This wasn't looking good.

Barely five steps out of the service doorway into the basemant area and three others walk past me into the very doorway I just left.

"Git outta the way!" I was planning on it, don't worry. They were undoubtedly heading for that service hatch and the drainage pipe where I just came from. And I didn't want to be anywhere nearby when anyone tried opening it up again from this side.

I had hoped to be clear of this area and on my way up to the ground floor actually. I had a package to deliver.

Behind me the service doorway and tunnel beyond erupted in a blinding light and deafening overpressure that popped my eardrums on the spot. I ducked briefly as parts of bodies flew back out through the door into the basemant. Obviously, a whole bar of C4 had been too much, but I'd been in a hurry.. Standing again as if nothing had happened I continued onward through the screams and added confusion of fire and smoke.

A particularly vile looking biker styled scumbag, a pair of shades on his forehead, tattoos along his long, hairy arms, an unshaven beard surrounding a diseased a mouth that had been nursing a half empty bottle of gutrot, had been sitting in a chair facing the doorway and was almost blown over backwards by the blast, but was now standing up in my path, "Hey! I sawr yous just come outta that door, didn'tcha?"

As he stood I closed the gap between us, and pushed the silenced handgun into his chest, shooting him once. The force of the impact pushed him back into his chair, his shades falling nicely onto the bridge of his nose.

"Nope. Wasn't me." I stated simply as I moved on, hoping that had gone unnoticed in the ensuing confusion.

Checking my left, I noticed two more bruisers on the other side of the hall as they first nudged each other, then they got up and start to track my movement across the space. They seemed like the only ones out of the whole bunch who were on to me ?or had seen what I had done, whatever, and they didn't seem to be informing anyone else. Possibly hoping to take me alone and be heroes.

I was going to have to deal with this differently. I stopped and held my hand up to them, in a warning fashion. At ten meters distance they stopped as well. In this entire underground car park-sized basemant with literally hundreds of people all running around like madmen ? well, most of them probably were insane.. but we three only seemed aware of each other, with the rest flowing by.

I already had a grenade in my hand. Letting the spoon fly I yelled at them: "Here! Don't drop it!!", lifted the colt and in four simple shots took out the floodlights before they could well and truly catch what was coming to them. "Huh?" and "Whaa-??" was all I heard them say as darkness engulfed the basemant completely. Then the grenade went off and I felt a searing hot flash cross my upper arm.

Crap.

Something had tagged me. Probably some shrapnel from the grenade. I immediately checked as best I could in the dark. Flexing my hand, wrist, lower and upper arm, all in functional happiness. Well, hurting like hell and functioning happily.

Whatever it was hadn't stayed behind so it was either a flesh wound clean through or a surface scratch. Either way, I'd live. I contemplated popping a stim and decided against it for now. If any arteries were nicked I couldn't tell yet, but I wasn't feeling light headed or nauseated, so it wasn't a problem yet and I wanted to stay as clear as possible, something stim's didn't actually do for me.

All around me people were screaming and yelling to get the lights back on, put out the fires, find out who was hurt and to find out what the hell was going on.

A stroke of pure genius hit me. I was well situated at the moment in between two over turned desks and a pillar that provided a nice temporary refuge and tactical overview. Lowering the respirator from my face and pulling two more grenades, I tossed them in opposite directions from myself as I yelled as loud as I possibly could, "The Jones Street Boys Did It!!" and took cover.

The results were no less than spectacular. Really, you should have seen it.

Not moments after the grenades both detonated at opposite ends of the basemant, automatic gunfire opened literally everywhere inside the area, going in all directions. I could hear numerous round impact on the desks and against the pillar as pieces of concrete showered down on me. Didn't seem like anyone was actually targeting me.. I was still okay in my little position, and quietly I replaced the laser-dot on the Thompson for the Xenon, and replaced the clip with a drum. Noise wasn't a problem anymore.

In a crouched run and keeping low I made it to the basemant stairway exit without catching a stray bullet from anyone. As I approached the doorway to the stairwell I stole a quick glance behind me back into the basemant. Shouts and sporadic gunfire still erupted here and there, with more fires burning in places. It looked like they hadn't resolved their differences yet and I was feeling I had overstayed my hospitality.

Head down I walked in a determined manner through the door and cut straight to my left and out of the way. As I kind of figured, the stairway was rush hour. The bit just inside the doorway where I was standing was maybe fifteen meters square, a stairway on the right directly opposite the door, an obviously non functioning cargo elevator to the left of it, and then me, watching everyone hustle past in one direction or the other. There must have been twenty or thirty people all trying to either get up, or down the stairs and all at the same time and through the doorway.
And no one had ever heard of staying to the right?

The only lighting that was working here was the dim overhead bulb that was burning on the stairway landing halfway up, where the stairs turned inward and up, with nothing to light the stairs directly or this lower area. With enough others looking somewhat the same as I did, I tucked my head low and followed the mass that moved upward.

Halfway up the landing was wider than expected, with a row of shelves running along the inside wall, probably against the elevator shaft, and another dimly lit bulb hanging from a wire before the stairs continued further up and out of sight. I backed into the shelves with the stairways to both sides.

Time for more confusion.

Two quick shots from the colt at close range doused the landing in darkness. I had hoped that the upper stairway was as economically lit as the downstairs, and I was right. It was pitch black now. I fired a few times randomly into the crowd in front of me, the silencer masking both sound and flash creating a much needed screen of confusion, not thinking of the actual consequences of my cold blooded actions.

More people screamed, and died. Even more were going to before this was over. As Carl would have so colourfully put it, it was 'drop-cloth time'

I pulled two more grenades from my web gear, realising I didn't have a whole lot left anymore and had a lot to do still. made sure I was holding the correct grenade in the correct hand. One was a standard fragmentation grenade, the other a flash/bang disorientation grenade. And in MOUT/CQB training they always hammer one particularly useful little nugget into your gourd.

'Never, never throw grenades up a stairwell.'

The reasoning being quiet obvious. Field experience had taught me that the rule could be further refined into,

'..at least never throw grenades up stairwells that could kill you if thrown back.'

So pulling pins and counting two-Mississippi, I lobbed the frag grenade down stairs and the flash/bang as far as I could up the stairs, ducked against the shelves with my ears cupped, mouth open and eyes shut tight in the dark.

Downstairs in the hall the explosion caused part of a wall or something to collapse, adding massively to the screaming and chaos.

Who knew? Them's the breaks, take 'em, move on and be happy.

The flash/bang I threw up the stairs actually did it's work as well and wasn't kicked back down before detonating, and the detonation had the desired disorienting effect, making everyone standing on the stairs come tumbling down into a pile of dazed and confused bodies wondering what the hell had just happened to them in the dark.

Flipping the tactical light for a brief second on the heap of withering bodies and distraught faces, entangled at the bottom of the stairs, I fired a burst into the injured mass and moved past them up the cleared stairs, leaving the screaming in my wake.

Top of the stairs, hallway to the left and right stretching beyond the doorway. Checking right ?clear, left ?two uglies with a third just approaching around the far corner. The Thompson stuttered briefly, and then again to take the third guy. And then back into the doorway to re-check. Yup, more movement coming from the right as someone ran past me and the door. Stepping into the hallway, I put three rounds in his back and continued along his path, past the three bodies I had just dropped I stopped briefly.

The third body ?an exotically garbed freak if ever I saw one, was none the less armed with a M3 automatic weapon, and they were more often than not chambered for my beloved .45 caliber. A quick check ?I don't think I've ever patted down a body in less time, netted a moderate cache , at least enough to justify my distraction into foraging. I pocketed the extras and pressed on and into the store proper.

"Welcome, Super Duper shoppers?" I'd heard a broken commercial reel once somewhere, "Because it's sooo Suuper Duuper.." I looked around in the dimly cast light. "Ground floor, wholesale carnage, [censored] and slaughter," I saw a tortured body suspended from chains in the ceiling with hooks embedded in it's body, numerous limbs amputated, thankfully dead. "..and the fresh meats department." I morbidly added under my breath as I continued my search.

Well, I was in.

Outside, thinking were pretty well wrapped up, with the .50 cal and the support from the .30 cal from the overpass, no one was getting out of the stores entrances. A while ago a massive blast ? that actually sounded like a humongous fart, erupted from the drainage pipe Andy had gone into, followed by a flash of fire that came out ?he'd said this could happen, but nothing else was coming out of it the pipe it seemed so maybe he had just sealed it.

Carl sure hoped so. Judging the flow of things at the moment - Celeste was directing the carts down the road towards the salvage barge, no one really needed him or his rifle and so he lit a cigar.


+++

It was a big birthday, and he wondered whether he ought to try one of those cigars he still had again. But looking at the rest of his family, he mused that they wouldn't mind if the tradition was skipped.

Boiled water and blankets hadn't been needed either, the mommy being in good health, and Lead, the proud daddy, stood by helping, flanked by the equally proud uncles who helped as much as was needed. Within a few hours his family had expanded significantly ?first there was just the three of them, and him.

But one day Lead had come back to their den with a female dog in his wake. And sitting down at his usual place, the female dog laid herself at his feet, curling herself up to him. Lead eyed the other two dogs carefully, assessing their reaction to the new addition. He especially kept an eye on Cunning One, the one he had the most issues with as Alpha male. Or at least Alpha male. among the canine species here. Master was of course the Uber Alfa male, but that was kinda different, wasn't it. From a dog's view point it sure was.


He looked at Assistant and whistled softly. The dog immediately came to his side, looking for his hand to lick, trying to get a scratch between the ears. Assistant wasn't any trouble at all, but then never was, happy to assist either of the two in what they were doing, happily oblivious to his actual Omega status among the three. With the addition of the new dog ? especially it being a female, he half expected troubles, and from the same corner as Lead thought it coming. But Cunning One was named aptly, and knew to challenge the taking of a mate was silly, even by dog standards. Also, he mused in his doggy brain, this opened up the way for him to now also take a mate someday..

And now there were uh.. more than two hands full.. uhh.. twelve. There were now twelve dogs in the pack, and then him. He had a big family. Looking around at the half collapsed basemant they lived in he realized that they were going to have to move again. They were fast going to be in need of more space.

As he approached the litter the dogs moved aside. Lead hesitated a brief moment, and whimpering dropped his head and lay down next to his mate, anxiously awaiting what would happen. They mother half growled, half whimpered, and then stretched to lick his hand. Her babies were all crawling over themselves to find one of mothers drinking fountains, instinctively searching, their eyes shut as of yet. She licked them still, some last grooming to be done as she gazed at her babies, weakened by the ordeal, but otherwise fine.


"Wow, me super duper daddy now."


+++

Super Duper was aptly named, this place really was big on the inside, and I counted dozens of isles lined up side by side, empty of their products, now only collecting dust. Here the chaos was settling down into a more manageable pandemonium, with orders being barked from over on my right side.

That seemed the best place to leave my packaged delivery ? a ten pound satchel charge wired to a small tactical nuclear device; a mini nuke. The yield would probably take out the entire building, but to maximize my chances I wanted to get it as close to those in charge as possible. I moved to my right and into an isle that was one away from the toilet block where it seemed the shots were being called from.

I pulled the fuse and dropped the package in an old cooler with now five minutes before this place became a radiated oven. I turned to exit as I came only to be standing in front of a large woman with a eight inch mohawk coming up behind me.

"Outta my way, shrimp" she was planning on just plowing through me, hell-bent on getting to the front of the store where the action was.

Barely side-stepping the colossus and muttering a 'by your leave ma'am...' I decided it was high time to vacate the party.

Cutting back and away from the toilet block at the rear of the store, I made my way unmolested to the opposite entrance that was furthest away from where the orders where coming from, hopefully only taking a few minutes. They were getting two men with multi-barreled cannons in position to lay down some covering fire of their own. A guy with a RPG stood ready to take a shot at what was outside more definitively than the machineguns might be doing.

With their backs to me and no one else in the direct vicinity, I easily shot the three quietly in the back of their heads, went to the door and popping a special smoke grenade I had with me, purple smoke started to fill the foyer. I opened the door quickly and tossed the grenade slightly outside the door and quickly retreated for a second.

Hoping everyone was on the same page I pushed through the door and broke immediately to my left, away from both of the entrances and around the corner of the building. I was hauling ass for the embankment, waving my arms frantically at everyone at the same time; Celeste, Carl, the barge crew and Frank up on the overpass, in a not to be mistaken universal gesture of warning.









the following has been stamped with the D.Foxy seal of approval

Celeste had been guiding the brahmin carts in down from the upper road. If she squinted, she could just barely make out Stockholm perched up on top of the old silo that stood lonely in the landscape. The remnants of the old farmhouse ?now less than a collapsed and rotten shell, seemed to magnify the solitude of the structure. Celeste gave a slight shutter for no reason.

'It's the ghosts of the dead that are overshadowing the living.'

'It's why it's still a wasteland after two hundred years.'

'No one cares enough to clean it up.'

Great thoughts, magnificent thoughts, thoughts worthy of a Nobel prize in something important, she mused. But right now they could damn well take back seat to the current situation at hand.

Fixing the world was on tomorrows agenda.

She had heard the eruption from the drainage pipe just as well as Carl had and hoped Andy was okay. Why the hell he had to insist on taking care of it she didn't understand. Carl was the one who initially found it, even if he had mentioned it earlier. But Andy had insisted, saying it was his to deal with, and then reassuring them ?her, that he knew about the pipe and had used it before to get in unnoticed. It was a lie, or part of one, she wasn't sure.

But he had insisted, stating that he would simply close it off and come back, or, in the worst case he would close it off from the inside and quietly make his way out through the chaos. She had flatly rejected that kind of suicidal stupidity out of hand, but again there were more reassurances that he had been in similar situations before and that when all hell breaks loose in a darkened environment, and one man knows what's going on, then that person shall reign supreme. There were less eloquently worded reassurances from Carl, who simply grabbed Celeste's hand gently and spoke to her softly:

"Luv, hubby here is the business when it comes to stuff like that. I've personally seen him clear out a whole shopping center, fifty-six shops, four of them proper multi-storied department store set ups-" he looked at me, "How many cinema's? Five? Six? Something horrendous, anyway.." ..and back to Celeste, still with the hand holding, "clears out the whole thing alone, with only a shotgun and a revolver."

Celeste was gob-smacked, and kept looking from Carl to me, unsure what to believe. I grinned at the somewhat simplistic recount of events,

"It was a big shotgun," I added weakly, "and two handguns."

Carl turned to me with a why-don't-you-shut-up-for-a-moment-I'm-working-here look on his face, and continued for Celeste's benefit; "Whatever. Anyway, we all had the place surrounded and we all thought he'd come running out at some point chased by a horde of feral ghouls" He shook his head for drama, "Uh-huh, he does come back out, five times. First four times because he was out of ammunition and wanted to make a sandwich."

Celeste was completely drawn into the story, "And the fifth time?" she asked softly.

"The fifth time old Andy hear came out to take a [censored]. And when he was done, we asked if he needed any more ammunition, he said he was fine, and stole my sandwich going back in!" he continued.

"Another hour or so goes by, all hell being blown up - you can hear it, inside. And then it gets real quiet and finally he walks out, covered in gore, with a lit cigar and a box in his hand and says"

I chimed in, knowing the cue... "Hey fellas, there must be five-hundred boxes in here, come check it out!"

Yeah well, crazy days.

++++++++++

Man it had been one, bona fide crazy night last night, Slash mused again. She said as much to Brass, who was still in his position of motionless repose, svcking on a new beer.

He retorted that she should shut the hell up and maybe stop dropping acid all day. That she would then see the guy was just another con, trying to svcker everyone to doing what the Duke wanted. It was BS. Sure he could count. And Brass counted that for every tenth turd roaming this wasteland, there was a different set of rules. Which is why, by and large, you only trusted that which was close to you.

Family.

And together you made it forward in this hell pit world. Together you went out every morning to secure a day's survival. And if it meant migrating elsewhere, so be it. That was what could be counted on.

Brass hoisted himself up trying to clear his head long enough to explain this fundamental piece of world understanding to Slash.

She swam into focus, perched on top of the shopping carts like a bird. He was quite happy with the family he had, and wasn't rushing to join someone else's ideas of an extended wasteland family. In the corner of his eye he saw Pee-wee and Goose who had been dancing to the music form the blaster, now making some seriously weird moves, and then buckle over. He saw Slash rise from her perch, arms unfolding like the wings of some mystical flying beast. Part female, part bird.

As blitzed as Brass was, he never heard the silenced slugs being fired at him, and only barely registered the numerous impacts on his own body. All he could see was Slash, turning into a bird and flying away from all of this. Reaching towards her as he staggered under the increasing hail of silent fire, all he could think was that she would be the last true free soul on earth.

Slash saw Brass's point about everything, she wasn't stupid. Something she sometimes wondered whether Brass actually realized. She wasn't stupid. She knew stuff, and could read.., mostly. And she could write her name as well. She was proud of that. But that wasn't what had her miffed at Brass. Couldn't he see that the world around them was changing, and with change, you didn't know what it would turn into so you hopped on tight and tried to make the best of it.

Tried to make it work.

Sometimes when Brass dropped acid with her he seemed to understand, for awhile at least. He would say such cool and profound things like the world being nothing but a continued path of platforms, each a little farther than the rest, and ultimately whom you spent your time with on those platforms was the sum of your existence. They always had great six while on acid.

She saw Pee-wee and goose double over and knew something was screwed. The back of Goose's head exploding outward drove the matter home. She jumped high and wide of the pile of carts, landing in a neat roll. Getting up in a crouch she saw Brass already laying on the floor motionless. A new song came on the music box, some guy wailing about the Purple Haze in his brain.

Yeah buddy, I hear ya.

Slash grabbed two grenades off of the ground nearby and pulled both the pins. Stepping out into the open between the pile of carts and the old couch Brass had just previously occupied, Slash then lobbed them each in the direction she thought the weapons fire was coming from. Being cut down only moments after letting the explosives fly.

"Actin' funny, but I don't know why?
'Scuse me while I kiss the sky."

Crapper than crap crapped in a crappy way.

We all saw the grenades flying. Granted they weren't even close to me, and from what it looked they weren't going to land anywhere near Carl or Celeste, but they would be noisy. And I had so wanted to keep this as covert as possible for as long as possible too. I enjoyed even a few fleeting fantasies where we'd taken out whatever there was as quiet as church mice, I was able to sneak in without anyone knowing, and plant my parcel under this Duke character's drunk head while everyone else snored in different harmony.

As I watched the twin explosives roll to a halt, one became lodged under the front tire of a wrecked Chryslus, and the other rolled under a busliner wreck that was stranded in the parking lot. So much for the five cent fantasy, and of course the busliner had to explode as well. With two secondary explosions from the busliner that were actually worse, noise wise. The hubcap that fell from god know how far up, landing after everything else has gone off, and just spun, around and around, making a surprisingly clear ringing sound before finally stopping.

Carl looked at me with a not-my-fault look and shrug, and prepped the long weapon on its bipod. Celeste was momentarily with her head down, while she seemed to be pinching the bridge of her nose, just under the brow, slowly shaking her head. Then re-holstering the silenced weapon, she checked the magazine on her assault rifle and readied a position, waiting.

They both laid into the entrances as soon as the first punks started showing their faces, dropping gangers until piles of dead bodies were stacking up in both of the doorways. I motioned that I was going for my goal. Carl gave me a thumbs up and a grin. Celeste shook her head and frowned, then gave me a nod and a cautious smile.

It was time to hustle, soldier.

In the background I caught the final bars of the song before it was silenced by gunfire, still playing something about a Purple Haze..

Arms waving to clear the purple smoke as much as anything else, I ran like a lunatic as I exited the Super Duper Mart, jumping over debris and punching through the purple haze of smoke, half knowing there used to be a burning busliner somewhere in the vicinity, not really caring considering what was about to go off behind me inside the building. A small thought dislodged itself and floated briefly free.

'Maybe I should've told 'em I was gonna use a nuke'

'Freakin' too late for that one buddy' I thought. Hopefully the others would get my frantic gesturing and take cover.

Over the hood of another car wreck ? this one not in flames for a change, I jumped, dived, flew over the edge of the embankment, with the nuke detonating while I was somewhere still in the middle of my flight and still getting around to things like landing, and hard, unyielding ground to land upon.

It's funny how the detonation of even a modest nuclear device close at hand tends to completely distract you from all previous thought. For instance, I had completely forgotten that I was flying though the air, and it felt like I could go on flying forever. That, people, is what's known in the books as forced shock displacement, or overpressure, of which I was now a victim. I landed in the river.

The building withstood the blast from the nuke, but only just. Carl saw the doors completely blow out, sailing well past the parking lot, and landing somewhere behind him. Part of the roof section blew out as well, a small mushroom cloud rising from it, although the rest of the roof structure seemed not to be collapsing as of yet. Something ? a window perhaps, blew out as well on the far side of the building, away from the river, sending a hail of brick and debris into a fence, tearing that down in the process. Fires had started at both entrances, and Andy had landed in the river somewhere.

"Wake up call." he muttered, collecting his gear, and headed off to look for his buddy.

Just as she checked the second Brahmin cart that it was steady, Celeste turned to see the entrance closest to the river open briefly, and while purple smoke billowed out, the smoke flare producing the purple haze was tossed out slightly in front of the doors. Only for the doors to close again.

What the hell. Now what was he doing?

Shouldering the heavy assault rifle and taking aim, she prepared herself for whatever it would be that was going to come out. As Andy broke through the doors and ducts to the side she passed the muzzle over him, letting it slide back to covering the door he'd just left. The frantic arm waving was a bit much though, she thought.

'Yes, we can all see you, big brave man' she thought to herself, along with a few choice comments on the males need to brag about everything. She smiled as he ran straight towards her, something coming from his mouth as he ran that she couldn't hear well over the din of gunfire. As he vaulted the car wreck in between them in practically a single leap, she smiled again at what she thought to be him showing off for her.

The blast punched her straight in the chest, and flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her. Her vision going fuzzy as she stared up at the afternoon sky.

'Impressive' came to mind, followed by darkness.

Outstanding.
Duke looked at all the cats starting to roll into the parking lot. At first there had been only him and his crew to arrive. No one else was there yet so they set up shop, using the two toilet blocks as their own personal suites. Some where in there now, either crashing, or humping, or getting high. Or in combinations

Combinations? cool.

It was cool. Tonight, it was all cool.

"Can you diggit, brother?" he asked in a casual voice to the man beside him.

They were on the roof, having erected a ladder on the side of the building. Both men stood by the ledge facing the forward parking lot. Already there must have been two hundred gang bangers from all over the DC ruins. He had his runners go far and wide, and they had, with exceptional results to show for already. His word of free booze and drugs probably helped, with the encouragement to bring ones own, and people certainly had brought their own, and were drinking it, as well as going at the buffet in the basemant like beggars before the feast.

Duke held his hand outstretched at his friend, indicating a bottle that he was holding to his lips. A gulp later the bottle was pasted back to him, as his friend wiped the residue from his mouth, Shak, the man towering next to Duke, said cautiously "Dunno boss, dem's a lotta white boys down there."

The Duke almost glared at his lieutenant, but deemed that this fell under healthy scepticism, and let it slide. "Nooo, my brother" he rebutted, streching up to place an arm around his friends massive shoulders, bottle in hand as he gestured slowly over the crowd, as they danced in an impromptu moshpit to a brazen beat. Occasionally, a weapon was fired in shear festive celebration. Mostly were aimed harmlessly into the air. The wounded were carried off.. eventually after enough people tripped over them.

"What you see," the Duke said in a trusted tone, "is a whole lotta dogs. Dogs of war. Dogs with an itch. And all I have to do is to show them where to scratch that itch, and they'll be mah [censored]es forever." Shak took the bottle back, placed it at his lips, and drank long while he thought about it.

They were well set, back upstate in Baltimore, in the so called barrens. The duke ?just Marcus back then, had moved them all into a huge indoor shopping mall, some kind of unicum structure, who's sister mall was apparently up in Boston, according to an engraved first-brick-laid-here plaque that was on the wall near the entrance.

They'd cleared out all the undesirables, secured everything that needed to be secured for the place to be safe, and now five years later, they controlled everything that moved within an eight block radius of the mall. They had recruited every brother they could find or persuade, with a lot of their military knowledge coming from those brothers who walked over from the Talon mercs.

Those brothers came with gear, weapons and training!

They had a school, a clinic, real vegetables being grown -on a small scale, but still.. The water they collected and filtered was as clean and rad free as any he'd drank outside yet. And the molerat pens turned out some mighty tasty bacon..

They were over two hundred strong, and he knew for a fact that right now, the baby warriors were in class, learning the basics ?spear and shield, before progressing further. They had it good. No one messed with them, even the mercenaries knew well enough to stay away. Hell, even the nzambi touched -touched by the serpent god Damballa wedo, or at least those free of a bokor in any case, stayed the hell away from their mall.

Then about six months ago the Duke starts spouting this new religion; about uniting everyone against the MAN. Shak didn't have the deep thoughts that the boss did, so maybe he just had to have faith, since hadn't the whole shopping mall gig worked like a peach? And then there were his rules of life.

Rule #1; the boss is always right.
Rule #2; Sometimes when the boss shoots up too much junk in one night, he talks trash and shouldn't be taken too seriously, as far as rule #1 doesn't apply.
Rule #3; White bread, honky, mother-[censored]ers were totally despicable as a species, except for the chicks 'cause.., well you know what they say 'bout white chicks, right?
Rule #5 (and the last one to avoid obvious confusion while counting); Shak was not now, nor ever to be, the brains of the outfit, simply because God had made him too damn big and strong, which is why he knew the Duke.

"So.., you gonna con dem whities to work for us.. is dat it?" Shak lowered the bottle, proud of his own insights. Learning to read like the boss had said was making him smarter. The duke smiled.

"Diggit brothah.. We ain't just going to make them work for us. We gonna make them svckahs die for us. That there is our army"

The duke stood to face his crowd, "Showtime," he whispered to Shak, who in turn signalled someone behind the DJ box. Two powerful searchlights ignited, flooding the roof in a bathe of brilliance, offset against the setting sun. The DJ powered the music down temporarily, and increased the gain on a channel connected to a small clip on mic, attached to the Duke's coat lapel.

"Brothers and sisters, hear me!" He boomed, his voice amplified reaching out over the parking lot and beyond, his voicing carrying on the evening breeze, "Later I will have more to say, things that will rock your very world, my brothers!" Some cheers went up, mostly in the hope that the music would then return. "But before I do.." he continued in grandiose gesture,
"the music is righteous, the booze is strong, the drugs are free,
the night is young, ?and, So. Are. We!!"



"We. Are. So? screwed?" Frank muttered to himself. He didn't need the parabolic mic for the last bit. But the first part between the two on the roof was enough to warrant a brown note moment, had he been inclined to soil himself there and then. It had been bad enough when the scavengers and the outland scum had been just pouring in, at first there were only a handful. Typical Tuesday afternoon booze up at the local hang out, something that could easily happen on a Sunday at four in the morning, by the way. Mary noticed them first, him being busy ?as always, in his workshop. She'd fetched him, and after a quick peek, Frank had set the perimeter defences to thirty percent optimum. A normal setting for if any of them got foolish, or drunk enough and came neighbouring.
As the turrets buzzed to life, sensors started tracking steadily back and forth, munitions indicators blinked and then settled on a reassuring green glow.

As more and more of the wasteland scum poured in during the course of the day, he continually was readjusting the defence settings as more of them tried in vein to probe his security, and was fast running out of setting to adjust upwards to. Soon he'd had to start throwing the kitchen sink.. Frank looked sideling at the kitchen window, safely tucked behind the battlements that ran both sides of the overpass. Mary stuck her head out the window briefly, just as he turned to her.

"I heard that, Frank William Stone." That woman would heard everything within three miles, had she the notion to do so. "I hope you aren't using that kinda mouth near the baby. I want Shelly growing up a lady, or as much as possible, mister." Frank went back to his viewpoint through the range-finder, hoping he could disappear into it and wondered whether it was dark enough to use the starlight scope? and realized he'd lent it out to Andrew.

'Crap! Damn! Damn-crap!'

Frank checked himself, making sure he hadn't actually uttered those words. If he had, a frying pan would come sailing through the window any moment now, and otherwise he was safe. Not that Mary would actually throw a real frying pan at him, not to intentionally hit him. At least he hoped not. Frank was a tall guy, large even. And Mary wasn't, by any stretch of the matter, but there was no mistake who was king in that castle, and Frank knew it.

He got up just as Mary stuck her head out again. "Shouldn't you maybe warn Megaton about this." She asked, in a non-asking way. He said that was exactly what he was planning to do. She blew him a kiss, smiling at him. He was so wonderful.

Five minutes later he was back from the radio, muttering something about Megaton 'not being home'. Mary was worried that something might have happened, her expression spoke volumes. She was reassured by her husband that Megaton's squawk was still operating, but that there was just no one to pick up the mic. That would have been around the time that Gob pulled out the bottle of Chivas. Frank got up again and walked over to the control panel and checked the readings, turning the settings to maximum. He would still be awake all night with them down there, but hopefully this would keep him and the girls safe in their overpass farmstead.

There had been the farm house, but that had been a sad place in the beginning, and eventually too small. Him and his family had had to make it a happy place again, so they had stayed there for some time. But they left it just as they had found it, well, minus the dead of course.

It was easily visible from most angles, perch on the hill top as it was, a lazy old oak tree with gnarled branches stood a solitary watch over the farm house. The barn and silo had long collapsed and were overgrown with choke-ivy, nettles and razor grass, but there was hardly a weed growing over the porch that wrapped itself three quarters the way around the house, let alone on the rest of it. Even the white paint wasn't completely peeled off in a lot of places. And the roof seemed in one piece, looking at it from where he was walking up to it. There were even curtains hanging in the windows, of all things!

Up close his lead moved up to the front entrance, but hunkered down low, a soft growl uttering from him. The cunning one had already circled the entire house and reappeared at Lead's side, but wasn't about to enter the building either. Assistant shuffled up in between the two other dogs and looked for guidance to both his brothers. Not receiving any, he lay down and covered his nose with his paws. If neither of them were going for it, then the hell he was.

He came up behind the three heroes, the other dogs from the pack still behind him, keeping quiet. A quick whistle and they glanced back, his hand a flurry of gesture. Not happening. He didn't go into a tirade, something he was practising and succeeding at as well, more and more. Something an uber daddy of a big family had to do around the little ones, or you just weren't uber.

For the three not do what they were told meant something serious was wrong, and you couldn't blame them for that since it was his idea to check it out in the first place. So it was up to him to then check it out for the rest of his family, and make it safe. Uber daddy style.

"Good boys" he said in his broken husky voice. "You found the house.. Yes.. all good, all good. Even though I pointed it out to all three of you waaay over there, remember?" He ruffled them between the ears as he gazed at the house. Something was indeed wrong here. He patted them again, "Stay boys. Look after the little ones 'kay?" Assistant licked his face, as he scratched the cunning one. "Is good, is good. Daddy all smiley faces, see?" He smiled and stood.

Walking up to the porch and climbing the three steps, he noticed the door slightly ajar, drawing his sword, and moved towards it. At the last moment, he had an idea and rapped the doorframe with the hilt of the sword, pushing the door slightly further open. It's hinges protested again the applied torque, and in a low, drawn out tone, they squeaked the announcement of guests.

"Hullo?" he ventured, less sure than he would have liked to be, "Hullooo.." slightly louder this time, half fearing a response. "Is someone here then?"
"Or isn't there?" he realized the last question had better stay unanswered, but a breeze picked up lightly, a soft whisper sand through the oak's old branches, as tire suspended from a branch by means of a rope turned slowly, the creaking of the ropes strain adding to the silence somehow. The breeze blew the front door even wider open, the squeak ending in a high pitched crest, followed by a silence that seemed to be waiting for him to make the next move, and that more was riding on what that was than met the eye.

Taking a tentative step towards the door, the porch creaked menacingly and he looked down in case it would collapse. He was standing on a faded green mat that was made to resemble fake grass, a message cut out of the fake grass read

'Wilkommen'

Odd, he thought. He could read quite well still, as little opportunity as he had had in the past years to practice. But even with that he knew that wasn't how to spell 'welcome'. Non the less, he wiped the massively oversized boots ?a present that his boys had brought home out of the blue one day. They even fit. Although it had taken another month before they thought to bring the other boot home as well. He had seen it as them wanting to give him two presents instead of just one, and had played with them all afternoon. Now he wiped his shoes extra clean before quietly entered the house.

Inside, the house was spaciously designed, with a living room off to the left after entering, and a dining room off to the right. Both were deserted. A staircase going up split the two rooms apart, with a hallway heading down further into the house. Not completely sure where to go or what to do next, he just stood there for a second. Then, as an afterthought, he took off the worn baseball cap he had, holding it in both hands, and then after nervously wiping his head and patting out the cap, put it back on again unsure. He decided it couldn't hurt to look around, as long as he didn't break anything.

The living room had a fireplace at the far end, with a rug in front of it, and then a low coffee table, with two couches facing each other. Each of the couches had an end table, and there were side tables against the front wall in between the windows. On the other side of the room, cabinets and bookcases lined the wall. One cabinet was filled with bottles and glasses, another was locked. But through the cabinet windows he could see a number of rifles standing up, and a few handguns laying at the bottom. The first impulse to smash it open was easily discarded. After all, he'd wiped his feet. The bookcase was packed with all kinds of books, big and small, thick ones and even thicker volumes of text, one after the next. A thick large book said 'Guns Digest' and he pulled it carefully of the shelf wondering how you could actually eat a firearm. As he took the volume, a key slid from the inside sleeve. He caught it neatly. Looking at the key, and turning to look at the gun cabinet, he grinned.

Walking into the dining room there was a large, elongated oval table that could easily seat twelve. Portrait photo's hung framed in between the three front windows of this room, and a single long wall cabinet of the same design as the cabinets in the living room against the opposite wall. Two semi chandeliers hung over the table, and flicking a switch, they illuminated the room in a soft, warm glow. He switched it off again. And looked through the glass at the content of the furniture piece, he noted it was filled with painted china, the drawers held the cutlery no doubt. Scrutinising the paintwork through the window, he saw that the blue painted plates depicted scenes from everyday life.

There was an obvious winter landscape, a little painted man with cap and baggy pants next to a little painted lady, also in some baggy garb of some kind, and sprouting rear view mirror, of all things. They seemed to be pushing chair in front of them, and there were other little painted people on sleds, or standing about in the snow. The next was a row of skinny houses, with funny, stair shaped roofs, and a canol in front. The third was a harvest scenery, with a cart loaded up with something or another, and someone steadying the load as a pair of strange beasts pulled it ?one headed Brahmin?? Suuure? There was a door at the back, next to the china cabinet that was closed. Another fireplace was at the back of the room, with a large mantel, and a huge mirror poised above it, casting the rooms empty reflection right back at it, and him as he looked.

Not something he did often anymore. He knew what he looked like, and didn't need further telling, the dogs knew what he looked like and didn't care either way. So mirrors didn't happen to him. But it was happening now. The faint yet familiar pain of being reminded of what he was tried to surface, but somehow didn't here in this place. Looking closer, he followed the lines of his face, the arc of his often broken nose, the strong angled line of his jaw. He studied the furrow of his brow, wiggling it up and down, and made funny faces with his mouth. He could still see himself in there, as well as the resemblance to his father. Only to see the monster again, and then himself again. He didn't know what he was seeing, the shadows were playing tricks with the light. He turned and left the dining, turning down the hallway.

At the end there was an open doorway with saloon styled doors, and a door that lead under the stairs to his left. Carefully opening the door under the stairs first, he saw a dark stairway going down, to the cellar presumable. The saloon doors opened up into a large kitchen and family room, where a casual meal was just set out. Here were also the first bodies.

The kitchen table had eight seats, but was set for six, the contents of the having completely petrified on the dishes. The skeletal remains of two small persons wearing girls dresses sat at the table already, slumped in their chairs, one for over, the other hanging in the chair with it's head tilted back, jaw hanging down. He carefully laid the head tenderly forward, until it was resting on it's bony arms. An advlt figure, also in flower patterned dress, but with an apron tied loosely in front, lay next to the stove, a large pan upturned over her. A third small figure lay half in the sink, feet barely touching a step it was using to stand on, skeletal fingers wrapped around a faucet. A door in the wall obviously led back to the dining. On the other side in the family area, the trimming for a party adorned everywhere, with banners that read

'Happy Birthday Rebecca' and 'We Love You'.

Cards with the number five on it stood on every table and all down the front of the fridge. Presents sat on top of the family room table, a doll amongst them. More photographs framed the walls, except these weren't the posed pictures from the front rooms, but showing people doing things, standing in loose groups or playing sports. Somehow feeling the eyes of the people in the photos bearing down on him, he ushered out and back into the hallway. Not wanting to check the cellar just yet, he moved the search upstairs.

At the top the hallway went both left and right, with rooms branching off each side. The door directly across from the staircase was a bathroom with bath, toilet and a basin, with numerous toothbrushes standing up in different cups lining it. In one bedroom the remains of a smallish advlt sat slumped for over at a desk, a pen clutched still, a book opened to a page of what seemed maths, but with letters. Trophies lined a case, school books another. In a closet shirts and pants hung neatly side by side. The next room, obviously was for some girls, but seemingly cramped, with three beds arranged awkwardly inside, and with little real room to move about. There was a deserted doll house, it occupancy waiting for a tea party that would never happen anymore. On the other side of the stairs, above where the dining was, a room only had one bed in it, although there was room for more. In the bed was the small skeletal figure of a child, tucked under the sheets, a plate sitting on a tray next to it. Something was sticking out of her mouth, that turned out to be a thermometer wedged in the jaw. On a chair, an advlt skeletal figure sat, horn rimmed glasses on a bony scull, a children's book on his lap and another untouched dinner tray sitting beside him. Small bottles of pills lined the windowsill, a wooden riding horse sat motionless in the corner, keeping a silent guard. The was a master bed room with another bathroom and a large walk in closet. A smaller boys room, baseball pennants hanging from the wall, a poster of Grognak the barbarian on the inside of the door. It wasn't until he had looked all the way up in the attic that he had found the occupant of the last room. Up, in the corner, behind some boxes there was a crude barricade built from planks and cardboard, with a sign written in crayon over a tiny doorway,

'timothy's fort'
'No Gurls!!'

Inside, he found little timothy, a dead flashlight on the floor next to him, and a comic left on his lap. Prying it carefully loose, he turned over the cover.

'Grognak the Barbarian #1'


He walked outside again, and eyeing the porch swing, tried it and careful set his weight on it. The chains, screws and lumber all protested madly, but held him. He still held the comic. The dogs hadn't moved from their position, the three silently waiting, the other having gathered around them. He motioned and they slowly came up to the porch, then onto the porch, and finally at his feet they laid down. It had gone overcast while he was inside and now a light drizzling rain started to drum softly on the porch roof. Water dripped with a decisive 'plunk' onto the side of an old can in the corner. He felt for the humidor and retrieved one of the ancient cigars, and lit on up, not thinking about it. Drawing deeply on the smoke, his lungs filled and he exhaled a large cloud. The dogs all watched in fascination. He didn't cough and figured that this was the proper place to smoke one of these things. Opening the comic he started reading to his gathered family as the rain set on their new home.

"Grognak was a barbarian, looking for a place to live?"

Shak was feeling good. The night had gone off without a hitch ?without a serious hitch that is. The people living up on the overpass were dug in deeper than a Louisiana tick, as a number of small groups had found out during the evening, to their eternal dismay.

Now he was happily chilling in the back toilet block, a huge splif resting in between his fingers as he deeply inhaled the rich smoke, suppressing a cough. He turned the smouldering tip in an ashtray as he looked at the curls of smoke as they rose slowly around his hand. The Duke was in one of the stalls, banging some chick for all it's worth who had wandered into the toilet block, actually looking for the bathroom. Duke had decided a personal servicing would suffice the girl just as well and had got down to business with her.

Then the grenades, the car and an abandoned busliner exploded outside, and everything changed. In a southern second Shak was on his feet, joint forgotten in the ashtray, weapon in hand.

"What the fu-!!" came from rear stall.

"I'll check it out boss" Shak informed the Duke. The rhythmic banging in the rear stall re-continued as he left.

Running out of the toilet block, Shak kicked the two guys who were laying by the toilet block entrance and barking orders at the underlings. Shak was determined to figure out what was going on outside, and then waste whoever or whatever was responsible for the disturbance. Directing men to the entrances, the stucco from both the BAR as well as the assault rifle could be heard inside the building as people were cut down before even exiting. A blooded brother from another set came stumbling towards him, bleeding from a massive gash in his forehead.

"Who's jackin' us?!?" He grabbed the wounded man roughly, Shaking him to answer. "WHO!!"

"Aw man, I'm bleedin' here niggah, show a brothah a band-aid before knocking me senseless." The man looked up, vision swimming into focus through the blood. Oops. Number Two Guy. He adjusted himself on the spot, and Shak was mildly impressed.

"It's a couple of whities out beyond the parking lot. They has assault rifles, sniper rifles and some kinda machinegun barking all kinds of hell at anyone who takes a peak." He pointed briefly at the wound on his head, "I took a peak." Shak let him go and decided to listen instead of just easing his frustration on the wounded man like he was going to at first. He asked how many there were out there.

"Shii? man." Wounded man continued, "It ain't like I was able take roll call or nuthin', but from the firepower they're pouring into the front of the building.. I would guess maybe ten or twenty.. two dozen tops." He looked up at Shak, "Can I get a band-aid for this now? It's getting so I can't see straight with it all running in my eyes and all, and that ain't doing nobody no good." Shak smiled and took him back to the toilet block. The two on guard stood up a little straighter as they walked in.

The duke was standing in the mens room, a smoking revolver lay on one of the sinks, "You done, boss?" Shak inquired, wounded guy close behind.

"Hell yeah.. my mind wasn't in it anyway." Looking to the quiet stall, "Hers isn't in her anymore either, so go on." He finished tucking himself away, finally noticing the wounded guy standing behind Shak. His weapon was back in his hand.. sort of pointing in his direction, sort of waving all over the place. He asked. "Who the [censored] are you?"

Shak intervened. When the boss was this sketchy, it was best to work with what was still there. Holding up a cautionary hand at his boss, Shak made a stand for the wounded ganger. "Whoa hang on a minute Marcus.." the Dukes real name, "This brother here went on an important recon mission to establish what's trying to jack us up out there."

"Uh-huh."

"And with risking near death he was able to figure out what's going on." Shak finished.

"Then do tell, please. What. The [censored]. IS. Going. ON!!" teetering on the edge, the Duke was screaming now, large bore revolver flying dangerously about, "And someone please tell me this niggah's name already!"

"It's smiley." That got both the dukes and Shak's attention.

"Smiley?!"

"Yeah.. cuz I gots this big ol'.. ehh he" Two rows of massive pearl white teeth were exposed, almost embarrassingly. Both the Duke and Shak started laughing at once. Smiley retold what he had said to Shak.

"So the only other way out is the drainage pipe in the basemant?" Smiley nodded, the Duke yelled out of the bathroom. "HEY! Git some guys in here now!" In seconds, the restroom was filled with men. Duke laid out the plan. "I want as many as needed through that pipe and hosing down who ever it is out there. Once we here you start the fireworks from whereever the pipe ends, then we'll make a break outta here and rush the svckahs!"

Not two minutes later the dull thud and concussion could be felt from the bar of C4 exploding in the tunnel. Shak was just re-lighting the spliff when the Duke dramatically face-palmed and slowly asked what the hell was going on now. One of the outer guards poked his face in and said that the Jones street boys were shooting the place up. More explosions could be heard downstairs, followed by more gunfire.

Smiley wasn't anymore. Smiling that is. He was Jones Street Boys and the only thing keeping him alive at that very moment was the precious fact that he had taken his colors off before taking his eventful peek outside, and had forgotten them at the door in pursuit of bandaging.

"Who's them?" the Duke had seen smiley's reaction, and hadn't become the Duke by being a poor observer of the human expression.

"Slimy bastards" Smiley recovered, "Didn't understand why they were even invited to the party. I say waste 'em."

"Well I say we's getting the hell outta dodge, brothers" duke patted the rear wall. "This here empties outside next to the building, Right?" Smiley and Shak nodded.

"Right then." And with that the Duke walked out of the toilets, grabbed a rocket launcher that wasn't doing anything just yet, and latched on to the first ganger who walked in front of him.

"Brother. Take this and put a hole in the wall back there." And gave the launcher to the kid. As the boy ran into the restroom, Duke quietly mentioned, "fire in the hole.."

Examining the damaged wall moments later, waving smoke out of the way as plaster and tiling still fell from to the ground, duke asked to whoever was standing behind him, "How many missiles we got?" Shak stood looking at the remains of the boy being dragged out of the room.

"Not enough." He mentioned casually. The boss was sketching again. And besides, the launcher had had it as well. He also mentioned that.

"Then we use sledge hammers" the Duke simply stated. "Get me men and hammers in here, I wanna be gone in ten minutes." He looked at the hole in the wall. His head would fit through, but that was about it. Time to do some serious thinking. He sat in the stall next to the hole, and proceeded to roll himself a big ol' Bob Marley hooter, seeing as Shak had bogarted the last one completely.

'Stuck in the john.' Marcus, aka the Duke, giggled at -what under the circumstances really was a comical situation.




Timothy sure had a lot of comics. He had been slowly tidying up the house. It seemed right and he enjoyed it now that he wasn't as frightful to touch anything.

It had take awhile to get started though, he admitted to himself up in the attic, comics piled neatly, and in correct order. It had taken him awhile just to stop sleeping on the porch outside, but slowly things were settling themselves. First he had taken care of the outside, since in the beginning he hadn't been sure as to what to do with them ?and he certainly didn't want to muck that up, so he focused on the outside. He replaced the rope for the tire, since it snapped when he barely grabbed it. He had stood there, finger in mouth, hoping it was okay, promising to himself to fix straight away. Then there were the dog houses to build. He had seen the dog house out behind the kitchen, the name 'Bubba' painted over the top, and decided that dogs weren't allowed to sleep inside. Fair enough if they all had there own little houses to sleep in. So he had built dog houses. Lots of them. Enough to stretch all the way around the house following the porch. He built them with the opening first pointing outward, to keep watch, but had turned them all around to face inward quickly after. It was nicer this way. No matter where he was on the porch ?he spent a lot of time on the porch, he could now see everyone if they were in there houses or not. It was cosier.

Also, he noticed early on that watching for intruders didn't seem necessary. Which was also odd because this was a post apocalyptic wasteland, filled with all manner of monstrosity ?something he was seeing himself less and less as, but non of it ever came up to the house. And it wasn't like the farm house was well hidden or anything. One afternoon while fixing a gutter out front, with Assistant sleeping lazily on the porch, a deathclaw roamed to within a hundred meters of them, which for a deathclaw and their associated speed, was well within striking distance. And more than a match for any number of dogs. And here he was up a ladder, with every weapon he owned somewhere else, except his trusted hammer ?yes, the same one.

But the beast hadn't even sniffed at them, let alone come for them. And there were others, a Yao Guai and mate made their way past one evening while he was sitting on the porch with the dogs, well within fifty meters, and not even a courtesy look. Strange.

But the strange soon becomes the norm when it is repeated constantly, and he didn't even close the front door, not that he had actually ever done that.

After the outside was cleaned up and tidied, he finally moved inside. Up, in the attic he made a bed for himself on the floor next to Timothy's fort, and it was here that he had started cleaning up and tidying the interior. Working his way downwards, he then had cleaned the bathroom and scrubbed out the tub, then he carefully cleaned the bedrooms, placing the dolls in the dollhouse correctly, making up the beds. There was an abundance of clean linen in a hall closet, and he figured it was okay to use them. In the basemant he found a washing machine and wash lines that were hung along the ceiling, and after reading a user manual that hung neatly next to the washing machine and finding some detergent, soon everything was hanging nicely and drying in the basemant. He organized the papers on the desk in the master bedroom, finding more documents and paper there in the drawers. Soon he was organizing all the families paperwork nicely ?the mister had been a bit sloppy in that department, it's was all there to the letter, just not so well organized.

He now of course knew the whole family's story of the farm house. How it had been in the family for almost three hundred years according to the deeds, and how the government had continually bought up bits and pieces of the surrounding farm land, until only the bit with the hill and a few acres out back still remained their's. He now knew about little Rebecca and her cancer, and that the medication costs was causing her father some concern. He knew that the oldest son, John was a brainiac bar non, and would be getting into a prestigious school on a full scholarship later that year. He also knew that Anna didn't really like being shacked up with the twins, them being only four while she was already seven. He didn't know much about the twins, other than their names, Heather and Rose, and what everyone else wrote about them, which ranged from the adorable ?parents and oldest brother John, through the annoying ?Anna, to the outright diabolical, hell-bent on taking over the world -Timothy. And he knew about little six year old Timothy, that he liked race cars, drawing with crayons, and comics. And that he suffered somewhat under his sisters existence, hence the sign above the fort entrance. In John's room he found a used metro passcard that read on the back

'speshuul pass'
'not for gurls'

He assumed Timothy had given it to his brother to let him in the fort. He kept it with him now for whenever he wanted to get a comic from upstairs.

Appearently I'm pushing 40 pages or something like that and twenty-odd thousand words or so. time for a clean up courtesy of:

D.Foxy
:clap:

Hope everyone likes it so far and thanks for reading
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

As spring rolled into summer, the time came when there was nothing else to clean up, except them. He knew what he wanted to do, but certain things would take a little time. So first the graves were dug, and he wanted them to be under the shade of the old oak tree. His first idea was to have them all facing the farm house, so that they could be part of the cosiness when he was reading to the others in the evenings, on the porch.

He knew that the Vanderkamp had a book that said other words than what he knew. All written funny, with 'ij' combinations, and lots of 'gr' and 'kr' sounds. There was also a dictionary in the bookcase in the living room he had discovered that said 'Netherlands'. He figured it must be a far away place to be Nether. In the book he found that every word had another word in it's place, and a word for cosiness in another language was gezellig.

He wanted to make sure they were gezellig.

At the last moment ?actually beyond the last moment since he had already dug one of the holes, he changed he mind and held a family meeting on the porch with the rest. He wanted to make sure that the others all understood that it wasn't that he didn't like the Vanderkamp family, on the contrary, he was very fond of them. Father Vanderkamp had insisted that all of his children kept journals or diaries, knowing that reading and writing made you smarter. He was proud of the father for being so uber.

He read from all the diaries of all the family members, on the porch to the others in the evenings, with everyone curled around at his feet, listening to his voice. Except from the twins, who were too little still to write words he figured since he couldn't locate any books that they had written in. Timothy's diary had been a difficult find, and didn't reveal it's location until he was finished cleaning up the comics in the attic and noticed a loose plank in the floor of timothy's fort. Under the plank a book was retrieved, on the front is said in big letters 'Tim's oun book'.

No, he was very fond of the Vanderkamp family, and grateful that they had allowed him and his family to move in ?although the dogs weren't allowed any further than the kitchen, and they slept outside. So he wanted to do as right by them as possible, so that they would remain gezellig, and not become upset.

So his new idea was to put the graves on the other side of the oak tree, facing away from the house, and looking over the hill slope and into the valley below, which was still their land. Other considerations came to mind as well, the branching on the tree was different on the other side, providing more cover from the rain, and it was facing south, so they would have the afternoon sun to enjoy.

The dogs all looked at him as he sat on the porch, his rumbling cracked voice going on in it's usual, slow manner. Their masters voice was in a questioning tone, as if wondering whether what was going on was all right. And as is customary in a pack when the Alfa addresses the pack with concern, the pack holds back in response, as rhetorical reasoning was not lost to the animal kingdom.

Seeing them all looking at him in anticipation, he felt that he had to win them over still, drive his reasoning home with one last convincing argument. He took his baseball cap off and scratched his head. This would take careful wording, and he furrowed his brow for a second.

"Dey bin in da house fur a long, long time nows and I was thinkin' dat dey prolly wanna be outta da house fur a change, but den together so as to be gezellig, and den we cans go over an lets dem know da house is okay and dey can have privacy when dey wants it. Kay?" He finished with an upbeat tone and a smile. The dogs assumed it was supper time and all thumped and wagged tails in accordance. It was settled then.

On the day that he finished reading the last of the diaries ?that would have been father VanderKamp's day journal, a large leather bound volume the father had been writing in since his first son's birth, he buried all of the family members under the tree. He made sure to place their diaries with them as he placed the remains carefully to their final resting place. As a thought, he took two of the larger dolls from the doll house and placed each in one of the graves of the twins, hoping he gave the correct doll to the correct twin. Then he went and got Rebecca's Winnie the pooh bear, some toy cars and crayons from Tim's room, a baseball and glove from John's room, and a bottle of purfume and what seemed to be the fathers favorite revolver from the guncase, and laid the items carefully in the graves next to each of the family members. Still not satisfied, he went to the basemant and retrieved a bag of his best beef jerky, and while passing out some to the others ?a mandatory action, he also laid some in the hands of each person, in case they got peckish some day. Still not satisfied, he was stumped at what else he could do, and then remembered something from too far away to remember correctly.

His father laying two coins on the eyes of a beautiful woman, her eyes shut. Then a sheet covering her face, and the dirt, mixed with tears, and rain.

Running inside he went straight for the coin collection that was on the shelf in the living room. Father Vanderkamp must have been saving these all along, he thought. Wow, now that's uber. He came back with the small box and went to each family member, choosing out two coins from the box that would fit nicely into the empty sockets ?there were many coins, father Vanderkamp was nothing if not thorough, and neatly he covered the sockets with them, very happy at his last minute thinking. The rest of the collection went back into the living room where it laid again, until needed again.

The graves filled, he placed a plank upright at the head of each on, and wrote their names on each plank, so as not to forget, or get mixed up. Then, a book in hand
'wood carving made easy', and an assortment of cute little, very sharp knives from father Vanderkamps garage workshop, he would sit on the porch when not reading to his children and whittle away at pieces of wood. As the first snow started to fall in the late autumn, eight exquisitely carved oak wooden tombstones had replaced the planks, the names of every family member etched in with care, two dates on each tomb. One date was the same for everyone, and for seven of them, the other date was different ?although two were the same again for the twins. Rebecca's grave had two the same dates, only five years apart.

+++

As she tread, the ground shuddered slightly. The two on watch at the toilet door just melted away from her as a guttural warning ushered them into motion. Moments later her unyielding bulk filled the doorway, and then some. She stepped into the restroom. Seeing three men smash at the wall with assorted sledge hammers, she walked up behind one of the men and picking him up by the back of his collar flung him squarely against the broken wall and through it. She picked up the fallen sledge hammer and looked it over, a sudden shade of tenderness glided briefly over her face, before being replaced by the earlier mask of contempt and rage. "Mine." She hissed.

The duke leaned out of the stall when the brother sailed past him and through the rest of the wall. It still wasn't big enough for an easy exit, but the brother had to be commended for his effort, fo' sho'. Looking back into the restroom, the light momentarily eclipsed by the gargantuan hulk of the woman just retrieving her sledge hammer. If he'd known it was hers, he would've told the brother to leave it be. You just didn't mess one on one with Matilda the Hun.

"Why are we still in here!" she demanded, looking over the men in the room.

Men.

Contemptual beings at best, only good for procreation and as an alternative food source during hard times. A tattoo, needled directly onto the thorax said it all; 'unsoiled by male hands' But the swastika on her shaven scull, the Celtic cross over the forearm, the KKK on the back of her head, or the numerous other tattoos that ordained her arms, chest and head told her story for her. And she had come yesterday to prove that men only ever came up with power plays, designed to keep women docile. The longer she stayed, the more convinced she became.

"[censored], those are fifty cal machineguns out there. Even your fat elephant skin ain't that bullet proof." The Duke wasn't planning on going toe to toe with the woman. The duke was standing well out of reach of the sledge hammer and holding a .44 Magnum pointed at her head. "That's right [censored], I don't think you bullet proof enough for this either. And this-" indicating the massive revolver, "..is only slightly smaller than my pecker, so either you shut up and use those god given meat trunks you call arms to make this here hole bigger, [censored] off and deal with those machineguns in your own way, or option number three I stick this where the sun don't shine and keep pulling the trigger until them beady little eyes pop out!"

Matilda and the Duke eyed each other a few second, after which Matilda slammed the sledge hammer into the side wall in contained frustration, turned and left the room leaving a larger than head sized hole in the connecting wall between the mens and ladies restrooms. The duke said nothing and went back to smoking in his stall as he waited for the exit to be finished.

Moving with a veil of blood rage pulsing through her veins, a vice like deathgrip grabbing the sledge hammer, Matilda exited the toilet block and slightly disorientated at first went for the rear of the store before turning and heading for the front, the extra irritation at her own mistake driving her foreward through the shopping isles.

"Outta my way, shrimp!" clearly hoping the runt male wouldn't, her grip on the sledge hammer tightened, ready to paste him without even breaking stride. She faintly caught the 'by your leave ma'am..' as she passed him and smiled slightly. A pup who knew his place, nice. Maybe after she survived this and dealt with what was outside, she would find the pup and take him as a pet. It was so hard to find a pet that had any stamina, and didn't die within a week.

At the front door she took a moment to see what was outside. Shaking her head she almost laughed. Only one fifty caliber machinegun and it was all the way over on the other side, mounted on some boat. A spray of impacts stitched its way across the wall. She ducked back inside and then ventured another peek. Another machinegun up on the overpass. Tougher, but not impossible to throw to. Taking four grenades in her ample palm and hooking four fingers from her other hand into the pins she stepped out into the afternoon sun and pulled the pins all at once as she faintly noticed a figure jumping over an abandoned car wreck. It was the pup.

Matilda died never even feeling the blast behind her, or the grenades going off in her hand.

dang, I blink and you have a crapload of text. I don't have time to read all this right now so.... here's my post saying I tried.

Thanks.
And since I now owe this life debt.. I'll just share it so everyone knows who to thank later on



I should be kinda embarrassed right now I suppose.. :unsure:

But that would entail me understanding the meaning of shame..
Nope. Got gratitude down fairly well, gave up on shame when my son -as a baby, he doesn't do it anymore, started pooping on me for no reason.


thanks everyone again for reading, and thanks to D, the previous section should be a whole lot easier to read (and I start looking for some good online creative writing correspondence courses)
:D
Andrew
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The fuse of the satchel charge, which in turn was wired to the tactical nuclear device, reached the end of it's chemical lifespan and sputtered to an end. The packed PETN explosive noticed and blinked into existence, only to die as suddenly as it had lived, heat and concussion blast it's only legacy. Chargeing cord, fed directly into the ignition chamber of the mininuke sparked at five kilometers a second, reaching the core well and truly before the blast wave of the satchel charge had even started to expand the very satchel it was packed in. At the devices core, an unstable mercury isotope was crushed as the containment explosion was sparked by the blastcord. The mercury isotope, feeling somewhat cramped by the crushing containment blast, and feeling the first tendrils of the satchel charges legacy decided a legacy of it's own would certainly lift it's spirits, as well as a large number of spirits that were to be lifted right out of their mortal bodies in the immediate vicinity.

-Overpressure. Not a force to be toyed with lightly or expect to become paste very soon. Many battlefield soldiers have met with such a fate after having had dealings with overpressure. But as long as the pressure has somewhere to go, then it won't linger and bother those that might be standing nearby as it passes by on it's way. Many strategies for dealing with over pressure always involve bleeding off the overpressure through side vents harmlessly back to the surface before it reaches any vital areas and are what make tunnel and cave clearing so difficult..

Smiley was just climbing through the new exit after Shak who had gone through first and had only moved a few meters when the nuke detonated, the atomic blast tearing through the entire building, collapsing floors on top of ceilings that crushed what was underfoot as it went looking for a way out into the open, where it was free to expand. An early portion of the blast found the toilet block and entering the mens-room felt the ease at which it could expand in here and continued out the new exit as well, flattening everything inside the toilet against either the walls or into the toilet stalls as it left the building, free. Both Smiley and Shak were bumped on their asses and felt the hot air rush by. Picking themselves up, and stealing themselves away from the whole situation, neither Shak or Smiley stopped to think twice. Shak turned to Smiley and asked,

"Ever been to Baltimore" Smiley shook his head 'no'. "Are you smart, can you read?" Smiley smiled his award winners at Shak. Could a brother read? Hell, as president of the Jones Street Boys gang, Smiley Jones had insisted that everyone in the set learn to read, even if it were only comics. He said as much ?leaving out the Jones Street Boys bit, to Shak who smiled. Rule five would have to be amended to state

'?which is why he knew Smiley.'

The Duke should have been dead, but thanks to him being in the rear stall of the bathroom at the time of the blast, he was knocked out cold by the imploding stall door, only to have more of the restroom collapse on top of him laying under the broken stall. He laid there, bathing in the radiation from the blast, soaking up the final residue of the devices ultimate legacy.

+++

Carl eyed Celeste as she watched Andy run like a maniac. He'd seen him, waving like a madman as he exited the market. "I guess she likes show offs" he said to the wind.

'So what could you do to show off then, hmmm' a thought inquired from the darker region within him.

"Try being an upstanding friend and not intervene" he answered himself, as he noted the particular arc in her back as she watched her love careen over the hodd ofa late model Chryslus hardtop.

'If you were such an upstanding friend, you would even be here' dark thoughts could be laced with light, only to deepen the contrast with righteousness. 'You're only here because you need him' it continued relentlessly.

"Shut up." He mouthed silently to himself. No noise came out due to the nuclear blast drowning him out. A hot rush of air blew past, and he saw his old friend fly ass over into the river. "Wake up call." He muttered and went over to where Andy was lying face down in the water. Grabbing him by the collar and hoisting up and onto the shore, his buddy sputtering and gasping water from nose and mouth, he ventured, "Cheater. You used a nuke didn't you?"


Vision slowly and painfully floating into a form of focused sight, the ungainly shape of a re-breather and sensor suite belonging to a power armour helmet would have anyone challenging their whereabouts, and in what realm they might have ended up in.

"Where the hell am I?"

The helmet stayed in view for another second, a metallic voice echoing still too far away.

"She'll be fine. Inform Elder Lyons the only casualties were raiders"

Fine. Good. That meant she could sit up. Doing so heralded the return of waves of nausea and dizziness, but that could be suppressed, and nagging questions could not.

Sitting up, the glare of the late afternoon sun shone right at her. Holding an arm up against the rays, she inquired if anyone had seen her shades. The same power armoured individual turned and fished a pair out of a compartment in his suit and tossed them to her.

"Are these 'em? Pity, they're nice. Not a scratch on them."

Regaining equilibrium with every pace, Celeste now surveyed her surrounding in more detail.
The power armoured trooper who had given her sunglasses back was walking over towards two other, also obviously Brotherhood of Steel soldiers, who were talking to the barge captain as a crew member cleaned out the fifty cal receiver, it's barrel detached and steaming slightly on the barge deck.

A medic ?BoS most likely as well, had been standing over Andy who was sitting on an up turned crate, having something looked at. He saw her and smiled, somewhat sheepishly. The medic came over an with a penlight checked her eye responses. "You'll be fine." He echoed the trooper and moved on. Celeste Looked around further, taking in more detail as she walked.

Frank and Mary were down from the overpass, Frank armed with a rifle sporting a massive telescopic sight, Mary holding little Shelly, who looked around bright eyed, taking it all in. They were standing by Andy as she approached. Carl was standing over with another trooper closer to the building, but came walking up as she did.

"Hey, you're awake!" Carl smiled at her, a genuine look of concern lifting from his features. "But really sweetchee- ahh.., uhh, eh-heh, Celeste, beauty sleep is completely wasted on visions such as yourself." She smiled, but her interest lay elsewhere.

A trooper came walking up to me as I sat there, nursing a smoke, numerous aches and one severely retched back. Pulling the helmet, I recognized the elders daughter, but had forgotten her name. Must of been the blast still messing with me, I figured.

"Aren't you suppose to be heading a tech salvage mission tomorrow?" She asked cautiously, as if addressing a moron. I acknowledged her inquiry.

"And this is what you do with your down time?"

"It was a slow week. Does your daddy know you're out this late young laddy?" She squinted and glared at me, but left it at that considering what had just conspired. Goading a Bos trooper was like scratching a familiar itch, unavoidable if you weren't thinking about it. I stood and took Celeste into my arms, no alcoholic courage would be required for me this evening. Breaking away from her eyes, and looking at my friends, I simply said

"Yeah well, crazy days."

+++

Later on we laid together, comfortable feelings of closeness as we shared a complimentary cigarette. Her fingers lightly caressed the puckered tissue of an old chest wound, feeling it's texture.

"Why'd you do it." She asked. I was ready with eight different excuses to justify the utter insanity of my actions earlier. I started summing them up, but was cut short.

"No, not today. The shopping mall. Why'd you do it?"

Christ, bring that one up why dontcha? Talk about a mood kill. I said as much as I lit up a new smoke, my thoughts suddenly transferred through space and time.

"I was a different peson back then. I was angrier then, and things just took on a different light I guess." She was wearing her I'm-not-buying-the-cope-out-routine look, and admittingly, I did want to talk about it this time. In a small voice I stated,

"Because they were ghouls." She listened, not interupting. "My mom was taken by ghouls. I don't remember it being I was too young, but my dad and Archie, my brother, told it to me on numerous occasion. She got sideswiped by a rambler, and it took her spine clean out." Celeste winced. "Yeah. Well, my dad and Archie hated ghouls with a vengence, and so did I. They taught me everything a man needed to know to kill them by the age of six. Ramblers, night ghouls, glowing ones, reavers, you name it, if there's a weakness to 'em then I'll know it." I looked at Celeste. This was were she might tell me to [censored] off, and never return. Time to bite the real one.

"I did it because I wanted to." I said, looking straight on. "I was working for an organization up north, Hi-tech, lots of gear. We did.., uhh.., retrieval work, Carl and me."

"Tech retrieval like the BoS?"

"Kinda."I looked sideling at her and continued, "We were sent to investigate a group that was holed up in an old monumental shopping mall. The internals of the building were suppose to be some kind of smart so we were dispatched to get it. When it was clear it were ghouls, I volunteered to go in and give them their vacate notification." Now I looked away, "Went into the center concourse and hollered that everyone had ten minutes to [censored] off out of the south exit because we had everything north, east and west sealed off. In ten we were sealing off the south as well." I took another drag from the cigarette, lost in memory. "Funny how that didn't go down very well with them. I froze for a split second, contemplating exactly what Carl had said about high tailing it outta there as I saw the first wave leaping off of the escalators and through shop window and down the walls at me. Something snapped in me, and well.. the rest you know."

She looked at me. I looked back, gauging whether anything had changed. She smiled and shook her head softly.

"No, it seems I don't know." Her head lay to rest on my chest, covering the scar. "But I wanna stick around and find out."

+++

In the years that followed after they left the farm house Archie roamed the DC wastelands with his family, and stories slowly began to circulate the settlements of an enormous super mutant who wandered the wastes surrounded by a pack of hell-hounds. And that all he wished was to be left alone as he went about his business, burying the dead, and generally tidying up.


The End ?for now

BOOK TWO: RUINS

CHAPTER TWENTY

As Ivy rounded the corner she froze, and with good reason to. Archie turned the corner as well, a step behind her, and in the early afternoon sunlight, on this fine spring day, he saw it as well.

It was impossible not to.

It was so huge that second and third story windows could been looked into, at eye level, just like the Rancor beast in Grognak the Barbarian #37 'Grognak defeats the Rancor'. It was so huge that Archie could probably run underneath its legs and only have to duck slightly. It was so huge it was holding a [censored] telephone pole as if it was a baseball bat.

It was so huge that on the back of the lumbering behemoth Archie saw shopping carts strapped in place, and used as makeshift cages. With two across the width of the shoulders and a third hanging from a heavy chain-link belt, as if an accessorized fashion pouch and matching rucksack.

There were people in those cages, a negro male and a girl were in the upper two carts, and then a second female, older in age than the first girl, who sat captive in the third cart, dangling from the giants chain belt. That had to be the source of all screaming for the last half hour, and Archie was already having misgivings about looking into it.

Quietly he took a few steps back around the corner. Ivy, still prone, shuffled likewise back around the corner to where her master waited against a wall, out of sight. Archie scratched her between the ears affectionately, the others in the pack slowly approaching from behind, but careful to not advance until either Ivy, or the master of course, signaled so. Still, seeing them both spooked like that would get the best of any doggy curiosity, especially loyal ones. And they were, to the death. Archie had uncomfortably come to accept that over the years. That his family would, and had, sacrificed themselves selflessly to save him in years gone by.

So much so that Archie had to seriously watch what he did, so as not to get the rest in trouble. Which is why he had motioned the others and Ivy to stay back and hold themselves quiet, no barking.

Ivy, being the rookie lead now that Spot, her former mate and Alpha male of the pack had deceased, had chosen to ignore her master's warning to stay behind, although making sure everyone else knew, and strutted silently forward to where Archie was. She had to make the right impression on the rest, or they wouldn't follow her. Assistant's Heir, always happy to help out, as his family was, kept the others back, and kept an eye on Not so Cunning, the semi retarded offspring off the original Cunning one.

Other notables in the current pack were Lightning, capable of out running mamma death claws, Gonzo and Lunk. Lunk was a dog so big, Archie might very well have been able to saddle him, and ride him. Whatever the final mix was that made up Lunk, part Yao Guai had to be included.

And then there was Gonzo. Archie looked up briefly, but he was there with the others, behaving and staying quiet. Archie sighed, slightly relieved. Gonzo was something else.

Gonzo had joined the pack and wasn't born into it through mating like so many others of the later generations. And had almost earned the title rank of Alpha male from Spot at the time, except that Spot almost died saving Gonzo.

There were a few things the Archie taught all of the pack from pup onward, having started it with Lead, Assistant and Cunning One all those years ago. Some creatures were to be left alone until such time that he, daddy, was on call to issue commands. These included death claws, Yao Guai in heat, and also, scorpions.

And it was during the second hairy in counter in his life with one of these beasts, that his life was again saved by others.

He had been out with the pack hunting, and they were tracking a Yao Guai when, dumb as bricks, he went and stepped bang smack right in the middle of a scorpions nest, crushing a number of smaller ones underneath his heavy boots. But a few were able to jab him in the legs ? still being too small to get any higher, and within seconds, an all too familiar pain rose up to his middle and further.

'Not again.' He thought. Talk about bad luck?

Making it clear of the nest before his legs started buckling under the spreading toxin, he hoisted himself up and on top of a boulder that was sticking out of the broken landscape. It saved his life. A monster scorpion, easily twenty feet long came rumbling out of the far brush, responding to her nest being ransacked. Massive pincers clacking, the angry animal zeroed in on Archie and came charging for the boulder. Impacting against the base head on, her crab pincers gauging chucks out of the solid rock, the rear stinger shot out like a whip, aiming for him.

Whhhhhht-CHINK.

The stinger slammed into the rock surface, just inches under Archies leg.

Whhhhhht-CHANK!

Archie pulled the now paralyzed legs higher onto the boulder with his arms, trying to keep as much rock in between him and it. Unfortunately, Archie could already feel his fingers numbing up as well. And the pain was to faint from, literally. He was getting tunnel vision and a surging roar in his ears from the pain, almost blacking out temporarily.

Whhhiiiii-Swish!!

That was too close, only missing his head by a hair. Thinking straight wasn't really an option, as much as he wanted to just then. He had only noticed the stinger had missed after the fact, not good, not good at all. He blinked trying to get the sweat out of his eyes. This could very well be it, he reconciled, suddenly quiet calmly, and in a serene state.

He hoped that the pack would be okay without him, and realized with a weak smile that Spot would do good. He had come home with a mate a few weeks ago and she was a spirited one, Archie liked her. Secretly he had already named her the next Lead, after Spot. Queen of the pack in a sense, and she carried her royalty well. Everywhere Spot went, she would be there, the loyal mate.

And any trouble he could get himself into, she would be there, just in case he needed help. Spot was the third lead Alpha male of the pack after his original Lead, and was officially named Spot, Lead III. Because she was, in his mind, Lead IV, which became quickly, and openly ? Spot -because Archie thought the rest of the dogs wouldn't catch the pun, Ivy.

Whhhiiii-Ffffftoink!

Another near miss to the head, this wouldn't last to much longer he concluded. The venom was doing its work, even on his increased body mass and with its natural hardening. A neuro-muscle relaxant works the same, regardless of size. Archie's only advantage was that it was spreading through his body a lot slower, and possibly he could postpone unconsciousness. But not indefinitely, and so smart money was on the unrelenting giant that was slowly whittling away at his boulder, just a few feet away.

Archie looked up, and saw the stinger shooting his way again, this time catching the motion of the approaching stinger in time, just unable to do anything about it anymore.

From the side a large dog intercepted the oncoming stinger, biting and grabbing hold of the stinger and slamming it out of harm's way.

'Who's that?' Archie wondered groggily, more of the venoms work progressing. 'Can't be any of my family.. they're not that stupid.'

He slowly climbed higher onto the boulder again, watching the spectacle, a feeling of d?j? vu coming over him as the unknown animal bit for all its worth into the back of the stingers barb, keeping the needle sharp weapon attachment well away from the rest of its body as the huge scorpion thrashed around, trying to free itself from its new assailant.

'Is dat ... Cunning One?' disbelief was pulling him back around, some things just can't happen. They had buried him years ago.

From the dogs point of view, it had seemed a good idea at the time, and now there was a freakin' deadly barb, as well as those two crusher claws on the other end of this thing, and he was holding on with dear life to this end, where it was relatively safe, but nowhere did this fit within the framework of the doggy plan, whatever that had been.

Now the plan was to simply hold on.

Spot quickly saw that the master was okay on the boulder and then went against everything the master would tell them during hunts. In a dash and sprinting flat out, Spot made a beeline to intercept the bucking animal, Ivy close on his tail. Followed in a second by Assistant, Lunk and the rest of the pack, all the dogs ran for the animal, reaching it more or less at the same time, and attacking.

Spot and Ivy both grabbed the stinger tail as well, and the combined weight snapped it limp, sending the giant scorpion into a flying rage, spinning about snapping wildly with the pincer claws, the stinger flailing haplessly behind. All three dogs let go, tumbling away, the other dogs continued to snap at it for all sides, confusing it until they overwhelmed the creature, finally biting it to death.

Tally, one dead scorpion, no dead dogs.

And this one crazy mutt who happily came up to the boulder Archie was on, carrying the massive stinger tail in his mouth, only to drop it in front of him, as a gift. Archie could have sworn that that dog was grinning, ear to ear.

'What a Gonzo.' Archie thought as he smiled, and finally allowed himself to fall unconscious.

+++

Lucius Daniel Ogstein the III, also known as 3Dogg ? well, not by many, but that would change soon, was having what was summing up to be the absolute, hands down worst day a brother could have. And to top it all off, nuthin' he could say or do would shut the screaming [censored], up. At least the kid next to him in the other cage was quiet.

Probably in shock.

Scratch that, the girl was maybe eight years old, guaranteed she was in shock! Hell, it was all he could do to keep from losing it himself. Face it, on life's scale of what svcks, this was top billings. "It doesn't get much worse without actually dying out here in the wastes" He heard himself ponder solemnly.

"I'd rather die please." Came a weak voice from next to him.

Crap. Had hadn't wanted to say that out loud. Not for her to hear.

"Hey.. No.., I didn't mean it like that. And you shouldn't want to die. Not yet at least." He tried reassuring the girl, who was curled in the corner of her jury rigged confinements.

This is a good read. Hey, other people who haven't read this, read this. :thumbsup:

Thanks Dracth

I can now say that page one posts have all been edited for spelling, grammar, form and prose.. well, spelling and gammar at least :unsure:
with all credit going to Dee and his dead ass, may it rest in peace, brother.

the rest gets done later, also from Dee's hand



Andrew
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



The mutant and his family of dogs stood around the corner of the townhouse in what was left of the over grown garden. They had been tracking east overland through the DC ruins when he had heard screaming and gone to investigate. Archie knew about the metros but not having a particular love for all things underground, and also not possessing any form of map, he felt it unwise to ever go down there. Besides, there was nothing down there but a ton of ghouls, and Archie hated ghouls.

He didn't know why he hating them anymore, that part of his memory ? maybe thankfully, erased from existence by the procedure he underwent. But the hatred was there, even if the motive was not, and he had reconciled that it must have been a darn good reason, seeing the way they made him feel.

They made him feel like killing things. Ghouls to be exact. And rarely did he curb his urges when they were encountered. It was a righteous indignation that even if he didn't know the actual words for, he certainly felt when he saw them anywhere.

And he knew it was okay to kill them, because the big book with stories about God-guy from father Vanderkamp said so. He knew because he had read it to the rest during there course of a year.

This bit was from a guy John, who'd been mates with the son of the God-guy, who was a Mexican named Jesus.. But John had said once that clever people had said once ? there was a lot over referring in that book..

"The people answered and said, Thou hast a demon: who goeth about to kill thee?"

Well, that nailed it for Archie, and he had closed the book with a slightly louder 'Whhumpff' than normal, startling some of the older ones awake. Tails thumped, a happy yap was given. Dinner time.

They agreed with him, he noted happily. Ghouls were demons.

Ghouls also filled a completely unnecessary niche in evolution in Archies mind. Their meat was useless for jerky, so even in death they had no redeeming value. And speaking of death, it took forever to kill the creeps; unless you popped their heads off they just kept on coming, regardless of how many other limbs were torn, cut or blasted off. Well, okay. If all of their arms and all of their legs were pulled off ? Archie had tried once to find out, they sort of just flopped around on the ground, trying to flip over using their head and necks. But just popping or squishing the head to pieces was quicker. And of course simply cutting their heads off, but that was soo obvious.

He knew from his hunting trips with the pack out in the wastelands that there were many different kinds of ghouls that could be encountered at any time. Not that he could sum them up, but whenever they came across them he knew instinctively what he was dealing with, be it a pack of night ghouls or a solitaire rambler.

Because they could pose a threat to the rest of the dogs he always killed them on sight. Sword in a two handed back hand charge as he then ran down a hill side to meet them, his family bounding into the assault alongside their master, just like Gorgnak would have had it. All would be decimated until all lay silent and nothing moved anymore, which wasn't always and easy task, dealing with ghouls.

Sometimes ... they would be dressed differently, almost like regular people, and they would run and yell and scream when they saw him running them down, sword in hand. And then would plead and beg that they had done no wrong or harm and that they weren't feral, but civilized. But you know how those demons lie all the time. So he killed them as well, always.

+++

'Oh crap. Now that one was gonna kill them as well.' Lucius made sure to keep quiet this time, but the girl saw him too.

Another Mutant strode around the corner and was walking up in their direction, along the dead trees that lined the sidewalk and past the row of townhouses that filled the street. They saw the brute because the behemoth had its back turned to the newcomer. Something it seemed that the newcomer wanted to maintain for the present moment.

"What's he wearing?" a small voice emerged from behind bony knees and matted hair, questioning her reality.

The little girl had been curled up in the corner of her cage, hugging her knees up against her chest, sobbing silently. But now she was looking intently at their new arrival, as if the distraction could erase what was otherwise happening.

"No idea.." Lucius heard himself say, trying to figure it out. He was wearing a curled horned helmet, as if a brahmin, with massive neck guards and wrought steel briastplates "...but it's [censored] weird looking." came as an afterthought.

"He looks funny." A weak smile shone on her face for the first time.

+++

Archie had found in a large picture book from the living room bookcase with pictures of some seriously strange looking characters wielding swords that looked a lot better than his. They came from a far away land where everyone said 'yes' and worshiped their national cooking pan, hence it was named "Yes-pan", but they spelled it 'Ja-pan' which Archie knew from the many books that were in the Vanderkamps language - that they probably spoke among themselves, the language that came from the 'nether' lands, that 'Ja' was 'Yes' in their language.

Reading to his family on the porch by lantern light, he found out that the production of those swords was a long life of eternal practice before ever being able to master, and he didn't think he had that much time to learn it correctly. Little did Archie know until much later, that his self taught style of forging came mighty close to the ancient way of the master sword smiths that ruled in the feudal era of the samurai.

But he sure could try his hand at some of that mad looking armor that they had worn into battle. Some of the helmets were adorned with horns, others with crescent half moons, and the raised neck guards looked wicked. He admired the interlocking plates that were to protect the abdominal region, but looked to be quiet flexible to wear. He couldn't wait to start the next morning.

Using steel panels and lumber from the old silo and barn ruins, and starting at the crack of dawn, he fastening it all together with strips of Brahmin hide left over from numerous jerky expeditions. Slowly, with a lot of trial and error and humorous fitting sessions where he couldn't get it off anymore - and the dogs were no help, rolling on the grass, enjoying their masters antics, slowly a suit of armor took shape.

A very, scary suit of feudal Japanese Daimyo Samurai armor, hammered, pounded and hand molded to a reasonable fit. At least he could get in and out of it without making the rest of the family roll on the grass laughing. But he never did figure out where to put the dynamo... "Them Ja-Pans clever, made 'lectric armor, too clever for me" Archie thought.

Wearing it with the matching helmet he had made for himself ? but without the scary facemask since he thought he could do a better job of that himself without one, two large combat knives attached to his elbows and pointed backward, adding to the lethality of his ensemble. Armed with just his self made sword and a few hand grenades ? which were always useful in a pinch - he stepped out into the street and started off towards the motionless giant standing in the square, imagining himself a characters from one of Timothy's 'Roy Roger' western comic books.

The dogs were heading towards the end of the street as well, except they were heading through the back yards and in between the houses, instructed to stay within the cover of the buildings until signaled into action.

Archie stopped slightly more than halfway down the street and picked up two bricks still cemented together, feeling the weight of the chosen projectile, tossing it lightly as a pitcher on his mound.

"Okay, here we go," Lucius was transfixed by the other super mutant. Unsure what the being's actions were leading to, and somewhat worried that whatever the outcome would be that him, the little girl and the other woman ? gratefully silent for a few seconds - would all be dead in a matter of moments.

And moments like these deserve words of meaning.

"What's he gonna do, mister?" The girl in the cage next to him asked, nervously.

"Well sweetheart, we got a real pressure cooker going here, two down, nobody on, no score, bottom of the ninth.." he knew it was silly, but momentarily couldn't stop himself, to the total confusion of the girl.

"Huh??" was all she managed, before deciding to listen silently.

"There's the wind up and there it is.." Lucius watched as the rock lump sailed through the air arcing towards them. For a second it looked to fall short and hit one of the cages, but still managed to connect with the giants skull base.

"..A LINE SHOT UP THE MIDDLE!!!."

The behemoth was physically shaken by the impact, and stumbled forward a few steps, while Archie set off towards the creature doing a flat out sprint, sword gripped in both hands in a back handed standard kendo attack stance, thanks to another of father Vanderkamps books. Or in a batting pose, thanks to eldest son Johns sports books on baseball.

Half turning the giant swatted in a backwards swing with the telephone pole at Archie, who in turn held back a half step and cut inward under the behemoths own swinging arc.

"He's rounding first and really turning it on now, he's not letting up at all, he's gonna try for second!!"

Lucius found himself rooting for the other mutant in the strange armor, as he dodged the telephone pole and ducked under and through the giants legs. The behemoth, still somewhat fuzzy, had lost sight of his assailant momentarily.

"The ball is bobbled out in center, and here comes the throw, and WHAT A THROW!"

As he ducked through the legs, Archie let his sword swing down and around counter clockwise, catching the behemoth on the back of the right leg, severing tendons and muscle.

Another bellowing scream erupted from its throat and it swatted with his other free hand downward, narrowly missing Archie but overthrowing a car in the process. Archie then squatted down and with all his might gathered in his leg muscles, bracing for impact, he jumped upwards.

"He's gonna slide in head first, here he comes, he's out! No, wait, SAFE--safe at second base, this kid REALLY makes things happen out there!!"

A deep resonating guttural gasp followed by a deafening roar bellowed from the giant, drowning out all other sounds. Lucius had to grab on quickly so as not to be violently shaken about in his cage. The little girl wasn't as quick and got tossed around harshly. The other female started screaming again at the top of her lungs.

Jumping upward, Archie collided with his helmeted head and the full force of his upward momentum straight into the crotch of the behemoth, embedding the pointed Brahmin horns deep into its lower scrotum and up into the lower abdominal area. Almost sending Archie out cold from the collision with solid bone. Fully impaled, Archie gave his head a sharp twist, breaking off the horns at their base, further wounding the colossus before stepping clear.

"Batter steps up to the plate, here's the pitch- "

The giant had picked up the overturned vehicle and tossed it in the other mutants general direction. Archie saw an opening and once again ducked through the massive legs of the creature, sword again at the ready.

"..he's going, and what a jump he's got, he's trying for third, here's the throw, it's in the dirt-- safe at third! HOLY COW, STOLEN BASE!"

With exactly the same move, Archie dived under and through the legs of the towering mutant, slicing the tendons of his other leg. It was now crippled, but still very much dangerous. Archie stayed just outside of the reach of the telephone pole, bobbing in and out, trying to catch the other mutant off guard.

"He's taking a pretty big lead out there, almost daring him to try and pick him off!"

The behemoth was poking the telephone pole in Archie direction, herding him into a more favorable angle, until Archie had to make a side-step and dash to avoid a corner wall. Suddenly lashing out, the behemoth grabbed Archie and in an instant pulled him into a crushing hold against his chest, intent on simply squeezing Archie to death.

"The pitcher glance over, winds up, and it's bunted, bunted down the third base line, THE SUICIDE SQUEEZE IN ON!"

Lucius could see into the other mutants eyes as the life was slowly squeezed out of him, their faces only feet apart, as he continued the commentary.

"Here he comes, squeeze play..."

Archie's head was pounding and his chest buckling under the immense pressure from the behemoths bear hug as he fought to free one of his arms ? if he could only get to his sword...

"..it's gonna be close.."

One arm freed Archie grabbed at the sheath on his own back for where his sword ought to have been, only to find it missing.

"..here's the throw, there's the play at the plate..."

With the other arm freed, but still caught in a crushing vice grip around his chest, and with his breath almost depleted, he only had one trump left, and he was in a surprisingly good position to play that final card.

"..holy cow, I think he's gonna MAKE IT!"

Slowly, so ever slowly, the behemoth began to topple to its side and forward, letting go of Archie, who now hung on by the two combat knives that were still attached to his elbows and were stuck up to their respective hilts into the behemoths neck. With a thud that felt like a small earthquake the behemoth toppled to the ground.

Pulling both of the blades from its neck and jumping clear of the sagging hulk, he then proceeded to undo the cages and set the two captives free after the massive remains lay quiet. Lucius wanted to say something to the strangely garbed and victorious mutant, but was cut short by Archie himself, who, holding up a hand said,

"STOP right there!! I gotta know right now! Before we go any further?"

Arrrgh! Will edit your latest post soon. But dear friend, you MUSE when you think and you MUSS when your ruffle a little kid's hair...and..and...

phew. I need to get down to it.

Thank goodness you sheet (0oops) shoot better than you spell...

Foxy

More later...

"Yes, of course I love you and I'll love you forever, but that's not the point!" We were eating an early breakfast at the Broken Lantern, and having an argument.

"What's the point, then?" she asked in a monotone as she concentrated on her noodles, sunglasses perched on her forehead, not warranting me even a sidelong glance. A clear sign that she was not amused.

I, on my part, hadn't even touched my noodles, or my coffee aside from the initial sip that preceded this relational quagmire I found myself slowly getting bogged down in. I was sitting with my body turned halfway towards her, giving her my fullest attention, and studying the smallest reaction from her - because in this kind of situation I knew from experience the odds were royally stacked against me.

"The point is... that it's 'no', and that's final."

I was screwing up monumentally here, and Eddy Stahl, the proprietor of the Broken Lantern and single dad to Jenny and her brothers, winced audibly at my remark as he filled the fridge with something. Celeste was just wrapping up her bowl, looked at Ed and smiled -

"That was delicious Edward, not too spicy like the last time. Anymore?"

She pushed her bowl towards the patron. Me, I was glad for any excuse to even temporarily get out of the firing line about to erupt. Having been married with three kids, with the missus just passed away a year ago to the green pox, Edward remembered all too well the imminent signs of a feminine blowout.

"Thankee miss Celeste. Ah done what you said wit them herbs ya'all brought over. Works mighty fine, indeed. Folks have been-a chowin' it down fer a week now. Can't seem to make enough of it" and leaning in he winked, "But ah gots me still a pan inside for the inventee of Edd's Noodles?."

"Edd's noodles?" she emphasized mockingly.

He blushed visibly. Celeste had that effect on most men.

"Well, I.., err.., I was figurin' you more to be the silent partner type in these affairs. Not wantin' to have yer fine name associated wit' sumptin' as menial as mere noodles ma'am. And as silent partner the dividend bein' of course uhh.., free noodles?" Celeste laughed easily, and extended her hand.

"A fine offer and a business deal I would be stupid to refuse. Done, my good man. Now where's my dividend?" she ended, handing him the empty bowl.

Edd took the bowl, and looking into the empty cooking pan on the counter, and back at the kitchen entrance, he jerked his thumb in the direction of the door and muttered, "gotta gets sum more water boiling for a new batch. It'll be but five minutes or so."

"That's fine, I'm in no hurry." she said smiling as she lit a cigarette.

Edd rushing to vacate the field of oncoming medieval battle, that I was only partially aware of still being groggy from the antics of yesterday and not to mention last night. How was it that a woman can be all 'like-she-was-last-night', and then turn around the next morning and get all 'like-she-was-now?'

Turning towards me, all empathy and emotion drained from her features, staring at me deadpan. Even in this state of obvious anger, her beauty was breath taking. The dark line of her brow angled towards the slightly rumpled bridge of her extremely cute nose. Slightly pouting ?but not in that good way, her lips full and only slightly parted, ready to unleash a verbal torrent of unbridled female savagery, her cheeks drawn in creating a near perfect line between her jaw and cheekbone. Piercing blue eyes locked onto mine like an animal locked onto a prey, looking up from under pronounced lashes.

"Final?!" her eyebrows lifted, causing her sunglasses to slid down onto the bridge of her nose.

'How do people do that?' Like an animal with its eyes caught in the headlights, I couldn't get out of the way and just sat there, staring down at my oncoming doom. A last ditch feeble attempt from my part was to turn forward and finally take a sip of my coffee, now tepid. Which was how I was starting to feel, so I drank it.

"Final.." her words she echoed in a softer, more menacing way.

I only had a very slim shot at this, and I had to word it just right, which was a crap shot at best with the uncanny pressure of her gaze and seemingly uncaring attitude silently bearing down on me. I'd rather face a female death claw than her in this way.

But this was non negotiable, too many things depended on it and it was time to bring out the big guns. It wasn't a favorite of mine and somewhat messy, but it had a chance of succeeding, if properly handled.

"Yes, as in, it's my house. Like I built it. You should remember, you were standing up over there," I gestured up at the catwalk in front of Moriatry's, "..while I was at work building that, up there. Remember, I almost fell and killed myself twice."

"Yeah. I lost money on that bet." More deadpan.

"I-, you did? Anyway, it's mine. And a man's house at the end of the day is still his castle. And if someone comes to my door and I don't want to let him in I say 'no', and that then is a final thing, cuz it's my house, right?" no reaction, time to drive it home. "I mean, if someone comes to your door and you don't want them in, and say 'no' then that's a final thing too, isn't it? That's your castle and you want us to respect that, don't you?"

Reason. It's a messy weapon of debate, mostly because when utilized with precision it automatically puts the opponent in a defensive corner, who then has to find another avenue of reasoning to rebuttal. With drunk people this is usually when they start to punch things. With women, you'll know you've won the battle, but you are guaranteed to lose the war. For the moment I was prepared to lose a little war.

"So not only am I not welcome in your house, but you don't want me to let you into my room anymore either then, is that what you're saying?"

What?!? Where the hell had that come from? Whoa.., hold the phone. There was losing a little bit of war and there was losing the whole farm. My last and only resort now was to come clean, capitulate, and pray for favorable peace negotiations afterwards.

Ed just returned with the hot pan of noodles. Hearing this, he fled leaving the pan on the counter. Celeste just started eating from the pan, a look of hungry anticipation over her.

Truth. At the end of the day it's the only thing that'll save an argument turning from nasty into poisonous, and it was my responsibility to do the saving here.

"Look," I sighed, which came out more genuine than if I had practiced for it. "The truth is simply that I don't want you up there while I'm gone because," well, here we go, "It's someone's birthday in less than two week away.., and there could be presents.."

She looked up, all bubbly and empathetic ? meaning smiles again, up at me again.

"..you know, presents of a festive nature and the like. And there might still be a misbegotten clue laying around upstairs that I don't want unsuspecting minds ?that's you, button, to see and gain unprivileged knowledge from. So, in the name of 'do-you-want-a-birthday-or-not?', yeah, it's freakin' final."

I smiled at her, and turned back to my belated breakfast. "Ed, another coffee, buddy. And could you re-heat my noodles for me, ya think?"

Ed was just standing there, dumbfounded at the fact that I was even breathing, let alone ordering coffee.

Fishing a smoke from her pack, and lightly grabbing her wrist I lit mine using the embers from hers. She watched the spark over from our cigarettes.

"Prezzies?" She bubbled happily, "See, and hear I thought you might be hiding other women up there."

Thinking of my ditsy genius tech assistant with her wonderfully clumsy ways and utterly non feminine tomboy attitude, I finished the last of my old coffee and mentioned so much.

"Well, there is Moira of course?"

Sometimes not shutting up is worth a bruised shoulder.

Carl really wished that they would shut up for awhile. It was one thing that they smelled, well like death really, what with all the rotting and decomposing going on within and on their bodies. And it was another thing that it took some stubborn shooting to kill them on occasion, but it was the god-awful noise they emitted that in Carl's opinion was the most irritating aspect about them. A dull hissing-sort-of-growl, as if they weren't able to produce a proper growl, and hissed in their own frustration of their audible limitations.

Whatever the reason, it was irritating. Taking the stuffed duffel bag by the straps, and levelling his sidearm, Carl got ready to make a break for the doorway on the other side of the area and then the surface. Countless dim red eyes pierced through the darkness back at him. He reassured himself that the haul was worth the effort.

'Not to mention all the ammo this is starting to cost me' he muttered, firing three quick shots at the shifting shadows, and breaking from cover.


---15 hours earlier---


Carl was pacing back and forth, waiting for the trooper to finish his readings.

"Well?" he asked anxiously. The trooper shook his helmeted head, the Geiger counter built into his power armoured suit ticking softly.

"Still too hot, but dropping." He turned to Carl, "What's your rush anyway? Forget your girl friend in there?" a metallic chuckle emitted from the head mounted speaker. "the device was designed to radiate alfa particles." Carl gave his best do-I-look-like-an-egghead scowl and the trooper continued, slightly slower. "Radio isotope helium-4 particles. High on radiation, low on penetrating power. As opposed to say, Beta particles which are essentially radio isotope electrons that have less radiation to emit, but penetrate further." The trooper decided to complete the lesson in nuclear physics 101. "And then there's old gamma radiation which isn't a particle at all, just energy, although not much of it, but being only energy it'll penetrate most stuff. That's why you need mega-thick lead to stop it from hurting you." The trooper was finished with his readings. "The rads will continue to keep dropping, in about four hours you'll be able to enter the building again, another six after that and as long as you stay twenty feet from impact, you'll be fine."

Carl nodded that he understood the trooper and walked back to where his buddy and girlfriend were standing.

'Man, she is one fine woman.' He found himself thinking again, and he enjoyed making his old buddy feel squeamish. Commenting that he was glad she was okay, he was glad...

..and almost making the same mistake twice.

'Nicely recovered,' he thought as he smiled. But her focus lay elsewhere and there was no denying it. Best to make the right decision this time around. He walked up to where they were sitting, the large man and his woman, introduced as Frank and Mary Stone, she holding the baby ? a very adorable Shelly - were close at hand and exchanging comments and catching up.

"My god, Andy. What made you think of using a freaking nuke-" Frank exclaimed. Mary, standing next to him elbowed Frank in the ribs. "Ow.. woman.." He glanced down at her and then went on. "Sure did the trick though, wow, all thousand of them taken out at once. Well, those scum bags won't be using this place anymore for their Saturday night specials."

Carl saw that his friend was making frantic chopping motions along the neck indicating for Frank to pipe down, but unfortunately he never got that memo, unlike Carl. Celeste turned to Andy, a frown beginning to appear, repeating what had just been said.

"All thousand of them?" eyes squinting slightly, "Whatever happened to 'oh maybe thirty or fifty tops', huh?"

Standing close now Carl could see the sheepish grin, followed by a half hearted shrug.

"I thought he was exaggerating." Andy offered, but Celeste wasn't buying.

"Uh-huh.. then why the nuke?"

Carl could see his buddy cringe under her use of reason so deftly. Luckily, Carl grinned, he knew the Zen master of reason, and listened to his friend work his magic.

"Because I didn't know how much he was exaggerating, so just to be sure I brought this package along that I had, and never needed." Carl found it a smart move but he needed to shore up the explanation. "And the reason I didn't tell you, or him, was because you would have freaked out and demanded from Lucas more security for the operation, which he didn't have and would have to drum up some regulators for, which would take more days. Meanwhile, Carl and I have already left because the safari is a set date, leaving you two well experienced rifles less, meaning two more regulators needed.." smiling, "this seemed the easiest solution to the whole thing. And I didn't tell him," Carl was targeted by his buddies pointed thumb, "Because he can't keep a secret to save his life, let alone mine."

"It's true." Carl was having none of it. "I'm a blabbermouth. Why there was this one time that Andy was dating these three chicks all at the same time an-"

"SHUT UP, Carl." Scowls were launched. Carl just grinned, deflecting them easily.

"Hey," he stated back in a matter-of-fact way, "you send me up against ten times the advertised number and number one; I get to take the mickey out of you all evening."

"And number two being?" Andy would always bite, it was old school between them.

"I get first dibbs on all the choice loot laying in there waiting for us."

Laughing, Andy grabbed his side in a sudden jolt of refreshing pain. Celeste demanded that he stop by the clinic and let Doc Savage take a look at it. In one smooth effort she also invited Frank and Mary to Megaton, saying they could sleep in the other room at Moriarty's since he wasn't going to be back before the end of the week anyway. And this way they could all eat together spend the evening together at the bar.

There were few visitors in Megaton ? like exactly one, and Carl was crashing up at the house. Essentially, we had the place to ourselves and any other megaton citizens were about. Hell, the way Celeste was jazzed it wouldn't be surprising if everyone in Megaton showed up later on, with her telling what happened, crooning over Andy while Carl did his best to embarrass him.

It's what buddies are for.

Leaving the party at its peak, Carl was torn between getting the salvage out of the Super Duper and staying to just party with the rest. But a lifetime of conditioning not to leave the possibility of choice gear falling into the hands of others compelled him into action. Chartering a Brahmin ? no cart - he went up to the house to get sorted before heading out. He looked back up at the saloon where music and laughter could be dimly heard, and wished his buddy was coming with him.

Carl smiled at that thought. Asking the star of the evening to leave on an all nighter, and later on with the promise of being the recipient of a very private party, no way! Some things in life are obvious, simple.

Still, Carl had asked tentatively about going back for the discarded gear and whatever else might be there, and Andy had casually mentioned that he would inform the Sheriff ? Simms was the guys name, and also was one of the regulators if he had heard correctly. And that just wouldn't do. Carl had contemplated for a split second the odds of changing his buddies mind, and rejected it. Carl recalled a time when such a thing wouldn't even have been an issue, the both of them cleaning out the entire building, down to the fillings, so to speak.

Business before pleasure, and then lots of pleasure!

It had been their motto - no, their credo, since the beginning.

Up at the house he tied off the docile beast ? Bessie was her name, and took a quick look under the two headed cow.

"Yup, she's a her." Carl muttered, happy they hadn't accidentally given such a name, nice as it was, to a male Brahmin. "That's just cruel." He thought.

+++

"This is just cruel" Carl thought, but couldn't seem to get any good head shots on the creatures as they scampered beyond the shadows. So he was forced to just shoot at whatever presented itself, and more often it was an arm or the quick blur of a pair of legs.

Klaa-Boom!
Klaa-Boom!
-clack-

Time for a refill. Carl popped the release and the cylinder opened outward of the immense pepperbox styled weapon. Holding a pouch open, he emptied the used casings into it, and in the same motion, extracted another speedloader to reload the cylinder with. Pushing in tightly until it clicked home, Carl flicked the weapon slamming the weapon cylinder back into place.

Because of the massive nature of the weapon, there was an semi-automatic extension behind the cylinder where the hammer would normally be on a revolver. To fully arm the weapon, the shortened slide receiver had to be pulled back, just like a standard automatic. This armed the firing pin and also cycled the cylinder around placing the next round in front of the firing pin, ready to be shot.

It was a hybrid that had all the advantages of an automatic, and none of the jamming problems. What's more, due to the size of the cylinder, the weapon fired rifle ammunition. Either seventeen rounds of 5.56mm ammo, thirteen rounds of 7.62mm munitions, or seven rounds of .50 cal. For each caliber Carl had a different cylinder that could be changed out in mere seconds, except for the .50 cal, which he had left at the house, thinking it wouldn't be needed.

Klaa-Boom!
Klaa-Boom!
Klaa-Boom!

'Wait for it,' he was taking careful aim of two who just popped their heads up from behind overturned desks.

Klaa-Boom!
Klaa-Boom!

The rifle rounds left the muzzle and due to the inherent shortness of the barrel started a tumbling motion that was terrible for accuracy at longer ranges, and equally terrible for everything else at closer ranges. Both of the ghouls heads never had a chance to pop down again, instead just exploded in sync.

Carl checked his cigar. Almost done. Setting the bag down momentarily, Carl pulled his smoke container from inside his jacket and opened it up. One left. And the rest back at the house, in his gear. Taking it and chain lighting it with the old one, he cursed himself for the oversight. His special brand of smoke, as Andy so eloquently put it, was the only thing that smelled worse than the undead, and would keep them at bay as long as it was lit.

And he knew the chance of encountering ghouls would be high, considering they had a brand new radiation source they could svck up to, as well as a buffet of freshly dead people meat to feast on. It had been his biggest concern since asking about the radiation levels to begin with. He had immediately realized it would have to happen tonight, and at night is when they mostly came out.

Mostly.

Foxy sent me over to read this, and I loved the story, your forte is def in the interactions between people - you have a gift for the most natural and believable interactions -wonderful dialogues! Awesome descriptions and details in some aspects; there are some details you missed adding that were needed, but only in a couple places. Six times you broke from the story mid paragraph and spoke to the reading audience, that ruins the immersion in the story. If you need to talk to the readers, try to do it at the end of the chapter as a footnote. Overall impression = Awesome story! Thanks Foxy for referring me to a great story/great writer!

Wow. And to think I never let people read my stuff before -didn't think it was good enough, and just used to delete it... :unsure:


So it doesn't yak eggs?






Sweet.
-looks under his foot, doesn't find the note, decides to figure it out later and waves :wave:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


If he moved all of his stuff and dumped it on Andy's bed, then the takings from the first haul would fit in the spare room, mostly.

Carl scratched his head and lit up on a stogie he had found on one of the drawers in the desk in Andy's room. Smiling he started to unload the rolled up and collected gear into the room, going out to Bessie three more times before she was completely unloaded.

'Okay,' he thought just before going out again, giving the place a last once over before closing the door and going back again. 'So it doesn't all fit in the room. At least it still fits in the house.'

The first haul had been all about getting the best first. Not interested with attire or possible armor that was worn by the blast victims, Carl had checked any bags and packs that he found among the bodies, quickly going through the content with a practiced efficiency. This netted the highest value loot ? dope. Along the way he gathered up any of the weapons that seemed to be in any sort of functioning state, leaving the complete death-traps and homemade zipguns and pipe-rifles, but certainly collecting all the ammo and spent casings he could find. He went through the entire building and basemant this way during his first haul, careful to stay clear of the toilet block and surrounding area until later when hopefully the radiation would be less.

He had seen a number of the blast victims start to awaken in their newly trans-mutated ghoul form. But it seemed that only those of the victims with some form of catastrophic physical damage were coming around first. Either those with lost arms or legs and those with fist sized svcking chest wounds were starting to move about, moan, and question their new existences. Any of the those with amputee damage Carl would put to rest with a single bullet. In their undead state, the ghouls would be eternally crippled on top of what had happened to them through radiation. What had happened earlier today had been a necessity he now knew, after hearing the recording that Frank had brought along for everyone to hear. But euthanizing those poor bastards, who would otherwise live out time without any arms or missing their legs was equally a necessity, he believed.

'Otherwise we're no better than those before us' he felt.

Klaa-Boom!
Klaa-Boom!

So had he walked through the store during the first haul. Quietly collecting weapons and gear, occasionally putting a high velocity 5.56mm rifle round in a head from close range, puffing away on one of his personal cigars.

This last cigar would last twenty minutes, maybe a half hour if he didn't continually drag on it. Looking sideways, Carl just noticed a surprisingly sneaky feral try to blindside him. Exhaling a large cloud of smoke that engulfed the ghouls head it screeched in agony as it tried in vain to claw the putrid stench away, ripping its face to shreds in the process.

Klaa-Boom!

The feral keeled over backwards, the rear of its cranium shredded as well now.

This second haul was proving to be a different walk in the park than the previous one. But he had known that the minute he crested the hill that stood between Megaton and the old supermarket. Because he was wearing a combined infrared and low-light illumination night vision gear ? Institute standard issue - he saw the moving shapes in the nights gloom as clear as daylight.

Clearer perhaps since they lit up a shimmering orange-white against the bluish background. Carl counted at least a dozen scurrying around the building, with even some perched on top where the Duke had sat just that previous evening. Only Carl didn't know that.
All he knew was that Bessie wouldn't have lasted very long this round, and was glad he had left her behind, intent on only the little stuff left in pockets and jackets.

"So when enough is enough, I leave" Carl promised to himself out loud, and strolled down the hillside.

Arriving at the outskirts of the parking lot, Carl surveyed the scene. There were about a dozen outside, all concentrated around the farthest entrance, while he stood just to the side of the other entrance. The one he had seen the purple smoke be tossed out of and where he had seen his reckless friend run madly out of. It was also the entrance he had used on the first haul. Checking the other holster he had strapped on for the occasion, he made sure the special weapon was loaded ? a one shot break action, and re-holstered it.

"Justin Case was a wary man, a wary man indeed" he muttered the old children's rhyme. Carl only found so many of the rounds that the weapon used while looking around the house, although he was sure his buddy ought to have had more laying around.

As the doors had been blasted half off of their hinges, slipping through them without disturbing anything was easy. Inside the foyer he had first found the functioning multi barrel cannon and a semi reliable looking RPG launcher with four warheads in a bag. Now Carl noticed that the bodies weren't lying on the floor anywhere. Crouching, he carefully made his way to the corner of the foyer and peered inside the supermarkets interior.

From where he sat crouched Carl could make out numerous forms moving past and behind the isles. Then he also noticed a number of shapes sitting on top of the isles. Unseen, he relocated from the foyer to a small corner counter which was directly to the right of the entrance. Using the checkout lines as cover and avoiding up turned shopping trolleys, Carl nimbly vaulted the countertop display and landed behind it in the enclosed area of the in-store corner shop.

He wondered what the best approach was. Obviously, anyone not resurrected as a ghoul was now lunch for the ferals who were roaming the place. And the newly awakened sentient ghouls ? being left alone by the ferals, would be wandering around aimlessly wondering what the hell happened.

Taking his shotgun from the sheath on his back, and with sidearm and duffle bag in hand, he stood and walked through the access door back into the store proper. A feral was sitting right outside the door crouched in the corner.

'Ssssskkkkgggg'aaaaa' came from it's diseased throat.

"Here, let me help you with that." Carl jabbed the muzzle of the twelve gauge into the creatures mouth, and pulled the trigger. The report was loud enough to be noticed.

"Attention Super Duper Shoppers!" Carl yelled out with as much authority as he could muster. "This is a robbery! If you are still sentient and coherent, raise your arms and lower your gaze. As I come by you may empty your pockets and you are then free to leave and to pursue your new found identity in peace. Cross me and you will pursue a new identity right here, in pieces, literally."

Carl readied himself, for it was the other half that would be trouble. He continued his little speech, "If, however, you are no longer in full capacity of your higher cognitive functions and or just loony, please see me now and I'll happily blow your heads off. Thank you." He really wished he had had a potable PA system or bull horn. That would have been choice.

Over on the other side of the interior, the nuke had left a moderately sized crater in the ground, blasting though the foundation into the earth below. The basemant started further up ?but not by much as part of its roof had collapsed, along with isle three above it. A few individuals stood around the crater, still somewhat dazed, attracted to the warmth like flood victims after being pulled out of the water. Small conversations were attempted.

"Where am I?"

"[censored] this hurts"

"Oh man, what happened to you?"

"You need to talk, you look like you're dead."

"All I remember was a blast, then a whole lotta nuthin, and then I wake up with these things not even paying me a second glance. So excuse me if I thought I was in hell five minutes ago."

"Mack, I was in hell before there was a blast. Ever hear of the Hun?"

"You mean 'Matilda-it-killedya' the Hun? As in the leader of the 'White Woman's Coalition of America?' out of Washington Heights?"

"Uh-huh.."

"Jesus, were you running with that set? I thought they only took women members?"

"They do. I was sold to them."

"Wow. So this is like a step up for you then, huh?"

"Yay me. And you?"

"I have no idea what went down, man. I was down in the basemant shagging this primo box when al of a sudden some [censored] yells 'the Jones Street Boys did it!' for no apparent reason"

"...for no apparent reason, suure."

"I'm telling ya man, all of us -save our warboss - was in one of the corners of the basemant getting high, and I was getting laid. Then, literally before I knew what was happening, there's this massive explosion that tears through the back wall-"

"Hey, I saw that. I just entered through the basemant doorway when it went off. Then there was that second explosion off to the side.."

"Yeah, and then the two grenades that went off in both corners at once. I mean c'mon, it wasn't us man."

Another stumbled closer, holding his head. "Oooh talk about a hang over from hell.."

"Over here buddy, the warmth seems to help."

"Jesus, what happened?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out. At least we're not dead, I think."

A muffled yelp came from further back into the gloom. "Ahh, [censored]! Get off me you filthy animal! Here, take that, [censored]! Jesus, do I look dead to you? I'm moving, aren't I?! Kick ya square in the nuts again if you don't [censored] off!"

A character stumbled around the back of the isle, two ferals finally leaving the new arrival alone as he kicked after them. "Has anyone seen my rifle? I swear I'll waste every last stinking one of 'em, dammit!"

The others looked as the new arrival walked over to the glowing crater and stuck his hands out towards the radioactive warmth. He sized up the small crowd.

"What?" He exclaimed, "If you're all surprised to see a ghoul, I would venture all of you taking a good look in a mirror somewhere, cuz it's kinda silly." The others blinked and looked slowly at each other, at themselves, and back at the new comer. Realisation had been sinking in at its own pace, and now was given a turbo injection towards acceptance. The new comer accentuated his claim again.

"We.Are.Ghouls.Period. Welcome to rest of your life, which could be a very, very long time." He rubbed his hands in the warmth. "At least radiation is your friend now."

One of the others was puzzled, "Where did you get your degree in ghoulogy?" he asked, speaking for the rest as well.

The newcomer grinned sourly, "I hunt them." looking up at the others, "I was in the neighborhood when I saw the blast. I waited awhile until the ferals were attracted and then came down to take a few out. Once inside I freakin' tripped and knock myself unconscious. I just came around and two of them were gnawing on me and my rifle is gone."

"So how do, uh.., they come to be." The other asked as a feral clambered over the top of an isle and sat itself down, perched closer by the radiation source.

"Ferals?" the newcomer looked over his shoulder, and then back at the group. "That's your future if you don't watch out. Soon you boys will start to feel hungry, normal as what." Looking into the radioactive glow, lost in thoughts. "But whatever you find to eat, it won't help. The only thing that'll satisfy this hunger is human flesh, brain being the juiciest."

The others shuddered, "Cannibalism? No [censored] way, I'm not eating people."

"Wait until your completely consumed by hunger and then smell a nice fresh kill laying somewhere. Then talk to me."

"So you've done it? Eaten human, your own kind? Then why aren't you one of them?" They didn't mean to sound disbelieving, but it was all too new for them to take in so quickly.

"Ever been hooked on dope?" a number of them nodded, "Well it's like the best fix you've ever tasted, smoked or shot up. And once tasted, there's no way you can never taste it again. Eat too much and eventually you end up like them. Nothing more than an animal for me to hunt."

"And the other kinds, what about them. Do you know how they become, uh, what they are?" the remarks were formulated in a softer tone, as they came to grips with their new lives, and its new rules.

"The glowing ones. They're basically ferals that become radiation junkies. They've bathed in it so long they can emit it." He continued summing them up for the others. Best give them a head start and teach 'em something useful.

'Maybe I won't end up having to hunt them' he thought to himself

"Roamers are a notch up from ferals, and are more solitary. They also travel vast distances, even during daylight." He looked at them again. "You'll notice soon enough that sun bathing doesn't agree with you anymore. Best stay inside or under cover if you want to minimize the skin peeling. Nocturnal ghouls, the so called night crawlers, are just ferals who are adapted to seeing long distances in the dark. Usually happens to ferals who live out in the wilderness too long. Probably a natural selection thing. Maybe a further mutation that develops over time, dunno for sure." He shrugged and grinned, "I still have a few electives to go before I get that degree. Then there are Ramblers, big boys who although a little slow on the draw, make up for it in spades with them coal shovel claws they have. They can get even bigger than on a death claw. And those animals are named for it."

"How do they get that way. I saw one once and it took the head off of a Yao Guai in one sweeping gesture. Almost lazy like." The man who asked was as the rest still warming their hands on the glow. The newcomer was rummaging in a pocket for a lighter, couldn't find one and leaned into the glowing heat, lighting a cigar on the radioactive rock. Bending back up to re address the others, he answered.

"By holding their hands continually in a radioactive heat source, like you all are doing." He smiled as they all backed up a few steps.

"Hey man!"

"Real funny there."

"Cut that [censored] out, buddy!"

The small crowd of brand new additions to the species of ghoul wasn't amused at the seasoned ghouls sense of humour.

"Don't worry and relax. Take it easy. Like those glowing ones, it takes a lot of exposure to radiation before things like that start happening to you. It comes from ferals who break their hands and arms a lot in combat, but always survive. They then let the broken bones heal and set using radiation. That's when the mutations seep in. This," he rubbed his hands a moderate distance from the hot spot. "This is actually good for us. So is swimming or bathing in radiated water. Unless you're really falling apart." He looked at them again, "The last, and by all means the worst, are Reavers." Blank stares returned to him.

"Reavers are the screwed puppy crossbred of a feral with an unsatisfiable craving for brain and your worst case murdering homicidal maniac. Reavers will kill regular ghouls. Hell, they'll go up against Yao Guai if it suits them. They are happiest only when killing. Period. They've lived longer as ghoul than ever as a regular human, and constantly teeter on the wrong side of reverting to their animalistic feral roots." He certainly had their attention now. "If you're ever hanging with just ferals around you, and they split for no apparent reason, Reavers could be that reason."

The groups spokesperson asked the question everyone was wondering, "So how do you do it then. You've been a ghoul obviously a lot longer than today, and you admit to eating human flesh, but you hang on. What's your secret, oldtimer?"

His answer was cut off by a shotgun blast echoing from inside the store. As they listened to Carl's impression of Jesse James, they all looked at each other, speechless.

The oldtimer put his finger to his lips to issue silence and in a standing bound jumped the isle clean to the other side. Soon more blasts from a shotgun could be heard, and a group of feral ghouls skirted out from the back area running into the gloom towards the shotgun fire. More shots were fired.

The oldtimer slipped around the end of the isle and quietly came up to the nervous group. More gunshots, closer this time.

"Play along" he faded into the shadows.

Not at all, lol. I was extremely impressed by the Andy/Celeste interaction (till he started letting Carl steal her away, you have to watch out for those "friends" when it comes to your woman! Lol)

Your story was very touching, I think you handled the emotional scenes extraordinarily well!

Hi Andy, our vulpine friend also whispered in my ear about your writing. I have not had time to really dig much into it yet, but I can give you my first impressions.

First the good: You started out the story with action, our protagonist fleeing for his life. That is good, very good! Your first few paragraphs are the most important ones in every story, because they have to grab the reader and make them want to continue. If they do not, then it does not matter if the rest of your story is pure gold, because they will never bother reading that far to find out. You have grabbed me, and that is for certain.

Second, you have an excellent understanding of grammar. This tells me that you have at least done some technical writing in the past, if not other fiction. The English language is a rough beast to wrestle with, being that it was created by the Mad God Sheogorath. You seem to know you way around the ring rather well though.

Thirdly, well, you have me wanting to read more! That is the real bottom line test of any writing. Is it interesting enough to want to keep scrolling the page. Yours is a yes! :celebration:


The bad: I noticed the same thing that mALX did. There are several places where you seem to no longer describe what is happening, but rather it feels like you are talking directly to the reader. Like she said, it breaks the suspension of disbelief. Here is one example of what I mean:

Well, that way would be a factual answer as the moment, given that he had no idea what was in that direction, but a better way to sum it up would be say that he was definitely running from the other way, and trying to put as much distance as possible between him and where he came from.

You might try to reword that a bit, to keep in the same style you had the paragraph above it. In fact, I think you might reduce it to a single sentence and fold it into the previous paragraph, like so:

The trees blurred past him as he bounded over the uneven terrain and through the razor-grass underbrush. A sloped rock face jutted up out of the ground in front of him, boulders and outcroppings lining the way up the face. With easy footing and long grasps he hoisted himself up the side, and continued forward without pause, his bounding stride carrying him. He was not sure what direction he was going. All he knew was that it was was away from where he had come from, and that was enough.

The other thing that jumps out at me is that you could use some thought tags to describe when he is thinking. Just a simple "he thought" added on to the sentences the same way that you would use a speech tags. This makes it clear to the audience who is thinking. For example:

At least his little brother would be safe, he thought.

Have patience with Andy. When you consider that this is his very first effort, and that he is a naturally hard-pressed-for-time single dad of a five year old boy and that he is writing in a stream of consciousness style, and POSTING HIS WRITING ON THE FLY AND COMPLETELY UNEDITED you will see that he is a 'natural' ... unlike, say, someone like me, who has to revise twenty times (I kid you not, 20 times) before he can post something half decent.

Sub Rosa is one of the best critics I know, the other two being BSparrow and Darkom, so you see, Andy, I brought in only the best!!!

And by the way, MAGNIFICENT JOBS, my two Red Riters ( = SubRosa and MalX) !!!

thank Alex (just guessing here)

I guess because she's real

so is Carl, to some degree.. and we go way back(*)..


(*)meaing it's all good, he can try, fail and look foolish doing so. It's happened before, and everytime he fails to figure it out -how a trainwreck like myself can score dates,
while he truly is 'too-sixy-for-his-shirt' and wonders how I do it. I always tell him it's anatomical in nature :hubbahubba:



Wow, thank you as well Rosa (again, just guessing)

I'm really, really grateful for everyones input and commentaries/critiques.. you're right. Sometimes I feel myself explaining stuff instead for telling it. Thanks, something to look at.

Like I said, no one ever read my stuff before, it was just flight of fancy.. So.. this is kinda :ahhh: in a good way

ya know? :unsure:


four and a half, close

...twenty times? :wacko: the words would swim off the page and start circling my head like hungry sharks going in for the kill if I ever re-read my own stuff that many times.
Wow, wish I could do that...

you're the best, buddy

..and that's again SubRosa and MalX, I hope I can keep you entertained and captivated. Of course, now it's completely jinked since now I'm going to be trying to out think myself, and that's never good. Especially for us former jarhead groundpounders :hehe:
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



"Shopping Super Duper does absolutely nothing for the social etiquette of today's modern consumer. They're like, like animals." Carl was in a zone and ready for them, but with only eleven shots in the twelve gauge and reload being a manual, shell for shell, time consuming procedure, he was hoping to catch at least a few of them in each shot.

As they came flying over the isle barriers arms out stretched, faces distorted in the tactical light that was fixed to the side of the weapon, Carl was happy just to be hitting parts of them in a single shot.

'Nippy little buggers.' He thought, dragging heavily on his cigar and backing up a little, exhaling the smoke where he had just stood.

Second wave of ghouls jumped the isle in the same manner as the first had, and landed squarely in Carls foul smelling smoke screen.

'Kkkggggaaaa'iiiiiiiissssssss'

'Sssssssshhhhhiiiiii'tttttaaaa'

'Fffffrrrraaaaa'kkiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii'

This was better. The three were lined up nicely in a row next to each other, gagging and puking out whatever it was they used for guts.

Blammo!

Apparently, whatever it was they used for guts, it was ocker yellow.

Using an isle that had fallen onto the next, Carl quickly climbed up onto the top, hoping for the tactical high ground. Two who were on the top of the isle, two rows down both jumped at the same time for him. Carl kneeled on the improvised catwalk and was able to take out one and severely cripple the other in a single shot. With a few spare seconds and nothing coming for him just yet, he started sliding shells into the breech of the under barrel tubular magazine. Just as he reloaded two rounds, more jumped up on either side of him and started closing in.

Firing once in each direction to clear both sides and moving forward over the catwalk that covered the isles, he noted that he still had to reload the shotgun.

As Carl approached the rear of the store, his sewn in Geiger counter in his sleeve quietly started ticking more urgently, warning him of the increased radiation. Reaching the last isle and looking over, Carl saw a small band of ghouls all with their hands in their necks and looking downward. Carl threw the duffel bag among them.

"Hello shoppers I represent this regions consumer watchdog service and it has come to my attention that everything in this shop is of substandard quality and must therefore be confiscated due to public health issues and the general safety.., and not to forget, consumer confidence.
Because we want, your trust.
Now, If you would be so kind as to fill the bag with anything and everything you may have on you then that would be greatly appreciated and better yet, you don't have to die."

Keeping the shotgun level as he jumped down Carl made sure to keep everyone under the barrel as they filled the bag.

"That's it, don't worry, we also take the little things. Because we know at consumer watchdog, it's the little things that add up." Carl was happy with himself. The bag was filling up nicely and he could soon-

"The only little things on my mind right now are; how much will you bleed smoothskin, and what would it taste like." Something extremely pointy punctured Carls neck about an eighth of an inch, letting a tiny droplet trickle down his neck. The oldtimer was standing directly behind Carl with a long pointed stiletto at Carls neck. "And maybe a reason I don't strip you naked and feed you to my ever hungry brethren?"

Carl wasn't sure whether he was looking at a blessing or a curse that came crashing through the collapsed entrance of this side of the store, but it was definitely a force of nature.

"Because of that?" he motioned.

+++

She had awoken earlier with agonising pain slicing up and down her arm. The pain only infuriated her more and she stood up, her blurry vision not focusing on the shifting images of beings surrounding her.

"Waaaahhhggg!!!" She swatted a number of them away with the injured arm, more pain fuelling her rage. Examining her wounded hand as her vision improved, occasionally backhanding an irritating being with her good arm clear across the parking lot when they ventured too close, she flexed what was left of her hand. Two fingers missing, the rest fused together to form a crude grapple pincer. Flexing sent more pain up her arm, probably everything was broken. It would heal. Looking about, she located it again for the second time in a row. Retrieving her lost item, she stood up. The smaller beings scattered like roaches as she straightened up, her misshapen hand gripping the massive sledge hammer in a vice hold. Her head whipped around as she heard the shotgun blasts come from inside.

'Probably men.' Floated in her mind like a red flag in front of a raging bull. She snarled viciously. Matilda was going to go in there and rip every living thing apart, be it: man, child or beast. But first she was going to exact some pay back from the whining beings that had been surrounding her, wondering whether she could be eaten at all. The sledge hammer swung back and forth, and ferals started dying.

+++

Both Carl and the oldtimer had the same idea at the same time.

"RUN!" They both yelled. The oldtimer let go of carl, and the whole group took off. Carl took the extra half second to retrieve the duffel bag and was off too.

"This way!" The oldtimer was hauling ass to the back of the shop, and without thinking ?or more specifically completely consumed by the sight of worlds largest ghoul wielding what looked to be the back axle of a truck, ran right after the old ghoul who promptly led them down into the basemant area. Too late Carl realised what the old ghouls idea was, and came to a sudden stop as they continued for the back service tunnel.

"Never mind guys, it's blocked." Carl yelled after them. It didn't matter, two seconds later they found out for themselves.

"This don't look like NO solution to ME!" came a frustrated voice from the group. The old ghoul looked around, a veil of hopelessness past over his face. Carl quickly barked orders,

"you guys, find whatever you can and keep the [censored] distracted. I'll try an take her out while she's busy with you lot." Carl was frantically reloading the SPAS twelve gauge, sliding shells as fast as he could.

"Why the hell should we listen to you?"

"You were going to rob us!"

"How do we know we can trust you?" The old ghoul was already looting corpses for baseball bats and crowbars. He started passing them out to the others.

"You don't. Besides, just as in the previous situation, I'm the only one with guns, so you should listen to me." Carl was now replacing the cylinder from his sidearm to fire the heavier hunting rifle cartridge instead of the lighter assault rifle round, muttering to himself once again that he should of had the cylinder for the .50 cal shells with him.

Spinning the cylinder and slapping it into place, Carl stood and addressed every pair of beady red eyes he could make out in the dark. It was worth a shot.

"Listen up, all sentient and non sentient undead people. Something is gonna come crashing through that doorway that doesn't care whether you're a vegitarian or not, and then we are all gonna die. Now either you die like the men you once were, or you die because it sits on your bony ass, your choice. I'll be the guy over here with the shotgun, not being sat on."

"Listen to him boys" the one who had been a previous slave said, "That was Matilda, and she'll kill us all."

+++

Dealing with Matilda had been an ordeal, but was accomplished by co-operation between very different groups and individuals.

As she finished killing everything upstairs, she sought out the stairway and made her way down to the basemant, gore dripping from the well used war hammer. Her tread in the stairwell sounded like boulders were being rolled down them, and as she burst through the doorway, a large potion of the surrounding frame came off with her. She eyed the dim area, and true to their word, the other group started whooping and hollering profanities, distracting her away from where Carl was standing in the shadows.

To his surprise and that of the others probably, a small dozen ferals burst from the shadows and bounded across the basemant, off the supporting pillars and over up turned furniture, intersecting Matilda as she got halfway to the others.

The ferals tore into the wasteland amazon, all of them diving on top all at once, tackling her and trying to pull her down. It wasn't working very well. Carl couldn't get a clean shot in, not that he cared about the ferals covering the hulking woman, but they would shield her from the worst of the damage. He cautiously waited among the shadows for an opening.

Matilda rained death down on all that came within reach. Easily grabbing two under an arm and heaving until she was answered with a satisfying crunch, dropping the two motionless to the ground. Another came under her hammer, his upper chest caving in completely, while she simply stepped on a fourth while grabbing and biting clean through the fifth ferals spine and neck, instantly killing it as it's head dangled forward like that of a rag-doll.

The others now came into action, rushing her as she battled the last ferals off of her. Laying into the woman with crowbars, two-by-fours embedded with spikes and razor encrusted baseball bats, Carls view was still blocked. But this time empathy for the obstacles was still present.

One of the others, the Jones Street Boy, ducked under the swing of her hammer and planted a home made morning star squarely into her exposed armpit. Reeling from the impact Matilda brought her elbow snapping back and into the ghouls side, sending him flying sideways.

Carl now had a perfect opening. Raising the shotgun and aiming in at her massive and exposed back, the SPAS started coughing blast after blast, Carl pulling the trigger as fast as he could and still keep round on target.

Matilda buckled under the fire tearing into her back, but it wasn't going to cripple her soon and she needed to get these other -men- off of her body before she could turn to the other threat.

'Five, six, seven' he counted mentally, keeping track of what he shot. After the seventh round he manually pumped the charging handle to reload the next round.

The last four rounds were so called Rhino's. They were larger than normal shells and required manual loading due to the increased projectile size and diminished charge they carried. Good for punching big holes up close, like during a breaching charge to take out the hinges on a door, to stop an on coming vehicle, or one colossal, crazed, berserker bee-atch. A solid slug projectile with an explosive mercury-nitrate tip encased in soft expanding head. They were known in the military as HESH ?High Explosive Squash Head rounds, and Carl only had four. He had to make them count.

Klaa-BLAM! Clack-shlick.

Klaa-BLAM! Clack-shlick.

That got her attention. She screamed a roaring thunderous howl as she threw the rest off of her left and right, turning to face Carl, her war hammer swinging outward.

Klaa-BLAM!

In the sudden furry of comotion Carl missed the shot, blasting a chunk out of one of the support pillars.

Reload. Clack-shlick?..


Matilda let her grip on the handle loosen slightly as she swung it forth, the centrifugal force pulling it outward. She tightened her grip at the last moment, now holding the hammer by the tip of the handle completely outstretched as it entered the apex of it's arc, connecting ever so slightly with the side of the weapon, yet sending it sailing beyond reach.

-Whack!-

Matilda grinned a wide, near toothless smile.

"Time to die, pup."

Carl didn't falter for a second, and seeing the shotgun sail away from him, he turned and ran. The massive sledgehammer sliced harmlessly through space he had just occupied and in a lumbering gate, she set after him around the basemant. Jumping and weaving over and past the furniture and other assorted obstacles in his way, Matilda simply smashing all to the side that came before her, the embodiment of the unstoppable juggernaut.

All the while Carl was desperately trying to draw the peppebox revolver from its holster, and found a few improvements to the release mechanism that it could use. Finally getting the weapon free, he turned and with steady hand, fired into her. Shot after shot continued to penetrate the rolls of fat and muscular mass of her gargantuan hulk, and although it was slowing her down. It hadn't stopped her yet, a twisted lopsided grin now permanently plastered across her features as blood matted her face and she muttered non stop

"Come here pup. Time to die pup. Momma gonna kill pup good."

Carl kept firing, grateful he didn't have to worry about stoppages and jams with this weapon, just aim and pull the trigger.

'nine, ten' Carl kept track, 'Eleven, twelve, thirteen! RUN!' And the chase was on again, only this time with Carl trying to extract a spare speedloader from its pouch with one hand -the pepperbox revolver in his other hand, while running his ass off all over the basemant. And every time he tried to make it for the door, she would cut him off.

Stopping before a wall, he glanced down at the outward angled weapon cylinder and aligned the speedloader along the back to insert the rounds. Motion in his peripheral vision made him drop to the deck, the sledge hammer slamming into the wall leaving a two inch deep impression behind. Carl rolled and kept rolling, the hammer pounding into the ground moments after his head would move. Rolling up and out of her way, carl managed to position himself behind Matilda and immediately fired twice into the back off each calf, bringing her to her knees. But as he wanted to tap her twice more in the back of her head, she swung the war hammer back around, forcing Carl to back off.

Turning and using the sledge hammer to get herself up, Carl emptied the remaining nine rounds directly into her heaving chest. Unstoppable, she continued to rise, dragging a crippled leg forward, slowly approaching her ultimate prey. A man.

Carl fumbled for another speedoader for the revolver. His hands fishing behind his back in empty munitions pouches.

'Oh [censored]' shot through his mind. 'Must of fallen out during my little steeple chase through here earlier.' His eyes betrayed him.

Matilda smile widened. The blood that washed down her face and over her lips suddenly tasted.., sweet.

"Has pup no more bark? Momma still has bite. Come get bitten pup." She crooned, more than a touch of the insane in her voice.

"Momma wanna touch pup. Momma wanna squeeze pup. Wanna see pups eyes when I do it. Wanna see pups face when I pull its little arms off. Its little, puny, man arms off.." she raised her arms over her head in a final strike at Carl.

Klaa-BLAM!

Her body toppled forward, Carl barely side-stepping she collapsed on her face, a smouldering hole right next to her spinal column. Behind her was the old timer, holding Carls twelve gauge in his hands.

"Nice shot." Carl commented, stepping over the body and retrieving the duffelbag from where it laid, the single shot 40mm grenade launcher pistol conversion unused in his hand.

"Nice shotgun." The oldtimer said, "What's that?" He gestured at the single shot wepon n Carls hand.

"That's Justin Case. can I have my shotgun back?" Carl held out his hand.

"Wanna trade it back for a camouflage coloured M14 EBR?" The ghoul grabbed it and helped Carl over the dead womans carcass.

"I might," Carl replied, liking this old ghoul more and more, "Wanna help me collect the rest of this stuff, split it fair?"

"I might." The oldtimer replied with a slight grin on his face.

+++

The duke awoke hearing what must have been a truck roll through the store, with screams and yells in the back ground. The toilet stall was crashed down around him, and it seemed hard going to get any part of his body freed enough to wiggle out. Gunfire could be heard, and it sounded like it was still coming from the basemant.

"Are them niggahs still bustin' heads done there? Mother [censored]!" His grogginess didn't quiet allow him full control of his faculties, but would get there eventually. And then get the mother [censored] who jacked them like this, and with some pliers and a blow torch get his revenge on. This [censored] meant war. Full gun toting war, with all the trimmings and nukes of his own!

'That's right svckahs, you think you the only one with them [censored]?' he thought as he struggled. He was gonna get free, then get the homies and razz this entire area to the ground! Wasteland?
Wait until Marcus 'the Duke' was done with it! Then there would be a real wasteland! Still struggling, he didn't here it the first time.

"Ahem."

Looking up, Marcus saw the two characters standing in what was left of the toilet. One ghoul and a whitie. The two exchanged glances and both shrugged at the same time. With one holding a cross beam and the other lifting part of a collapsed wall away, they were able to free him. They sat him down outside the hole in the wall, and let him come to properly. Carl turned to the oldtimer,

"If you come up to town with me, I'll get you your rifle. You'll have to probably wait outside the gate while I get it, since I'm only a visitor as well." That was fine with old ghoul, happy at the prospect of getting his rifle back. They left Marcus sitting by the wall.

"I'll get the mothers.." he muttered to himself.

+++

As Carl came back out the gate with the ghouls rifle, the oldtimer had a ziplock bag in his hand.

"Here," he said, "you should be able to roll a couple of those smokes of yours with this?" he gave the bag to Carl as he took his rifle. About to go he turned to leave.

"Why do you hunt them." The oldtimer had told Carl a few things on their short walk back to town. "why hunt your own kind."

"Ghouls murdered my wife." The answer came as he turned and started walking down the road that led to Springvale, and beyond.

Never mind, you guy are gonna luv the next bit..

I do
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



3Dogg looked up at the strangely garbed mutant who, mere seconds ago, had floored the other mutant, that stood a full three times taller than this one. When it had still stood.

Now the strangely garbed one was holding a cautionary finger pointed towards him, asking him if he was.. good?

"Uhh, yeah man.., I'm good. Good as gold, I am." 3Dogg wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but it had been a really weird day thus far, and his brain was just rolling with the punches, for now. He pulled the little girl closer, who in turn was happy to try and hide in between the folds of 3Doggs duster.

"Is she good?" the mutant asked again, while now pointing at the girl. That was enough for 3Dogg. Not one to be born of unconditional bravery, Lucius was still very much driven by a need for righteousness and justice in the wastelands. To start the healing of the land, to fight the good fight. Not completely sure about the justice that had just been served, Lucius sure could feel the righteousness in what the mutant just did. But for the mutant to even hint at the idea that an eight year old child might not be anything but good, was something worth being a little brave about.

"Are you high?" Archie looked up at the sky for a second, lack of understanding covering his face, "Of course she's good, look at her!" Lucius dropped next to her on one knee, putting an arm around her small shoulders for emphasis. "She is an eight year old kid, for Gods sake."

Archie looked at the two humans. He knew the God-guy from the Vanderkamp book about God-guy, and that made Anna Vanderkamp come to mind, "Don'ts know eight year olds." He replied gruffly. "Only knows seven year olds."

"Uh, mister monster? I'm only seven too. This man didn't know and was guessing, I think." It was the single longest sentence that Lucius had heard the child utter since the ordeal had begun.

Archie softened and a smile cracked his rough face. He kneeled as well in front of the little girl and held an arm out. "Seven year olds are fun!" he spoke softly but in a happy tone, one that he used with his family when they did anything good., in the hope not to further frighten the child. "Me knows a seven year old too. Shes named Anna Vanderkamp. Has you name too?" The girl nodded. "Is it Anna?"

Shaking her head, "Nooo.., my mommy calls me Cindy-Loo." She took a step back again after having slowly walked a few steps towards the large mutant. Now afraid again that she might have the wrong name.

Archie pondered it a second, saying the name in the air, as if tasting the goodness that might come with it. "Ciindy-looo." He dragged it out, and smiled. "Me likes the name Cindy-loo." And took a small shuffle towards her, arm still out stretched towards her.

3Dogg was crapping bricks as he watched it all unfold. Lucius just couldn't believe it. First this mutant totally greases the much larger mutant ?he was still reeling from that one, by the way. Then after freeing them it wants to know their further motivations in life.. and finally wants to become friends with this little girl, as if a big teddy bear. This was just too real man, too real.

Realizing that wasting time out in the open, in a wasteland, was a luxury one could not often afford without sufficient back up. Lucius at that moment had no back up what so ever, and that the massive mutant was happy to play baby sit for a few minutes with the girl, gave 3Dogg some time to retrieve his belongings

'Of course you're gonna do the right thing and take her in!' rolled around in his mind,
'Oh wait, here's a great idea.. let the mutant take her! NOT!!' he knew it, and would manage somehow.

The GNR building wasn't exactly a perfect home for a kid, but it was secure, and more importantly, with those BoS troopers now basically having moved in ?he didn't mind, even if they didn't really give him a choice in the matter, it would be super secure. So making the most of the current situation, Lucius started rifling through the various bags and pouches that adorned the big-dead-mutant.

'Man, what do we even begin calling these massive mud svckahs?' he wondered as he went through another bag seemingly filled with only entrails ?he shuddered to think who's, and other assorted organs, when his hand gripped around something hard. Hard and familiar. Pulling it out of the bag, blood, brain matter and intestines completely covering his hand, he retrieved a blood soaked weapon from inside. His weapon. A ridiculously large semi automatic that said on the side of it

'IMI Desert Eagle .50AE'

Archie looked up from where he was making progress with little Cindy-Loo. "Big gun." He commented, before turning his attention back to the girl. Lucius smiled at that weapon as it emerged from under all the gunk.

Tucking the massive handgun into the back of his belt, he searched for hopefully a few of the extra clips that were taken from him as well. Hopefully they would be elsewhere than in the gorebag.

Cindy-Loo took a few steps closer to the big mutant. She didn't find him scary at all when he was like this. Not like the monsters that her mommy made them out to be. After the last step she was standing inside his arm reach and Archie carefully scoped her up in his hand, carrying her weight easily he stood up while holding her. She grabbed his wrist for support, but didn't even squeal as she was lifted.

"Do you live all alone?" She inquired. It would make good sense why they were all mean like mommy said. Holding the big giants wrist tightly, Cindy-Loo actually felt safer than ever before when living with mommy and the rude men.

"No. me has big family. See?" Archie pointed towards an alley. Ivy, Lightning and Not So Cunning came trotting out unhurriedly. They came up to their master and licked his hand, Not So Cunning yapping and jumping around in his usual playful manner. Cindy-Loo giggled, but was glad she was sitting in the giants hand. Those dogs were big.

3dogg had found a number of bags of assorted goodies, including his spare clips, a bag filled with all kinds of grenades and other explosives ?the sticks of dynamite taped together were obvious. The grey bar of chalky clay was probable some form of plastique he figured, not knowing how to use it, and there were a number of thin metallic cylinder Lucius put to being detonators, just because he didn't see anything else in the bag that fit. There was even the tubular shape of a missile round in the bag, all in all, a nice baggie.

Other bags revealed various drugs, questionable food stuffs, a few bottles of booze and what looked like, clear water. Lucius was collecting it, and was wondering whether the big guy was even planning on sharing with them, he looked over to ask Archie about his motives of acquisitional sharing and found himself staring straight into the muzzle of the lead dog, Ivy.

3Dogg, for his part, had earned his nickname through various coincidences, as all good nicknames do. The fact that he was good with dogs was well established with everyone in the caravans, when he had still travelled with them. As a kid there were always a few of the caravan dogs following him around, and the task of domesticating new ones, dogs that just latched onto the caravan and didn't cause trouble, was always his to do.

He knew that his sudden turning towards the dogs face could easily make the animal lash out and bite him from simple surprise, not malicious intent. After a second of staring at each other, Lucius breathed a little easier. Sticking his hand out slowly towards Ivy for the real test, he quietly comforted the dog.

"Who's a big poochie-woochie, huh?" he exclaimed to the dog as it came closer, "Who been eating all their mean ole wasteland scum, huh? Who? You, that's who! That's right, that's right. You're a big fella- oh wait, sorry, sorry. You're a lady, aren't you? Yes you are, yes you are."

Ivy licked 3Doggs hand and moved straight in so that he could scratch her side and ruffle behind her ears. This little man was funny, and more importantly, knew exactly the correct place to scratch. She liked him. Looking over at her master, she wondered if he would keep this little man as well.

Archie saw the affection that Ivy pronounced and smiled. If his lead thought the man was good, it was good enough for him. He turned back to Cindy-Loo, who was now standing on the dead mutants back looking at Archie. They still weren't looking eye to eye, but almost. Archie had something very important he wanted to ask Cindy-Loo.

"You know where mommy is?" she nodded, "Where she then?" Cindy-Loo pointed towards the third cage that was crushed underneath the fallen behemoth. Archie looked solemnly at the girl.

"Cindy-Loo, mommy dead now." Hoping he wouldn't upset the girl. Cindy-Loo gave a I'm-seven-and-not-a-moron look, indicating she was aware of the situation.

"Cindy-Loo, you wanna stay with the good man," he gestured at Lucius, "Or you wanna come and stay with my family and me." And he explained how he thought it would work. 3Dogg listened in. the farm house, the swing, all of it sounded like something from a fantasy story. Here? In these wastelands? Untouched by time? This was almost weirder than freaking Oasis, and that, he still wasn't sure whether it actually happened or not.

Cindy-Loo looked at 3Dog and made up her mind. Hoping that by saying she wanted to go with the friendly mutant and his great, big dogs that the coloured man would want to come as well. Cindy-Loo hoped so, but really was just interested in playing on the swing. Opening her mouth to say so, and giving a warm smile to the large, friendly giant.

This one wasn't a monster at all,' she thought, and she wished there was a way to tell her mommy. Maybe she could pray it to her, since mommy was now in heaven.

Archie looked down as Cindy-Loo was about to speak, and saw the bright red of oxygenated blood foaming from her mouth. As she looked up, Cindy-Loo began to violently shake and convulse, until an eye exploded outward showering over Archie, and she went limp, the mutant only then noticing that there was something wrong with him as well.

Archie was hit in the shoulder and chest, as well as in his left arm, all of which he barely noticed. The rest of the bullets being shielded from him by Cindy-Loo's little body. A loud gravelled laugh came from the other side of the square, as more rounds impacted around him.

"Haw, haw. Little humies even punier than the regular humies!" the unknown voice bellowed.

Ka-THUDD?, Ka-THUDD

Waking up, thoughts swimming for the clarity of consciousness.

'That'll rise the dead for sure..'

In the wake of the thudding tremors heavy gunshots rang out, echoing against the empty houses that lines these streets. Then there was the screaming that had followed him from his sleep back with him into reality.

In his sleep he was standing at a crossroads. A large black crow swooped down and landed in the crossroads beside him. He had been consulting a roadmap, but now as he looked it was an old calendar with birthdays marked in red. The crow flew up and snatched the old calendar in its beak, only to land again in the middle of the intersection and start to pick at the very calendar he needed. Frantic that the path before him would be lost with the calendar, and trying to shoo the crow away from it so as to be retrieved, the crow started cawing until the caw from the crow turned into screams that started an earthquake. Which awoke him.

'Thank god I didn't wake earlier. Moses, the woman has a healthy set of lungs on her.' He thought.

Crawling off the couch that had provided the temporary place of sleep, he went through a rucksack and pulled a spotters scope out of a compartment without getting up. Rearranging himself on the couch and taking the mini periscope in hand, he moved it up over the back of the couch and through the front bay window, and out onto the square.

What he saw, was an ear.

The biggest ear ever, and right outside the [censored] window, too! Meaning, that whatever it was that was attached to said ear, was also [censored] big, and furthermore, said owner of said ear was happily capable of shoving said ear though the [censored] third story of a [censored] town house window!

'Get a grip.' He calmed himself. 'You haven't been spotted so you're all right.'

Scaling back and switching to a wide-angle view, more of the image was suddenly visible to him. He saw a complete head, absolutely massive gourd, bobbing slightly outside his window. The head, that belonged on top of a behemoth of a super mutant, was preoccupied.

'No doubt with the source of the screaming.' He gathered. There were also other noises coming from outside, all but drowned out by the relentless hysterical screams. A small crying sob could be heard, as well as a male voice in a reassuring tone.

The head moved from view and, spotter scope in hand, the observer in the apartment moved to a better vantage point where he could set it up with a clear view.

Setting a large open ended crate on a table with the spotter scope set up behind the crate, poking over the top, he sat himself down quietly, well concealed behind the crate and settled in to watch.

'Always watch before taking action, cuz actions can only be taken once, and ya don't wanna [censored] it up.' And old voice from long ago floated up to be heard in his minds ear, 'Then when ya does take action, you has the best chance of doing sumptin' aright.' The southern accent thick in his memory. The bastard.

'So then he sold me. Just like he bought me.' It had been his first true experience with betrayal. All he could remember of his early life was with the old man. His first conscious memories were of the old man actually buying him. He must have been four, or five. The old man, a mercenary sniper for hire, took him everywhere he went, on every job. First just carrying the ammo and camping gear, later on learning how to field strip and maintain the man's rifles, finally learning how to spot, and shoot.

Towards the end were his fondest memories, when they had been buddies the most. Armed with his very own rifle, they had done sniper jobs together. More than buddies, the old sniper was the closest he had to a father, and thus the shock couldn't have been greater.

'I got nothing more to teach you, so I'm selling you on. With what you'll fetch I'll be able to set myself up for the rest of my life.' The sawed off shotgun explained the rest, pointed casually at his chest, end of discussion.

He had been devastated, and sitting in the slavers holding pen after the old sniper had left the slave market, all he wished for was a merciful visit from Death, at the hands of his jailers the first time they strayed too close.

He was, of course, visited by her. His angel, he would often remark later on. Tending to a head wound incurred by provoking the slavers a little too much one day. As he awoke she had been there, the first thing that came into view.

'You're beautiful.' Giggles. Heavenly choir paled in comparison to those giggles. He had something to fight for again. Her name, Andrea.

'Yeah. But you lost her, didn't you?' self doubt was to have its moment,

Sitting behind his spotters scope watching the square, and quietly without any discernible movement, some beef jerky was obtained and snacked on. A lot of reflection is done during an solitary stake out like this, he knew. And letting the mind wander while keeping an eye out was an old skill, well practised.

Out in the square he now saw the cages on the behemoths back, and the people in kept inside them. The massive giant was now motionless, just standing there, as if listening to the screaming from the woman captive. Decisions were taken.

'you couldn't save her.' selfloathing, never far behind

The riflecase, a different one than with the old man, was quickly retrieved. Briefly checking through the spotter again, then placing the case on the floor and arranging himself well concealed from outside, he had the sudden urge to make a difference again.

'Harbouring fleeting hopes of saving these poor people, are we?' Sarcasm, an old friend who, like jock-itch, was never gone for long.

Working the latches of the case open, a small tremor went through his hand and arm

'Why not a drink before work? Never stopped you before.' vile temptation was exceptionally sweet sounding today

The voices of insanity can really be annoying sometimes, especially when trying to a job.

'What job, you unemployed has-been zombie.' now the voices were ganging up on him.

I hunt, them.

'Uh-huh, right. And how's that working out for you, hmm. Peachy I s'pose. First you lose her to the ghouls. The you lose the rest.., to those, those, things out their. Then you become a freaking ghoul yourself, and why? So that you can hunt down ghouls and muties until the Brahmin come home, for how long now exactly?'

Not long enough.

'Uh-huh, riight. And this having conclusive conversations with yourself is just the epitome of a stable mind, is it?'

I'm not crazy! I haven't gone feral! I'm a man still! I'm ME!!

Checking a vest pocket, and fishing out a few tablets from a pharmacy bottle, he took them with a little water from his canteen. Closing his eyes and sitting on the floor of the third story town house in front of his riflecase, he let the meds slowly drown out the voices.

"Better living through modern chemistry" He spoke softly. Content that the voices would go away for awhile, silence filled his mind.

There was one clip of HESH rounds for the rifle, one clip of SLAP ammunition, a light armour negating dense core round wrapped in a sabot to accelerate the projectile. An then it was down to three clips of hollow point ?just as the pepperbox owned by Carl, the hollowpoint rounds were devastatingly inaccurate beyond a few hundred meters, and just devastating to anything within those few hundred meters. He hoped it would do the trick.

'gotta make those heads shots count. Gotta hit the sweetspot every single time to make this work.'

Planning on unleashing the SLAP munitions first, he hoped to stun the behemoth so that he could do some real damage with the HESH rounds. After that it would be up to the flattened kinetic force of the hollow points to then drop the giant.

It was then that Archie threw the lump of rock at the behemoths head, beaning it in the base of the cranium.

'What the hell?' and took another piece of jerky to eat as his voyeuristic observation was resumed.

+++

"Mother [censored]ers!!!!" Lucius screamed as he saw Cindy-Loo's body convulse under the impacts from the minigun. More than a few rounds zinged past him as well, but Lucius wasn't paying attention to those. He was seeing red. Popping up from behind the relative cover of the dead behemoths corpse, Lucius saw two Mutants twenty meters apart, each armed with a heavy machinegun, each firing salvos at them and mostly hitting the dead corpse. Taking aim, he emptied the complete clip of .50AE caliber bullets in the general direction of one of them, dropping down to reload. Rising he happily noted one of the mutants spraled out on his back, the other experiencing a weapon malfunction. Further out than the first one, Lucius checked his breathing, but was softly tapped on the shoulder. Looking over, Archie was holding the sticks of dynamite from the bag in his hands. And Lucius always carried a Zippo.

The mutant was happily listening to the sound of the machinegun burping when he saw the head of his comrade snap backward and the rest of his body follow to the ground. Then his own weapon jammed somehow. Frantically working the charging handle to remove the stoppage, a small bundle of red sticks came sailing through the air and landed rolling to a stop just in front his feet. He watched transfixed as the little sparkles ate their way into the ends of the sticks. Too late to ever fully register what the sticks actually were, they blew up, and the mutant along with it.

+++

He had been poised a number of times to take out the samurai garbed mutant after it had slain the behemoth, even as impressive as that was. But every time the mutant did something that made his not shoot the creature. First it was the way it had deftly taken down the much large opponent, and then it had freed the people, not something mutants were widely known for. Then there was the whole incident of the finger pointing and the questions ?he couldn't hear what the black man said or the little girl, but he could just make out what the mutant was saying, and had slackened his squeeze on the trigger as he heard the mutant say her name.

Cindy-Loo. Nice name for a kid.

Then he saw the dogs arrive and slowly put everything together.

'That's the gravedigger, I bet.' The old ghoul wagered with himself. Like everyone else who called the DC wastelands home, he too had heard the stories of a gentile mutant with a trailing pack of dogs, who while roaming the ruins, buried the dead, and was generally tidying up.

Witnessing the other mutants arrive on scene, and the subsequent murder of the little girl, the sniper quickly readied the clips with hollow point.

'Afterall, they're just regular muites. No need for the expensive stuff' the sniper reasoned.

Watching the black man raise and fire the ridiculously large handgun at the mutants, he settled in and checking his breath, took aim.

FfffftTAC!
FfffftTAC!

One dead mutie. The other was obscured by branches from a tree outside. All that he could see was the business end of its weapon sticking out in the open. He quickly switch to the SLAP munitions.

FfffftTINK!

Perfect shot. The mutants heavy machinegun abruptly jammed, and hoping the mutant would come out from behind the branches the sniper stayed on scope. Therefore the ghoul sniper only saw the dynamite as it rolled to a stop in front of the mutant, and barely had time to open his mouth against the pressure as it exploded.

Archie was proud of the pass, and hoped eldest son John Vanderkamp was watching from Heaven. He knew how much john loved playing football, and had been a quarterback in highschool. Archie would often take small logs that fit nicely in his hand, and then standing next to the oak tree he would practise his passing and throwing down the hill. The dogs loved this and would race down in mad dashes to get to the log first, and then playfully fight over who got to drag it back up the hill to him.

3Dogg watched in awe as the bundle of explosives sailed through the air an neatly landed at the mutants feet, followed by the mutant being blown to pieces.

'Brothah shoulda gone NFL pro all the way!' he thought, and then felt a wetness on his shoulder. He put his hand to his neck, only to feel more wetness. Pulling away, he saw his hand covered in blood.

"Mother [censored]!" which seemed an appropriate response to being shot, and was working for him at the moment. Archie turned, only to see the little coloured man stagger, "Care to help a brother out?" came a semi conscious request, followed by him collapsing.

+++

Long after the mutant was gone did the old ghoul stay motionless in his cover. He had watched the black man fall down, and had seen the mutant apply a bandage to the mans wounds. Then he saw the mutant leave and return with a rucksack from elders, take out a folding shovel, and commence burying the two other mutants, the dead woman from underneath the behemoth corpse, and finally the little girl, Cindy-Loo. Afterwards he collected what was laying around in the rucksack, and gently lifting the wounded and unconscious, made his way further, the pack of dogs trailing him.

It was well into the night that the ghoul came down and dug up the graves of the woman and child. With practised precision he went through the motions of butchering the fresh cadavers. A bonesaw opened the craniums.

Afterwards he carefully reburied the bodies, making sure the graves were the same as before. Up at the apartment he withstood temptation to feast there and then, knowing it was prudent to now move his whereabouts, elsewhere. Packing the raw meat and brain matter into tupperware containers for later, he went about packing up the rest of the gear into his own rucksack, and finally grabbing the M14 EBR, he left.

Tonight he would eat well. Tonight even the voices would have nothing to [censored] about.

When it comes to the rough and nitty gritty of gang banging, Andy, you write with the realism of he who has been there and done that.

Which is so appropiate for a post apocalyptic world.

MORRRRRRE!!!! MORRRRRE!!! :drool:

"Are you going to eat that?"

"Huh?"

"Your noodles? They're getting cold again." Waving a hand in front of my face.

"Helloo.., earth to Andy. Are, you, going, to, eat them?"

"I, uh.., well. Oh." Confusion was at last replaced mild surprise. My dish was moving over the bar towards her, courteously pulled by her hand.

"Ah. Well, ah.., noo.. not any more. Uhm.. Hungry dear?"

"Uh-huh." Verbal communication was now underclassed in priority of the shovelling of noodles into ones primary piehole..

Sluuuuuurrrrrrgggp-PAC!

More noodles were svcked in and devoured. I had to say it was quiet odd to witness such behaviour from one looking so.. daintily, because her table manners this morning were more reminiscent of prehistoric cavemen, than that of a young woman. I said as much.

"You eat like Fred Flintstone on a diet. Are you alright?" I asked, wondering.

"Uh-huh, I have just had this craving for noodles the last couple of days. Dunno." Finishing up, soup bowl tipped to her mouth, drinking out the last bit from the bottom of the bowl. It's the little imperfections that you love.

"Well here, gimmi my bowl back or Edd won't think I liked it." Taking my bowl back, she stole what was left of my coffee. Insolence! Smiling as she held the cup ?my cup, to her lips with both hands wrapped around it.

"You wub me." She crooned.

Now I ask, what's a guy gonna do?

"EDD!!" I hollered into the restaurant, looking at Celeste, shaking my head in disbelief,

"CAN WE HAVE SOME MORE COFFEE OUT HERE?!"

"So what were you thinking about?" she got around to asking.

+++

"Coffee? Or this?" Gob held a can of coffee in one hand, a bottle of scotch in the other.

"Both." I suggested. Gob shrugged, took my glass and emptied it into a cup, poured coffee over it, and then added some reinforcements from the bottle. I said when.

"Cheers." I took the brew.

"Me thinks you'll need it paleface." Gob grinned and nodded upstairs to where Celeste had just vanished into her room, saying that she desperately needed to wash all the grim off, from earlier that day. I had whispered that it would be my honour to assist, but smiling she said that she wanted to be clean, for my bath afterwards. It was probably why Gob had been holding the coffee can to begin with.

"you owe me an explanation, smoothskin." Forgoing the coffee, Gob poured himself a healthy three fingers.

"I don't really need the Coffee, buddy. I wasn't drinking heavily tonight." I started, assuming what he meant. He waved me away.

"Not that. Yesterday."

My furrow deepened. "Yesterday.."

"You said you toured with the caravans for twelve years." I nodded, "After which you said you were part of the Rivet City security, even fighting off the raiders.

"Uh-huh." I was listening.

"Well, Lost at the age of seven.. add twelve years"

"More like eleven" I corrected myself.

"'Kay, whatever. Still it adds up to only eighteen or nineteen years old, tops."

I was wondering when someone around here would finally catch the holes in my back story. I spiked my coffee a little and added a refill. I smiled, he nailed it home.

"And that battle for Rivet City was only three and a half years ago. With you moving in and building your mansion out on the other side of town. Getting all chummy with Lucas.. among others."

"And you were wondering.." I let it linger.

"..what happened to that big ass ten year hole you aren't mentioning. Hey, you started me thinking, and I can't help it if I learned to count at one time, can I?"

I looked around. Not that my life was state secret or anything, but you want to choose who you tell your life story too, right? The party was definitely dying down and coming up on dead, fast. Frank and Mary had turned in ages ago, and Carl was off to bed a while now too, only a few patrons were still hanging around, playing the jukebox for free ?my treat when ever I was in here, but basically we were alone, Gob and me.

"Well, I didn't lie. If that's what you mean." I started. "I did stay on in Rivet City after leaving the caravans, but only for a short while." I looked at my cup, Gob refilled. "I was staying in a flop house up on the flight deck when I witnessed a fight with this guy and three others. He was kicking ass al over the place, until one of them tried to shoot him from the side of the fight. I kinda got in the way and saved the guy, or that's how he saw it afterwards."

Gob's eyes went up questioningly. I shrugged. "I was standing behind the guy with a bottle in my hand. He pulled a piece and I wasted a pefectly good beer on is head. Anyway, he was part of a merc unit on R&R in Rivet City, and he got me a place in the unit."

"The unit commander was commissioned by someone to blaze a trail from DC all the way north to the Commonwealth, via the settlements along the way. I figured it was bankrolled by a caravan consortium or whatnot but didn't ask much since they took me in. Took us just under two years to reach Boston."

"Then what?" Why wasn't anyone believing me on my word these days?

"What makes you think I didn't just stay with the Mercenaries?" He was right, I just didn't want to admit it before taking another sip of my coffee.

"You. By asking that question." Touch?. Gotta hand it to Gob, he must have been a bartender for a long time, which wasn't difficult when you're basically the undead.

"You ever hear of the Institute up there?" Gob nodded and shrugged.

"Sure, who hasn't. Locked up tight bunker filled with smoothskin eggheads who are sitting on more tech than anyone else. Still making scientific breakthroughs, very hush, hush. No buying at the door, no guided tours, that sort of thing." My turn to nod.

"That's them."

"What about them?" Gob didn't want to connect the dots, he wanted me to do it for him. Fair enough.

"I was lucky enough to be standing at the door the one time they were buying." I was gonna need more coffee. "And I ended up working for them for most of that lost decade you mentioned, together with Carl."

"Is that where you learned all that hero [censored] you pulled today?" I had to grin at that one. Earlier after arriving back in town, with everyone crammed into the saloon, Celeste had told the story of the days exploits with Carl giving exaggerated highlights and sound effect whenever he deemed appropriate and they had Stockholm and the cattle drivers all agreeing to it, as if in some grand conspiracy to make me blush. And I had sat here, very same spot, and mouthed 'It ain't true!' at Gob the whole time. I was shocked to find he believed their side of the story.

"Pffft, So the fireworks were a little flashy," I grinned, but then looked up at him dead on, "All silliness aside Gob, there were a lot of different raider groups represented down there. And you heard Franks tapes, hell it's no secret, they outnumber us fifty to one easily out there" Gob nodded as someone who rarely ventured out there. "Some of the groups out surrounding the DC ruins and through out them are pretty damn big. And organized too."

"Like those Talon pukes?"

"Nah.., they're just goons for hire. And since there boss makes them all wear the same cloths they think they're soldiers. I mean that some of the groups out there are becoming so large that they are the defacto force in that area. Just a step away from becoming city states or even full blown feudal empires."

Gob was thinking, so I continued, "That these forms of government were going to rise is obvious in the wake of everything, and odds are some will be for the betterment of man, more or less" I gestured around me, at Megaton in general, "And there will those established by lunatics like the one we just wasted. I would like to think of it as pre-emptive revolution at work." I smiled at myself, and was saved by the bell as a certain someone informed from upstairs that my bath was ready. Coffee finished I said good night to Gob, and made my way happily upstairs.

+++

"He asked if you wanted more coffee, space cadet!" Edd was standing in front of me, but it was Celestes voice. "I'm sorry, Edward. But this guy has been a complete basketcase all morning. But yes, I would gladly make passionate love to you right here on the counter..,"

"Huh?! Wha..?"

Edd was laughing, Celeste had a Where-are-you-today expression on her face, but friendly. I tried to recover, "Well hey! It was interesting for me to listen to until you started on about fornicating where I usually enjoy my breakfast. I was worried I would need to move to a booth or something." The broken lantern doesn't have booths, and besides, it was summer and we were sitting at the outside counter. "Uhm.. and beside," I cupped my hand and semi whispered, "I hear Cromwell and the other bible thumpers over at the church of Atom" leaning into Edd, "aren't into watching?" My shoulder was getting a pounding this morning.

"Ouw, hey. You started." Rubbing the assaulted area, feeling goofy and as immature as I probably sounded.

"You started? What is this, fourth grade? Edward was standing there for five minutes and you didn't answer." She stuck her tongue out at me. Edd looked like he wanted to say something. I nodded at him.

"tWas a mighty fine thing ya done fer Jenny yisterday, mister Andy. She shown the knife to me twenty times, I had to scold her that she'ld wear out the spring mechanics if she played wit it too much. Finest blade I done ever seen, too." His Virginia accent was coming through, a sure sign with Edd that it touched him. "Anything ya needs, all ya hasta do is holler, y'hear?"

I smiled. It was hard to explain in words that this was the reason for the gift. And I didn't mean the pay back in free noodles, as delicious as they were. It was Jenny's reaction, her smile, and then Edd, her dads, and his easy going brand of friendship, that he gave so easily. Making with the hero bit, as Gob so colourfully put it, was easy when it was for people like Edd here and his family, Leroy and co. up at the supply depot, Frank and Mary with their baby Shelly out on the overpass. Good people. And when it came to the odds out there, they were stacked against them, and the few like them that were still out there.

Noting my legal-griendfriend-to-be was going to be providing security overwatch for the building crew who was making the outer wall, I realized that her tease of dressing in garters and stockings for the workmen to oggle was highly exaggerated, but pleasing non the less. A simple button down summer dress, light blue with tiny white specks and a white trim along the hem. Hair loose, and still wearing the duel shoulder holsters. Missing her Chinese assault rifle I suddenly noticed a very familiar case seated neatly by her feet. I squinted.

"Is that my riflecase?" it was, and she knew it was rhetorical as she tried to hide in her cup.

"My special, built for me, one of a kind, me rifle?" I wasn't angry, just surprised. "So you have been up to the house already? And we just agreed.. that.."

"I didn't, your love nest with Moira is safe from me." She pointed, "This has been in my cabinet for the last three weeks now, and since you seemed to have forgotten it, I thought I could borrow it since my assault rifle got banged about yesterday when someone I know set off a nuke without telling, before, doing, it." Punctuating her point, straight in my chest where I was also still very much bruised.

"Yeah, okay, okay. You can borrow it, until I have to go, and then I would like it back, please?" A peck on the nose and she was up and off to work, I hollered after her as she went up the crater, "And feel free to shoot anyone if they whistle, I would!"

She turned, smiling and blowing kisses, "Would what?" She yelled back, "Whistle, or shoot?"

Edd just shook his head grinning, "That'll be some life yer headin' fer, mister Andy."

I had to agree. Now to just survive the next two weeks.

You're doing great Andy! (and by the way, I am not Alex, ROFL) -