Hi everyone!

Still pretty new here, though I've made a couple posts in the old monthly writing contest threads. This is a one-shot short story that was actually pulled from my NaNoWriMo 2012 first draft and cleaned up a little (especially for language).

Set before the events of Fallout 3 in the Capitol Wasteland. Colin Moriarty is sent on an errand to Paradise Falls by a special friend.

Oh, and...can you guess who the ghoul is?

***


Colin Moriarty

July, 2259

Paradise Falls stank. The heat of the summer was in full force, the sun beating down over the dirt and metal compound mercilessly. At first glance, the place looked deserted, until one looked in the shadows and saw the heavily armored toughs lounging around in the shade. Colin muttered under his breath. They looked like a bunch of dogs, snapping at each other irritably over drinks and scratching their filthy hides. The slavers needed a good bath, but despite their barracks and apparent free time disdained to do so. It figured that anyone who could put a collar on another human being would be oblivious to taking care of themselves beyond making sure that no one put a collar on their own necks.

A foul smell rose from the northeast corner, where a sad, dilapidated old shed – really just a jumble of boards loosely nailed together – hid the sight but not the smell of a crude outhouse. This was behind high chain link fencing with barbed wire wrapped wickedly around the top and glinting fiercely in the hot summer sun. It was the slaves' toilet and it was revolting.

And finally there was the stench of the slave pens, from the unwashed bodies inside who most certainly would kill for some bath water. Along with decent food and a kind word.

Add to all of that the thick, earthy smell of dried mud mixed with spilled booze and the trash that littered the compound and Paradise Falls was one nasty bouquet. Colin wiped his nose with his shirtsleeve and tried to breathe through his mouth.

Of course he didn't let his guide see any of his distaste. While the big, scarred man would probably enjoy his discomfort he also would probably see to it that Colin was given some flak for being so 'stuck up'. Trench was a temperamental man at best, and only Colin's tenuous but long standing relationship with him kept him as pleasant as he was. Which really isn't saying much, he thought ruefully.

The place gave him the creeps. It made his skin crawl and his stomach slide. He fought the urge to rub his neck, as though he could feel one of those heavy, tight slave collars being fastened around it. He wouldn't put it past them to try. Strangers were free to come and go from Paradise Falls but not without heavy scrutiny, and usually not before paying a hefty bribe to the gatekeeper. Moriarty was long past the bribing point and still he wouldn't trust any of these animals.

There was no way he would be here except on business. And business meant he was looking for someone. In the past, it hadn't been that way. Before, he had come in simply to trade, because in the early days there were so few established settlements around Megaton to trade with. But even that was not the sole reason. He had come to make his presence known, to establish his saloon and his name and the town of Megaton as sovereign territory. And it seemed to be working. For the past twenty years Paradise Falls had left the town of Megaton and its residents alone. At least, as long as they didn't stray too far from the settlement. That was about as good as anyone could hope for when it came to protection from slavers.

It was worth it to have to come into this hellhole now and again and swallow his revulsion and do business as though he didn't care or didn't know what was going on around him. But damn if he hated every minute of it.

I must be out of my mind.

The last time he had been sent to look for a missing person was at least a decade ago. If the slavers ever guessed that when he was looking at their 'stock' that he was only scanning for familiar faces they didn't seem to mind. It amused them, if anything. He was privileged to be able to do so. Most anyone else who came to them hoping to reunite family and friends would find that Paradise Falls had no bail to pay to make that happen. If they caught one of your family members and the others were stupid enough to come willingly to their property, then the rest of the family would be caught too and sold as a 'unit'.

These days he wouldn't have bothered. But it was for Sandra, and he knew he couldn't refuse. He himself was interested in this outcome though he didn't dare admit it.

Moriarty would be expected to cough up some hefty caps whether he bought a slave or not. The last time he had walked away with a brand new shotgun—it was a fine one and still rested under the bar to this day. This time he fully intended to walk away with Katie.

Trench made an unpleasant hawking and spat on the muddy ground.

“So what'll it be, businessman?” He grinned.

“I want to see the new arrivals.” Colin said brusquely. “The younger, the better.”

Trench's eyebrows raised gleefully.

“I didn't mark you as that kind of a man. Got your heart set on anything in particular?”

“None of your business, Trench. Just show me.”

Trench laughed, a sound that was rather bone-chilling. He took no umbrage at Colin's temper. Rather, if Moriarty had demurred in any way from Trench's disgusting implication it would only have encouraged the big man's gloating.

Trench spat again and led the way to the very back of the complex, Colin walking purposely beside him. He was glad for the pistol on his hip, holstered and covered though it was. He was also glad for the various knives hidden on his person, and the hard canister of the hand grenade, and the shotgun strapped to his back under his duster. It was too blazing hot to be wearing the heavy coat, but the sun burning down on his skin was no better. He would have liked to put his hat back on but that made the slavers rather jumpy. They liked to see your face. They would make any excuse to shoot a man.

To their right was an alley made between the towering piles of scrap metal which dead-ended at a makeshift bar. Old, battered plastic chairs and wooden tables lined the sides. A poor wretch with a collar on stood behind the counter despondently. A handful of slavers lounged in the chairs, pulled into the shadows. Not far from Colin a young woman sat with her muddy boots propped on the table. Her head was shaved in ridiculous patterns, resembling to Colin nothing so much as a Yao Guai attack. She had about as many studs in her face as on her clothing. When she caught his glance she made a vulgar gesture and snarled at him.

He pressed on, disgusted. She had better get out of here while she still can. Slavers loved female stock. He wouldn't be surprised if they had enslaved their own once in a while.

Finally the slave pens were coming into view. Colin could make out the fences that ringed their small enclosures. He could also hear and smell the Brahmin that shared the pens with them. Trench ignored these closest pens and turned off to the right. These enclosures held the advlts. Trench was leading him toward the children's pens.

The whole business was sickening, but this was the worst of all. Children as young as six were kept in these runs, some of them the children of women who were locked up in the advlt pens. There was no special treatment for them because of their young age. In fact, the slavers could be extra cruel to them.
The best thing these kids could look forward to was getting bought by someone who didn't want them for anything but labor. Someone they could train young and, therefore, have decades of work out of. Of course, not all of them were so lucky. There were others who bought children for the same reasons they bought the young men and women. The thought made him want to vomit. Not that they were any safer in the pens. He couldn't imagine how screwed up a person could become growing up in this place. He couldn't imagine why this whole insane situation existed. He wasn't a terribly religious man, not any more, but he found himself murmuring a prayer that Katie would not be there.

Trench pounded on the cage, kicking it with his steel toed boots and bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“You little brats get the hell out here, now!” He hollered, ending with a laugh that trailed into a cough. Of course he would make the children come out of the shade into the burning sun rather than send Colin in to find them. On the one hand, that was good for Colin – he dreaded having to go into the pens. But it also meant he would now have to look at each and every one of their wretched faces to find the person he was looking for.

And wretched they were. Huge, desperate, hopeless eyes stared out of dirty faces, some so filthy he couldn't even tell what color their hair was. He felt himself struggle to disconnect, to pretend this wasn't real He scanned their faces as they filed out of the shadows and out of their bunker house, scratching at sores and shuffling dirty feet in mud that came up to their ankles. They wore rags. They had no toys. He wanted to scream.

Katie was not there. He looked and looked, and not one of them resembled her. He turned to Trench, frowning.

“This is all of them?”

Trench nodded. “Yep. Kind of slim pickin's, I know. At least for now.”

Colin flexed his fingers in and out of fists to keep calm.

“Don't you have anything better?” It made him sick to talk like this.

Trench snorted. “What do you mean, 'better'?

Colin gestured at the children assembled before them. “These ones don't suit me. I'm looking for something real particular.” He prayed these children would forget him. He couldn't bear for them to hear him talk about them like this.

“Particular how?” Trench shuffled, crossing his arms, eyeing Colin up and down.

“I need a girl. About eight or ten years old, no more than that. I was hoping for a little blonde one.”
Trench gestured to a girl who was no more than seven, with stringy blonde hair glinting out from the mud caked in it. She stared up a them wide-eyed, brown eyes tired and sunken.

“There's one. What's wrong with her?” He said.

Colin waved him away. “No, no. She's too skinny. Doesn't look strong enough. I need a girl that can help with the work in the saloon.”

“You want the boys for that.” Trench snorted.

Colin gave him a look that told him he was unimpressed – as close to calling him a moron as he dared.

“You misunderstand me, Trench.” Colin said, lowering his voice. “Sure, I need help with the chores. But when she's a little older, eh...? You see what I'm getting at? I don't have any working girls in my saloon and I'd like to change that. The gents want a blonde, you see? But she can't be just any blonde. She needs...I don't know...curls, or, chubby cheeks, or at least blue eyes instead of brown.”

He hoped that description would jog the man's memory.

Trench rubbed the dirty beard on his chin, considering.

“Well, we don't got no curly headed ones. And there's a couple of blue eyed ones but they're too young. The rest are brunettes. Even a little redheaded one. No more blondes though.”

Colin frowned. Will I have to club this moron over the head to get the point? “Did you have one recently? I heard from a group departing not two days ago that you had just what I was describing.”

Trench shook his head, then brightened, remembering.

“Yeah, we had a girl just like that. Damn, Moriarty, you're too late.”

Colin felt his heart sink.

“Someone already bought her?” He asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, casual.

Trench shook his head. “Nah.” He spat. “Little turd up and died on us.”

The world seemed to blur around him for a moment while he reeled inside. Dead. Katie dead. I'm too late. Katie dead. And I'll never get a chance to meet her.

“She's dead?” He asked coldly. “What happened?”

Trench shrugged. “You know how it is. She wasn't doing too good from the trip over here. Some of 'em are just so weak and whiny that they up and die right away, you know? Probably got heat stroke or somethin'. Beats me. You wouldn't have wanted her anyways. She had the look you described but she was real weak. You're better off with one of these ones. They're still kickin'.”

Colin sighed.

“No, I'm afraid I can't take any of these.”

Before the man could argue he pressed on. “I want to visit the chop shop before I go, however. If I can't drop these damn caps on that girl then at least I can make you louts richer by fixin' up my piece.”

Trench wiped his nose with a dirty forearm. “Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “But you're too damn picky, you know that?”

“It's called standards, Trench. It's what makes me the best at what I do.” Colin was already walking away, feeling the stares of the children on his back. He couldn't get away fast enough.

Trench chuckled and followed him.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. You know where to go. I don't need to escort you. I need a drink.” He turned and bellowed at the children.

“Scatter, maggots!”

Colin heard the thudding of feet on soft mud as they ran to get out of the big man's sight. He had visions of turning and shooting Trench point blank in his dirty, lousy, grinning face. He was going to need some heavy drinking himself when he returned to Megaton.

Moriarty followed Trench toward the barracks. He could do with a Nuka Cola himself. No alcohol, not yet, especially because it was marked up unbelievably here to anyone who wasn't a slaver. As they approached the spot where a bonfire usually burned nightly, with bright colored plastic chairs pulled up around it and a makeshift spit for roasting meat over the cool embers, Moriarty saw a strange sight.

Someone was kneeling next to a post driven into the ground. Something about their position was all wrong. As they got closer, he was surprised to see that he was looking at a ghoul, and his eyes skittered nervously over the ghoul's exposed flesh. He was bound tightly ankles to wrists and arched backwards painfully to the post. He was positioned toward the late afternoon sun, forced to close his eyes or look straight into it. All of his clothing was gone. All he wore was one of those dreadful collars. While Moriarty wasn't sure how a ghoul's skin was actually supposed to look, he was pretty sure that much of the redness was due to the painful sunburns blooming on his flesh.

If he hadn't known any better he would have thought they had left a corpse out in the sun. But this creature was still alive, and so definitely a ghoul, because as they approached he opened his eyes and glanced toward the two men.

Trench came right up to the ghoul and delivered a solid backhand to his mouth. Colin winced.

“How ya doin' ya ugly maggot farm?” He laughed. “Stayin' warm?” He spat on the ghoul for good measure.

For his part the ghoul never reacted beyond closing his eyes a few moments against the pain of the blow. He didn't even cry out.

Trench prodded him hard in his sunken stomach with his boot and turned to Colin.

“This one thought he would stop mindin' his own business and meddle with the stock. Didn't ya, you stupid zombie?” He jabbed at the ghoul's somewhat exposed ribs with his boot. The flesh was dark and clotted with blood. That seemed to be a favorite kicking point. The ghoul only svcked in his breath, chest rising and falling steadily. He seemed numb, almost indifferent, as though this treatment wasn't anything new.

“He was givin' stuff to that little girl, that one you wanted. That's probably why she died. Gave her who knows what cause he's a dumb, ugly, brain eater and he cost us our sale. So now he's on a little time out.”

He turned back to the ghoul.

“Guess you were enjoyin' your special status a little too much, huh? Gennedy lets you be his little servant and you get these big ideas in your rotten skull, huh? Brainless shuffler! I told Gennedy nothin' good ever came from lettin' stock on a long leash.” He spat one more time on the ghoul, the thick mucous running down his sunburnt cheek.

“Awright, I'm out. Look around if you want. Keep your nose clean, stay outta the pens, and no one should bother you. Give this piece of jerky a kick if you want.”

He strode off and disappeared inside the barracks. Colin stayed where he was, watching him go. Then he looked around him. For the moment he was alone with the ghoul who had closed his eyes again and appeared to sleep.

Moriarty came a little closer. Even had he not been naked and tied to a post the ghoul would have been difficult to look at. He was, like all ghouls, hideously necrosed, the skin peeling away and muscle, bone and nerves exposed in haphazard patches. His nose was gone and his dark hair was patchy. On top of that Moriarty could make out the bruises and cuts inflicted by his life in Paradise Falls.

Feeling Colin's shadow on him, the ghoul opened his milky eyes again.

“You helped a little girl, he said?” Colin asked, speaking low.

The ghoul did not answer.

“Was her name Katie?” He persisted.

Still, the ghoul didn't answer.

“I was sent to find her. I just need to know if she's really dead.”

Silence.

Moriarty sighed. “Forget it.” He turned and, as an afterthought, put his hat on the ghoul's bare head.

“Here. Looks like you'll need it more than me. Call it a thanks for if you were really helping her.”

He started to walk off.

“Katie.”

A rough voice, barely audible, croaked behind him. Colin froze and turned around slowly. The ghoul was looking straight back at him under the brim of the hat. He licked his dry lips and spoke again.

“Her name was Katie.”

Colin glanced around to make sure they were still alone then squatted as close as he dared next to the ghoul.

“A little curly-haired blonde girl? Blue eyes, chubby cheeks? Freckles?” He asked quietly.

“Yes.” The ghoul whispered.

“And she's really dead?”

“Yes.”

Colin exhaled, slowly. [censored].

The ghoul shifted in his bonds, grunting. His muscles rippled under his dry, patchy skin. Despite his poor condition at the moment, he looked built like an ox. He was a good deal beefier than any ghoul Colin had ever laid eyes on before – not that he had seen many, but still—with massive thick shoulders and strong arms.

“She was sick, some kind of illness.” The ghoul rasped. “And the heat was getting to her too. The doctor couldn't do anything. But no one cared much. I saved my water rations and gave them to her when they abandoned her in the pen. But it was too late.”

He spoke slowly, laboriously. There was no indication of much emotion in his voice, but his rheumy eyes looked regretful.

“I'm sorry.” He said.

“Nothin' to be done about it now.” Colin said grimly, more to himself to quiet the anger inside. Sandra is going to take this so badly.

He glanced over at the ghoul again. It was hard to tell if he was healthy but ghouls were supposed to be tougher than the average human and this one looked like a brick house. His eyes fastened on the blinking collar.

“You're not in the pens,” he said. “You've been bought?”

The ghoul glanced over at him reproachfully.

“No. Gennedy keeps me outside for work.”

Colin had heard of this. Some of the slavers would take stock for their own use inside Paradise Falls to do their chores for them. He noted how the ghoul did not say that he belonged to Gennedy.

Colin stared at the ground, considering.

“You did what you could. I thank you for that.” He said to the ghoul, and stood up, starting off toward the barracks.

He hoped that what he had brought in caps would be bargain enough to buy a ghoul.

I must be out of my mind.

***