The Field





-Chapter One: The Rumor -




My name is Elias Duvac, and I have been a traveler for the last few years.

I came to Megaton to rest a few days, but fate had a different story planned for me: one involving a murderous plot to kill every human left on earth, a strain of corn completely resistant to the effects of radiation, and four trunks filled with caps.

I was sitting on a sofa outside the common house in Megaton, listening to jet addict’s talk about the random gossip they had heard and somehow remembered in their drug addled brains.
Some scientist had found a field of rad-resistant corn near a place the raiders called Charnel House. My friend Nameless, who still worked for Moira at the Craterside Supply, was sitting with me and said:

“I went up there a few weeks ago, the place was completely torched, with a few bodies scattered about the area of the field.”

“End of story.” A jet crazed low life said.

A vulture landed on Nathan and Manya’s house at that very moment and the greasy jetter tried shooting at it with a BB gun, to no avail.

Nameless knocked the gun from his hand and the man walked inside the common, his ego obviously bruised.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Nameless huffed.

“Not so sure about what?” I said.

“That it’s the end of the story…You think if some scientist found a life saving strain of corn, every snake-like rogue within a hundred miles wouldn’t be trying to kill for it? Somebody has it, I’d bet a mound of caps!”

“The Enclave could have just destroyed it.” I said, shaking my head at the thought.

The sun was setting, and Nameless and I started walking towards Moriarty’s saloon. We could hear that the confessor was, as usual, spilling the virtues of an atomic heaven upon anyone who would listen. I was always amazed at how many people sat and heard him out. The saloon was full of dust and smoke as we entered. Gob saw us and immediately poured us each glasses of whiskey, which we paid for then made our way to the back room for some privacy.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes Elias, like nothing I say is going to keep you from going out there yourself.” Nameless laughed after saying this and completely drained the whiskey from his glass.

He was right of course. I sipped from my glass, remembering that I had some unfinished business with Allistair Tenpenny about a house I was hoping to buy in Girdershade, which he now owned. It immediately occurred to me that we could use his assistance, he might even lend us a guard to travel with us up north to the field. I told Nameless of my plans and he agreed to come with me, seeing as how he knew the area well. We drank another glass a piece, paid for our rooms and went to sleep.

I don't really like posting replies that tell nothing, but I can't find any grammatical errors and the story itself is very intriguing. It was easy to read and you captured the Fallout spirit, something I never can do. So, good job I guess, this is now my favorite story on here.

Thank you very much. I was a little apprehensive about posting it. More to come.

Why? Compared to some of the other stuff I can't see why you'd be apprehensive about posting it. You've inspired me to go write something, or play Fallout 3, whatever is easier.

I was startled awake by the sound of a shotgun blast. No one, not even Moriarty was in the bar as I staggered out onto the patio in front of the place.
The sheriff, Lucas, was holding a jetter at gunpoint, down in the center of town. Nameless was down there too, holding back a crowd of people. I noticed a body near the bomb,
and the town doctor was kneeled down beside it, checking for a pulse.

“Raider trouble…” A voice beside me said quietly.

I turned to see a man in a grey suit, with a black tie and hat.

“That guy down there is a jet-dealer.” The man said.

“What exactly happened?” I asked.

“Drug deal gone wrong I guess, the man on the ground was shot in the stomach with a shotgun, double barreled.
There was some initial yelling, then boom…” The man said as he walked away.

The doctor was pulling a sheet across the body as I looked back down, the confessor still puking forth his insane drivel. Lucas actually shouted for the old man to shut up
and to go inside the church till the situation was taken care of. The vultures and hawks started making their return, landing on any scrap of metal they could perch upon.
Nameless was heading up the stairs with Colin and Gob, the latter of which was crying. Colin said,

“This kind of thing is going to happen here Gob, don’t take it too hard. Just pour the drinks”, as they walked past me and into the saloon.

Nameless stayed on the railing with me, smoking a cigar.

“Damn fool. These idiots need to realize that death is real.” He said, glancing back down at the scene.

“Over inhaled brahmin dung…it’s bizarre.” I whispered.

“Ever tried it?” Nameless asked.

“A few times, though only in combat situations. Tastes like you think it would.” I replied.

The sun was just starting to peek out from the top of the metal walls of the town.

“You ready to head to Allistair's tower?” I asked as I put my hand on his shoulder.

“You bet. I’m ready for some action. Just gotta see if Moira needs anything and we can go. See ya by the gate.” He said, as he immediately sprinted in the direction of the supply shop.

I made my way down the ramp to the center of town, pausing only briefly at the now shrouded body lying in the filthy dirt.

Lucas, who was still talking to the murderous jetter, asked if I would keep a gun on the man while he went home to get some handcuffs. He offered his assault rifle,
but I was already undoing the clasp on my .44 holster. The man in question looked like a picture that would no doubt be next to an entry for “raider” in an encyclopedia
of the wastes. His hair was matted with dirt, and clung to his scalp like a brahmin patty. He was sitting with his back to the bomb, in a puddle of radiated water. He finally said something,
under his breath, which I couldn’t make out. Lucas began descending the main ramp in the distance, and I said,

“You should be killed. I don’t care who you are.”

“I’m not a raider.” The dust covered man replied.

“I only know that you are a murderer, now shut your mouth!” I said, just as Lucas began handcuffing the man.

Once the man was handcuffed, and without even a thank-you from Lucas, I continued towards the gate.

Deputy Weld was chatting as best as he could with Nameless as I approached the gate. They were talking like you would expect a hired gun and a Protectron to talk, Nameless was saying:

“Allistair Tenpenny is a crook, but it takes one to know one, ya know Weld?”

“TENPENNY IS A HUMAN, IT'S HIS NATURE” Noticing me, Weld said: “HOWDY PARDNER.”

“Hello Weld. I think Lucas needs your help inside” I said, as the robotic deputy went into town, clanking and creaking all along the way.

Nameless and I started at once for Tenpenny Tower, trying our best to ignore the sunlight, which by now was casting its demonic gaze in full force upon our backs.

We headed southwest, with nothing but a hazy shadow in the distance as a reminder of where we were going. The lone tower, symbol of arrogance and fat-cat muscle
to some, was where I lived for a few years and I had come to regard the place as a home away from home.

Allistair was a friend, I could honestly say, even though his eccentric behavior was slightly annoying, the man was wise. Nearing eighty, he still would hunt when he
felt like leaving the tower and drank vodka on his patio, shooting his sniper rifle on a regular basis. He was, however, an incredibly vicious killer, prone to fits of rage.
I had myself never been on the receiving end of one of his temper tantrums, but was a little cautious when the man was drunk.

Maybe two hours after we had left Megaton, I noticed a yao guai was following us, being careful to stay about fifty yards away; he seemed very interested in the two
men walking casually through his domain. Nameless turned and nodded, letting me know he too had seen the beast. Half an hour later, he was gone, probably had
one too many run-ins with raiders and knew when to quit. Nameless took it as an omen, telling me it was an old Indian superstition to beware a bear sighting.

Half-way there and I was getting very hungry, and wondered what was on the tables that evening at the tower. Nameless was a huge fan of sport shooting, like Allistair,
and I knew that when we finally arrived that the two would be firing off into the night. I, however, would be eating the first plate of food I could find.

We took a little break, near a small, rad-water filled pond. Nameless had brought some mirelurk meat, my favorite, and was ripping off huge chunks and destroying them with his mouth.
He offered me a piece but I was too busy with my brahmin jerky, which I made myself, and is very good if you get a chance to eat some, I would highly recommend it. The vultures and
hawks came very close this time, one landing two feet away from Nameless, who didn’t seem to mind at all that his personal space was being invaded. He began feeding the vultures,
but ignored the hawks. I asked him why he didn’t throw any mirelurk meat to the red hawks a little further away and he laughed a little, and said,
“The vultures have a style to eating and it’s this; find someone to feed you, or find something dead. The hawks are natural killers; they have more brains you see. The hawks won't starve, is what I'm trying to say.”

As he said this the hawks flew away one by one till just the vultures remained near the pool with us.

I pulled out my .44 and wasted a few shots on a cap I placed near the water’s edge. Out of five bullets, I only missed one, from about 30 paces away.

We reached the tower at about six in the evening, while the usual residents were milling around, relaxing and enjoying their lives the way almost no one else does in the wastes. The gate
was wide-open, like it usually is, and it took all of 2 seconds for both of us to be recognized by the guard. We walked inside the building, and noticed that the place was lively, streamers
and decorations for a party were everywhere.

I looked at Nameless and said, “Tomorrow must be old Tenpen’s birthday.”

“I wondered when you two criminals would come back.” A familiar voice said.

It was chief of security Gustavo, a man I greatly admired, and who had saved my life on more than one occasion. Gustavo hugged us both, and then proceeded to complain about the party atmosphere invading his tight ship of a tower. He guarded Tenpenny with his life, but deep down the man irritated him, and it showed on his face.

Brilliance, I'm no grammar Nazi, or some high and mighty story critic, but I know talent when I see it. I see it.

The way you manage to describe the environment around the character is a step up from the other drab and boring descriptions and examinations. Keep up the good work! I'm ravenous for more!

Thank you very much.

“Still thinking about buying that house from Al?”

Gustavo suddenly asked, but before I could answer we were headed to the lounge. I was craving a stiff drink and some food anyway, the long hike had worn me out considerably.

“He’s come down a little on the price, but have you heard the news from Girdershade?” Gustavo asked.

“I know the place is a lot bigger since I was last in the area.” I replied.

“Bigger is an understatement. A few years ago there was what, two shacks and a pile of dirt? Now there’s close to thirty shacks, a few houses, and an entire platoon of Brotherhood is stationed there.” Gustavo said, as he ordered us all beers from Shakes.

"And a pile of dirt." Nameless joked.

I don’t drink beer but grabbed a seat, and sipped it out of respect for Gustavo. Nameless and Gustavo sat down, Nameless with his boots on the back of another chair.

“Anyway, it’s about as safe as Rivet City they say.” Gustavo said, finishing his beer in one huge gulp and walking over to Shakes to presumably get another one.
He dropped a handful of caps on the bar, turned and gave us a wave like he had some more work to do and exited the lounge.

Nameless looked up at me and said, “How many years you been coming here Elias?”

“Five or six, why?” I asked.

“The chief can’t seem to remember you don’t drink beer.”

I was going to buy the house, at any price that was reasonable, and Tenpenny was cheapening up a little it seemed.

-Chapter Two: Girdershade and Northward to the Field-


We weren’t to see Tenpenny for a few hours after arriving, which didn’t surprise me considering the man was a self-loving booze hound who had many things to keep his mind
occupied. I had my dinner outside, as Nameless went to take a hot bath (something the man honestly never did.) With a rare brahmin steak and slices of baked punga fruit
in my belly, I finally felt like my old self, as I stretched my feet out onto the table I was sitting at.

I heard some rifle fire from overhead, which normally would have me in combat mode in an instant, but I knew it was the boys;
they were having their little showdown up on the patio. Maybe ten minutes after the shooting died down, and after I had some
after dinner exercise of shooting a few Bloatflies, who had decided my scraps where worth dying for, Nameless and Tenpenny came around the corner and sat at the table.

Allistair was dressed head to toe in a black velvet suit, his jacket had the coattails that hung down behind him. He wore dark sunglasses that further hid the man’s undeniable old age.
I immediately noticed that he wasn’t carrying his beloved sniper rifle, which was his calling card so-to-speak. He was, however, carrying a beautiful gold-plated .44,
which was hanging off his left hip from a black leather holster. The holster was emblazoned with the letters H and B.

Nameless pulled a tin can out of his side-pack, which had a single bullet hole through the middle, long ways, and held it aloft.
Tenpenny said,

"Guess where your friend set it, before getting this bull’s eye.”

“East-side of the RobCo Facility.” Nameless interrupted.

“I’ll be damned.” I exclaimed. It was indeed impressive.

“Where did you get that beauty?” I asked Tenpenny, pointing at the gun at his waist.

“Ah. She is a beauty isn’t she my good man.” He said, as he pulled it out of its holster; it shined like a star in his hand, from the dying rays of the day’s sun.

“Got her for a hell of a price too, off a man from Texas.” He grinned as he said this.

“What does HB mean?” I asked.

“Why it’s her name my dear boy. Honeybell.” As he said this, he shot the tin can off the table in front of us, spun the gun around his hand, and slid it back into its holster, all in one motion.

Neither I nor Nameless flinched; we were used to the man’s bizarre behavior.

No one said a word at the table for what felt like ages after that. A server, shaking in his boots, came out and broke up the silence by taking my plate and refilling my water. Tenpenny produced a small, brushed metal flask from the left briast pocket of his velvet jacket and took a long drink from it. He said after a long pause to regain his wits,

“Everyone’s talking about your magic corn.” He coughed.

I tried to start speaking but he cut me off, saying:

“It’s not going to cure this plague of nothingness my boy. I know you Elias, have for years. We both know you’re going to go and I am not going to stop you. On the contrary;
I’m going to give a hand. I just want you boys to know there is a hell-of-a lot of interest in this damn…corn!” He said as a wasp landed on his arm and was startled.

He continued:

“I have some more information that will help you both. Have you heard the name Ballard? Dr. Ballard, she is the one who discovered the rad-resistant strain.”

“No I haven’t, Nameless?” I said.

“Never.” Nameless spat after saying this, which irritated Allistair very much.

Allistair kept talking, ignoring the spitting, which he hated:

“First time I saw her was about 5 years ago. She came here to my wonderful tower with a merchant crew, needing a nights rest and a few gallons of purified water. Dr. Sandra
Ballard had originally come from the town of Cumberland, in Maryland. After the bombs fell she traveled here to find the field, which she claimed she had heard about from a raider who had changed
his ways, named Goat. Now Goat is a poet, and a very good one too, I know the man. I want you to see something.” As he said this he opened a small manila envelope and extracted a small paper inside, and then handed it to me.

It was a poem. It read:

Prayer of King Fear
A field of life
Under his control
Sing the Deathclaw howl
A ritual of strife
All for a prisoner

I had heard of King Fear. He was a raider king, one of the many escaped convicts from a bombed-out DC prison. He was a known rapist and a serial killer who was on death row. His minions from his time in the prison had become his subjects here in the wastes, after they had escaped.

The poem was signed simply, Goat.

A reformed raider.

Jesus, I thought. What a life.

That night I dreamed that there was a giant scoop-like object in the sky that was made of metal, and it was gouging the earth and taking huge amounts of dirt with it.
I couldn’t sleep for about an hour after that but went back to bed after a shot of whiskey. The rest of the night was perfect.

Chief Gustavo woke me up with a knock so loud and boisterous it knocked my belt off the bedpost. He told me he was coming with us to the field,
which delighted me very much, he would be such a great help.

Breakfast was to be served in the lobby that morning before the sun rose, and I couldn’t believe how hungry I was after last night’s meal.
When we got to the lobby though, we noticed that Nameless was checking out a very new, very nice looking assault rifle.

The word “Mordida” was etched into it. I spoke a little Spanish and knew it meant “The Bite”.

“That old crook Tenpen’s gave us all gifts.” Nameless said. "He knew my name in the war was Mosquito". He grinned as he held the rifle in the air.

Chief Gustavo was given a back-pack full of ammo, and about twelve mines and as many grenades. He didn't seem to care either way, and I wondered if he would miss the place while traveling with us.

The skinny server from the night before handed me a small black bag with a golden cord hanging from it. I opened it and about had a heart attack
when inside I found the old man's beautiful gold-plated .44, Honeybell.

I put it immediately back into the bag and placed it securely into my pack.

I thought about King Fear in that moment, would we have to fight him and his men?

I caught this as I was coming to check on my topic and I have to say from what I've read it is amazing. Captures the Fallout spirit well and holds interest from the start keep going this piece is great.

Thank you Harura, I will.

We traveled in a bit of darkness, heading roughly northwest with a cool wind for July at our faces. The ground was actually hard from a light frost. It took about two hours to get to Girdershade, it would have taken a lot less time, but we were attacked shortly after leaving the tower near a place Gustavo called: Sombre Luz.

Sombre Luz means shadow light in Spanish, and that's exactly what the raiders called it too. We had inadvertently walked into a small campground that had been in use for years.

The sun was just starting to peek out over the hills and it was still dark blue to black across the sky, when a loud "KA-KA-KA!", followed by three whistling sounds came towards us from the north. Gustavo and Nameless, who had been in front of me, quickly hit the dirt.

"Can't see a damn thing!" Gustavo yelled, as he did this he motioned for me to move towards them.

Bullets were flying. I was flat on my back and could still see stars. I shoved my hand in my pack, darted it around the bottom trying to find Honeybell.

I pulled the .44 out and cocked the pin back.

Gustavo was shooting northwards towards a small rock with an enemy behind it. Right as I noticed this he yelled,

"There's two raiders behind it! Flank 'em amigo." He said as he hit Nameless on the chest

KA-KA-KA-KA! Gustavo laid down some cover fire.

I was noticing a shape taking form behind us to the south, but I couldn't tell if it was human, or worse, a Deathclaw. Bad timing. I waited just a few more moments and then pulled my finger as hard as I could.

Bang. The sound of wet laundry hitting the floor.

It had been a raider. The chief and Nameless killed the remaining two raiders within minutes and I walked over to the body of the one I shot with Honeybell. Just then the sun
finally broke over the surrounding hills and blazed a terrific blast of rays upon us.

The woman I shot in the face had a picture of a newborn baby in her pack.

That, and two caps.

I wanted to die.

We spent a few moments digging three shallow graves with a shovel we found in Sombre Luz. I put the picture of the baby on the woman's grave and turned away.

We didn't talk much till Girdershade. I had some cuts on my hands from moving them quickly across the ground earlier and wanted to get some gauze. We reached the huge gate of the town, which was guarded out front by about ten Brotherhood soldiers. We were ushered inside without even being questioned. We stood there in the middle of the newest part of the town, the market. I immediately held my hand up to Gustavo and motioned like I was going to look for some supplies.

Tired from a small fight. Tired of killing people. Was she innocent? Hell no. She was trying to kill us.

"She was trying to kill you." Nameless said, like a psychic.

I wondered if Honeybell had been used to kill anyone else before. I found my gauze and some purified water, and cleansed my wounded hands and wrapped them.
Nameless bought some ammo and some fruit and met me in the middle of the market. Gustavo bought a map of the new wasteland and a scope for his rifle and met up with us a short time later.
We sat down for about an hour at a small lounge. I ordered a shot of whiskey, and beers for the boys.

"I'm buying that shot Elias." Nameless said.

"Like hell you are. You guys did one smash of a job back there." I said.

Gustavo just looked at his scope and started attaching it to his rifle.

"I just got dumb. You guys are right, she was gonna kill me." I stammered.

"Like hell she was. She was gonna blast your head into a million pieces.That's overkill" Gustavo said.

"Ya snooze ya loose." Nameless added, almost like one word.

She had lost alright.

Was I a hawk, who could take care of himself? Or was I a vulture, who took what I could because it was easy?

Fortune smiled upon me and my men; that morning and the rest of the day, while relaxing in Girdershade I felt strangely bulletproof. Vulture for sure. Everything moved in slow motion, the child playing with a dog in the market. The wind blowing through a vendors sheets.

I asked to be alone and walked to a small hill near the town, almost a city now, and just listened. The world was making it's come back and this was the proof. I imagined the city of Girdershade in the next 40 years. A real city.
The town was loud. The vendors selling, and the soldiers playing cards, the drunks just yelling and whatever...

I was floating like you do when you kill someone and know you didn't die.

I pulled out the paper Tenpenny gave me and reread the words that had been haunting me at that moment:

Prayer of King Fear
A field of life
Under his control
Sing the Deathclaw howl
A ritual of strife
All for a prisoner

It was going to get very weird and violent. I could feel it. The sunny day had slowly changed to 'overcast and raining' after arriving. The rain came in heavy sheets. Most of the town was under the overpass, the vendors were dry because of this. These people really were the future.

I realized at that moment that I was scared.

These might be my last few days of life, I thought.

Gustavo found me on the hill, sat down next to me and said,

"Nunca me he sentido tan lleno de vida".

Nameless, Gustavo, and I went to play cards at a small stall across from the newly formed town center. Some older men were already sitting around some fold-up tables, playing blackjack. Gustavo and Nameless seemed a little down at the idea of playing blackjack and sat down to play poker. A nearby radio was blaring Rimsky Korsakov's Scheherazade. I joined the old men , and quickly laid down a hundred caps on my first drop. My first card down was a five of clubs, then the upcard was put down: It was a nine of hearts. The old man busted.

One hundred caps richer. I quit immediately, much to the old man's dismay. He shouted, "Why you cheating son of a..."

I turned around and saw that Gustavo had grabbed the man.

"This guy doesn't cheat. Are we clear, amigo?" Gustavo grunted.

"Whatever you say pal" the old man huffed.

Gustavo had a look in his eyes that I had never seen at the tower. He looked like a wild beast, ready to annihilate anyone in our path to the field. Nameless bought us all dinner that night at an actual restaurant, with lit candles and a guitar player. We drank vodka and played cards with some of the local women. Nameless passed out in his chair too early and Gustavo didn't seem too interested in the "Riff-Raff", his word for the girls. I smoked my first cigarette in years. It felt great. The restaurant, called The Gaff, had a staircase to the top of the overpass, which I ascended. Once at the top, a breeze hit me square in the face. I looked northwards, towards the field and beyond, to the mountains. It was going to be a long walk to Charnel House, and then a battle like I had never seen, I imagined. What if we arrived and there was nothing? No corn, no king, and no idea of what to do next.

The events that took place in Sombre Luz earlier that morning, a stones throw away from Tenpenny's Tower, seemed like a dream. It was fitting that the dream I had that night, whilst sleeping in the newly built Brotherhood barracks of Girdershade, would involve blood.

I was looking into a white bowl.

The bowl was almost to the point of overflowing with blood. It finally did, spilling onto my bare feet, staining them red.

Then I looked at the ground. I fell through the floor.

Riveting as always as I continue reading I anticipate the gangs every step and even worried during the raider attack. Way to go and keep it up I'm excited to see the next entry.

Thanks for your support Harura.

The next day, before sunrise, aside from being incessantly redundant, was mildly serene. The townspeople were dead asleep at four in the morning. It was beyond quiet, the wind didn't even make its normal dull hiss.
I enjoyed leaving with about an hour or two of darkness still. Even the insects, the ones still alive, made no sound during these 'magic hours', I called them. Nameless got into an argument with one of the guards at the north gate.

Nameless said, as we approached the guard,

"The Brotherhood are just gonna take over everything huh?"

"You think it's my call to be here?" The guard said as he pushed Nameless.

This situation made Gustavo and I laugh to the point of coughing.

The guard was furious at the comment and shouted, "We didn't take this place over ***hole! We're here to help this place."

Nameless was just hung over, with a headache so bad he couldn't even think. I could see it. I personally had no problems with the Brotherhood, Nameless was just clowning around anyway, and I didn't really think he thought that way about the soldiers.

We headed just a hint to the east of true north, over some very rocky terrain. I walked with Honeybell in my hand, as opposed to my pack, as did Nameless and the chief with their weapons.
A few radscorpions became target practice at dawn. For breakfast, Gustavo opened two packages of sausage, which had been procured by Tenpenny off of traveling merchants from Virginia. This truly was a treat, I think I had sausage the last time as a child, well before the bombs fell. The effect of Gustavo cooking sausage at that moment, was as if he had popped some champagne bottles over some unbelievably great news. Nameless and I ate as much as we could and had a good laugh, at Gustavo's expense, for he burned his finger on a pan and then proceeded to drop said pan on his foot. We eventually packed up our short-lived camp and headed on.

-Chapter Three: The Million Year Summer -





King Fear wasn't laughing.

He wore a headdress, made from owl feathers, stained black with old blood. A red cloak hung off his extremely muscular body.

The court clown before him, if you could call the man that, had just made a crack about the state of his mind.

The crowd of people around him started shouting, then suddenly out of the chaos of screams and shouts, a gun fired, and the joker was dead.

The king gave a smiling nod and the people went insane with chaotic actions; dancing, singing, and the sound of random shooting of guns aimed at the tin roof.

The hilltop barn where the king and his men held meetings was a loud, smoke-filled hell house, a real horrible place. A twenty-four hour party. Fresh blood literally painted the walls and the smell was acrid.

King Fear lifted his arms and the crowd was instantly silent.

He said, after a long pause,

"We have something they want! I say, why give it up without a fight? It was growing on our land, land we killed for! Did Jujie die for nothing?".

The crowd didn't make a sound. They knew when to let the tyrant speak.

"This life-giving, earthen refreshment, has made us the purveyors of life itself. I am as Kali-ma, the Black One! More men like the ones from the Enclave earlier today will try to take it from us. Be ready to fight my little demons..."

After he said this he lowered his arms and the unholy group was lit ablaze with insanity, as if every person there had rabies.

Sheets were lifted up around the King and the barn was emptied of all but his personal guards, and a few handmaidens.

The gunshots and yelling didn't cease, the parties spilled from shack to shack in Owl Den that night.

One man wasn't having any of it. His name was Durga. Durga was actually an informant for the Enclave. He walked and talked like a raider, but he was a soldier.
He wore a loincloth here year round, and covered his face in fresh blood on a regular basis, he was playing the part well. The man was tough, and he was definitely mean, but he wasn't a rapist, or a killer. Durga was a fake in the purest sense of the word, a coward. He had been trying to leave with some of the corn for the last few days but an Enclave platoon had attacked the camps during the night and it had been chaos ever since. The king's speeches were getting wilder, and less coherent since the attack.
He spoke of a coming war between all the forces of good, against his large but comparatively meager band of wasteland pirates. Durga knew he would die here, he just didn't know when.

King Fear's personal guards were constantly checking everyone's tent and all the shacks.

So when the note came Durga didn't know what to do.
He had actually thought about blowing his own head off with the double-barreled shotgun he kept in his tent.
The note, which had been set just inside the opening flap, said simply:

Wait for the trumpet blast on the night of the next full moon. Meet at the field after it sounds.

Nothing else.

Durga was scared out of his mind. He knew the Deathclaw ritual was coming within a few days.
Someone was going to be making a huge mistake.

The soldiers facade, went very deep, for he had a raider wife, which he had been married to for three years. The king had forced the two to marry,
it was something he prided himself on; King Fear, the perfect match-maker, like a god.

Her name was Bhadrakali.

She was a cold-blooded killer who had a scar down the entire measure of the left side of her face, with elbow length black hair, which was matted and dreaded with dirt.
Durga knew, for a fact, she had killed thirteen men, six women and four children since they had been married. It was no surprise that he hated her, but even playing the dutiful, tough raider husband
was an act, so on occasion he would slap her around and fire his gun.

His most recent act was the old, "Where are the caps woman?"

He would slap her and say, "I know you're stealing from me..."

Bhadrakali was tough, and it bothered her none. In fact, she thought Durga was the nicest of all her previous husbands, (she had three altogether).

She worshiped King Fear like a god, and held everything the man said in high regard. His word was scripture.

It was because of this unwavering dutifulness that she was the one who compiled his words. The black, leather bound word of King Fear, which she wrote in blood. She would meet him everyday, after he had his bath, and he would speak.

The next day, Durga left to train some of the Kadim, that is, the youngest group of men in the camps, about fifty boys. He trained them on how to use automatic weapons, and how to handle grenades and mines.

Bhadrakali made her way to the small cleansing pool which was man made of course, where the king bathed his early morning's away. The pool was filled with purified water, and enhanced with perfumes made at the camps by his menagerie of handmaidens.

Today he was on drugs, but was still coherent, just noticeably withdrawn and tired. The king was a lunatic, with lunatics at his every whim.

The dutiful writer took a knife, and made a small gash in her flesh, just above her briast, and collected the blood in a black cup. She used a quill, with a tall red feather, to take the king's words with.

King Fear grinned, his gold-capped teeth shining in the sunlight, at the sight of her bleeding. He pushed away his maidens, and they left the pool.

Bhadrakali would repeat his last sentence everyday, and he would pick up from there for about an hour, it had been the same for six months.

She said quietly,

"And he will gaze into an infinite abyss, a hole of cataclysmic ugliness, the despair of a murderous ascent...."

He was so high he had fallen asleep.

She repeated the sentence, much louder this time.

He spoke immediately, and slowly, in a quieter tone than she had ever heard him use,

Meaninglessness
The vulture of weakness
A poison has taken us
beyond the white sands
Hope and happiness a distant dream
A darkened light

Upon whose door will hatred knock
this night of nights?
Upon whose floor will she lose
her life?

A poison has taken us
With withered limbs
in a cruel wind
The million year summer...

As he finished the words he again fell into sleep.

Bhadrakali waved to the handmaidens and they gathered around him as she left the pool and headed to her and her husband's tent.

The book was almost finished, maybe a day or two left.

"What will become of his words?" she thought.