuck out to the ablution block in the dead of night to make his reports to the stealthed Eyebot, ghoul eyes were on him. Most of all though, it was Victor himself that betrayed his pretense. He was well trained, well informed about the mindset of demeanor of ghoul life. Yet, even though he fought hard to mask it, he could not prevent the subtle looks of contempt and disgust that would creep into his eyes. He walked like a ghoul, he talked like a ghoul and he looked like a ghoul. He wasn't a ghoul. The vertibird sped off into the distance once again, and turned in a long slow arc back to the band of Enclave soldiers.
"Well," barked the infuriated Captain Kitchener, "I am in two minds as to whether I should let Doctor Decker even attempt the reversal procedure on you, Lieutenant. You were obviously not a very convincing...ghoul."
Victor's eyes were fixed on the now steadily approaching vertibird.
"I don't think I'll be needing it," he whispered hoarsely, just as the two missiles left the vertibird's external pylons.
He turned to the Captain, a wry smile on his face, "Looks like I'll be dying a ghoul at least."
The End
