» Mon Mar 25, 2013 11:50 pm 
The Good, the Bad and the Ghoulified
Chapter 1
"I didn't do nothin', I swear!" The Ghoul pleaded, a collar around his neck, his arms and legs shackled.
His captor pushed him forward, the Ghoul tripped and fell. He rolled downhill, dust and sand filtering into his decayed mouth as he cursed.
"You filthy smoothskin pandejo!"
The ghoul had barely stopped rolling when his captor grabbed him and roughly shoved him to his feet.
"On your feet, zombie brains. We still got a few miles to go before we camp for the night. And tomorrow, we walk some more, get into town, I get paid and you get hanged."
"Tell you what, smoothskin. You let me go, and I'll tell ya where you can find a [censored]load of pre-world gold, we'll split it 50-50."
His captor laughed.
They walked a few more miles until they came to a small ridge, adorned with a firepit and old picnic tables. They were surrounded by sharp peaks and deep valleys, the ground a dry orange hue, littered with rocks and too little vegetation. The ghoul's captor unhooked his rucksack and pulled out a bedroll kit, a caravan lunch and a water bottle. He started a fire. The ghoul struggled to sit down. For the first time since his capture, he was able to see his captor. He was in his mid 40s with piercing blue eyes. He wore a worn cowboy hat that didn't fully hide the man's grey hair, and a brown duster and jeans. His weapon of choice, beyond the Mesmetron, was a dusty cowboy repeater.
"Don't I get some?" The ghoul asked.
His captor rolled his eyes and began eating.
"What's your name, smoothskin?"
"Frank."
"Nice to meet you Frank, I'm Tuco Ramirez."
"I know who you are, dikeweed. That's why we're going to town together. Tracking you was a piece of cake, easiest bounty I've ever had. I suggest you shut your yap, you're getting on my nerves as it is, you talking and trying to be friendly is just making it worse. You get on my nerves more, I just might accidently shoot you in the leg."
Ramirez grumbled but kept quiet. He watched the sun gradually set as Frank ate his dinner. Frank kept some vigilance, constantly glancing around, his rifle at the ready. They could hear the echoed howls of coyotes but the only other sound was the cracking of the fire. Despite his anxiety, Ramirez drifted off to sleep, the full moon high in the sky above them.
Ramirez awoke at dawn. Across from him Frank's body lay on the ground, a peaceful expression on his face, oddly complemented by the red hole in his forehead and the pool of drying blood on the ground. Sitting on the picnic bench a few feet away from the body was another man, younger, fitter, wearing leather armour, cleaning his sniper rifle. He had dark hair and eyes, a round, weathered face and a mustache.
"Wakey-Wakey, sleeping beauty."
"What the [censored]?"
"You still got the same deal, Ramirez. Just someone else is getting a nice payday. Name's McBain. Don't act like a jerk and I won't treat you like one."
"Listen amigo, I know where there's..."
"A stash of pre-war gold? A vault filled with virgins? I've heard it before."
"I'm not [censored]ting you!"
McBain shook his head. Finishing with his rifle, he lit a cigarette.
"Time's a wastin'. Let's go."
The town called itself P-Mont. What it was called before the war was forgotten. As was what this town had been before the war. Like many towns it was re-populated without consideration to the purpose of the settlement. Dusty streets, lined with houses, most of them old and crumbling. A small river ran bisected the town, it was too small to sustain mass agriculture, but it was enough to keep the local inhabitants fed and quenched. The town was deep in the valley, surrounded by peaks and mountains. The NCR had a presence here, sending out long-range patrols. Ramirez' miserable face was matched by many of the town's residents, and they attracted little attention.
The former police station was the NCR headquarters. It was rather small, though it bore great prominence amongst the modesty of the town surrounding it. The building was fully restored with clean windows, solid brick walls, a pole on the roof bearing the flag of a two-headed bear. Next to the door stood a poster, an NCR flag bearer hoisting the flag on Hoover Dam.
McBain led Ramirez inside. The air was cool and refreshing, an air conditioner hummed noisily. Tattered chairs were scattered around the lobby, some were occupied. An NCR sergeant was seated at the reception desk, a computer and dozens of pencils sticking out of a coffee cup. A few troopers were standing guard inside. Before them was a middle aged woman, wearing torn, worn clothes.
"I've been telling you! I don't have the money right now! How can I? You think I run a [censored] casino? How do you expect me to have this money? But I can give you the money in installments, that's it."
"Ma'am, I'm sorry." The sergeant began, his voice cold and detached. "But you're in significant arrears with compound interest. All outstanding monies must be paid in full before the end of the amortization period. That passed three days ago. Either you pay us the full outstanding amount, with the accumulated interest, or the property will escheat back to the NCR."
"I can pay you in installments! I'm not some deadbeat trying to weasel out of his debts! Who the [censored] do you think has 200, 000 caps lying around these days?!" The woman said, trembling with emotion.
"I understand ma'am, however the law is the law."
"Well the law is [censored]! Can't you exercise your own judgement?"
The sergeant breathed in deeply. "No, ma'am I can't. I'm sorry."
"You [censored] NCR pukes! I bet if the Legion had won I wouldn't have to put up with this [censored] [censored]! I'm going to lose my house and you just there with a dumb blank look on your [censored] face!" The sergeant nodded to one of his guards who quietly escorted the weeping woman out of the building.
"Can I help you?"
"Boy, you NCR types are real charmers." McBain quipped.
"You better watch that mouth of yours." The Sergeant warned.
"Fine. I'm here to claim a bounty. This here is Tuco Ramirez."
The Sergeant typed away on his computer.
"Yeah, that's him alright. The brass will be happy to know you're here. That's a big bounty. Damn, some of these charges are something: murder, sedition, kidnapping, espionage, larceny, assault... moral corruption of a youth? What's that one about?"
"I was a porm star in New Reno before they outlawed Ghoul porm."
The sergeant shuddered. "Corporal, take this ghoul in for processing."
The Corporal took Ramirez away. The Sergeant produced some forms that McBain had to sign and fill-in. The sergeant started filling in some forms as well. Computer technology and nuclear Armageddon could not create a paperless society.
"Five thousand caps. That's a tidy sum. What are you gonna do with it?"
"Raise an army to get rid of you guys."
"Good luck with that. We dealt with the Legion, with the Brotherhood, there's nothing out there but random, petty mercs, tribals and warlords."
"Maybe there's something out there, bigger than you, that you haven't met yet."
"I doubt it. What started in a little village has spread to all of California, and beyond." McBain finished with the forms. He was used to dealing with NCR arrogance, more than most. The sergeant handed him a note.
"What's this?"
"A promissory note."
"A what note?"
"It's a note that if you take it to any recognized bank will give you the caps you've earned?"
McBain stared at the sergeant. "Buddy, do you know where the closest bank is?"
"55 miles."
"Exactly! What [censored] good is this piece of paper here? I'm supposed to go 55 [censored] miles just to get the money I'm owed? [censored] that! Give me the caps!"
"We don't have that many caps here."
"[censored]! You give me my [censored] money now!"
"Or what?" The sergeant said darkly, slowly rising from his chair. McBain could see in his peripheral vision NCR troopers reaching for their weapons.
"[censored] NCR! You guys make me wanna puke but you know what? You're not even worth the [censored] vomit!"
McBain stormed off, leaving the promissory note on the table.
Ramirez was put in a cell with an outside view. There wasn't much to see but at least his shackles and collar were removed. The air was hot and stale. His bars faced southwards and so there was little shade. The cellblocks weren't air conditioned. His companions in the cellblock appeared to consist only of the local, petty rabble of drunkards and reprobates. He sighed as he sat down on the uncomfortable bench. He may be their prisoner, but he would never give them what they wanted.
It was nightfall, Ramirez was pacing in his cell, bored but relishing it. When the interrogators would come for him, his lazy days would be over. The night was calm and cool. He heard a tapping sound. He looked to the bars and was shocked to see McBain there, tying satchel charges onto the bars.
"What are you doing?" Ramirez whispered.
"Bustin' you out. Get away from the bars...and plug your ears."
Ramirez crouched as far away from the bars as he could get, he plugged his ears and closed his eyes. He waited for several seconds. He was beginning to think this was a cruel ruse when a force shoved him hard against the wall, his ears rang loudly. He stumbled to his feet, disoriented he stumbled his way towards the hole in his cell. McBain caught him as he tripped outside and steadied him. McBain was talking but Ramirez couldn't hear him but he followed him as they ran towards the hills.
To be continued
