Abigail had not seen any of Giltford as their wasteland army had marched in. She woke in a cold sweat, the morning bustle of merchants and mercenaries not matching the sounds of her old room in Robert's public house. The ceiling was strange white plaster and the bed was too small, and why on earth was she shivering with cold the middle of the desert? Well, she was shivering, but whether it was *because* of the cold she didn't know. It was the uncomfortable clinging sweat that was chilling her, the sun yet to warm the land as it began to rise from the distant mountains, and the shivers... Those she would have to weather, for now. At least she had been mindful enough not to drown her sorrows that night, or who knew *what* sort of state she would have been in. It was bad enough that she awoke so early as it was. She felt dull headed and sluggish on the best of mornings, and the early sunlight that shone in through the window, though not direct, was still bright enough to make her squint painfully to find her shades. Why hadn't she thought to close the wooden shutters before collapsing? Maybe she had wanted the sun to complain about when she woke. A bad plan, in retrospect. Now she had not only the hour and the light to drain her spirit, but with her little green pills well and truly gone her limbs might have been made of lead, and she felt as weak and cowardly as she drew herself from the foreign bed, trembling like a leaf. She washed as best she could in the tin that she had been left with the night before, the cold water doing nothing for her shivers, but better that than remain foul and sweating for the rest of the day. For once she did not put her jumpsuit back on, but tossed it in the tin afterwards. Maybe she could ask for some soap, or a cup of ancient detergent, but the suit needed washing regardless. Maybe it could dry as they travelled. Or she could hang it out of the window, if she had long enough before their troop made the final leg back to Corva. Corva, under raider control. Now they were so close, Abigail dreaded to see what might have become of it. Or of the people who had been kind enough to befriend her. It was better not to think about that, and instead go to find that soap. The landlord did have some, thankfully, and Abigail was used enough to the smell of those brahmin-fat cakes to be grateful for it. It was even scented with some sort of seed oil, which made the tedious task of scrubbing her suit with it that bit less depressing. At least the activity seemed to calm her shakes. She was done and hanging the suit to dry when a knock came at the door. She really didn't need the interruption now she was up and putting herself to work, so while it might have distracted her more pleasantly she didn't bother to answer. And naturally the knock came again. "Abby-girl? Are you still in bed?" Of course, it was the one person in the town who she did want to see. Or at least, whose company would actually be welcome. "No. I'm up." She hung her clothes out as best she could as Sharn opened the door. "Hey. How are you feeling?" Abigail smiled, trying to put a brave face on her lethargic, simpering despondency. I'll be okay, she would answer. Or, I'm feeling better now. I'm dealing with it. It'll be fine. "... Pretty bad." Well done Abigail, she chastised herself. Her smile faltered, and with it so did Sharn's, becoming a look of sympathy. Great. Look what you've done now. Very mature, Abigail. Nice start to the day, for both of you. "Sorry. I'll... I'll live." Sharn seemed to ignore her apology and came in, full of care and concern. "I'm sorry, Abby-girl. Come on, we'll get you some breakfast. You'll feel better with some energy in you." Abigail hoped that would work, because energy was the last thing she had right now. "S-sure. Thanks, Sharn." "Any time." *** Breakfast had helped, if only for a little while. Abigail had eaten silently, glad that the food had managed shift the cloying taste of rat fur from her mouth. Not that she was given to licking live rats to supplement her diet of dead and roasted ones, but it was what she imagined they must have tasted like. If possible the new lack of synthetic stimulants in her diet was making her morning breath even worse. The brahmin milk, cheese and unleavened bread was good though, and more than enough to make the day seem less forbidding. She still wanted to brush her teeth thoroughly afterwards, but voicing that intention would have likely set a certain someone off. Instead she left quietly, the caravans already packing up by the time they had finished eating, and Abigail was among the last to board. Thankfully Sharn had once again chosen to travel separately from Chopper - Kyle with her this time, being one of the few to change carts - and Abigail joined them. It wasn't long into the trip that her withdrawals began to get the better of her though. While it was hot in the cart, her cloak pulled over her against the morning sun, her shivers returned, and no matter how she clenched her fists beneath the cloak they would not cease. Sharn was among the first to notice, sitting next to her near the back of the cart. "Hey, Abby-girl? You're not cold, are you?" she asked, as furtively as she could. She took one of Abigail's trembling hands, but it didn't help. Though friendly, it only served to make her more uncomfortably warm. "No, I'm not cold." With that said Sharn could work out the rest and pulled back. She still kept hold of Abigail's hand though, out of some sense of solidarity. Though Sharn had been quiet for Abigail's sake, it was not long before the depth of her problem was clear enough even to those who had not noticed already. This was the point that Abigail had always given in before. The shivering, though not severe, was uncontrollable, and only drained what little energy she had left. Her empty muscles began to ache, becoming a burden as she breathed. She wanted desperately to sleep, except that there was no tiredness in her mind. Just a vast, infinite world pressing down on her, and making her feel like an invalid surrounded by so many large, powerful soldiers. "Hey, looks like you got it bad, Vault Girl." It was the man who had paid for her pills with his second gun. "Been on the Buffout a while, huh?" Abigail looked up at him, his prying enquiry making her feel nauseous. Getting inside her head like that, where it was private; a place for her to suffer through her personal trials. "Don't worry," he continued, all friendly smiles. "A few days of hell, and you'll be right as rain." A few *days*! She didn't know how long withdrawal was supposed to take, but her first morning of proper sickness wasn't even over and she felt ready to keel over. She didn't know whether she could last days. Her insides knotted at the thought, each muscle throbbing as it did, and Abigail whimpered as she realised what her body was trying to do. "Abby-girl!!" Sharn mad a grab for her, but all she got was the girl's cloak as Abigail tipped herself out of the back of the cart, to land awkwardly on the dusty ground. Her shoulder and hip burst into a bloom of pain that spread their dull, aching agony all through her right side, but Abigail forced herself onto her hands and knees so that she could vomit into the sand. Each pull of her stomach made her cry out, and whatever fuss was made over her desertion was just noise behind her. In no time a pair of hands came to hold her shoulders and pull her braid back from her face, little the worse for her illness, but Abigail shrank away from them as she threw up. The last thing she wanted now was company. "It's okay, Abby-girl," Sharn said as she rubbed Abigail's shoulders, sounding lost as to what else to do. "Kyle, have you got some water?" Then that friendly, invasive voice joined them. "Come one, Abby, is it? Get it all up." He placed a hand on her back before patting her pained stomach, and Abigail instantly retched again. God, if it had hurt before it was like torture now, her stomach and throat burning more each time they contracted. She started to cry as the man once again pressed on her stomach, its only reaction to contort once again and throw up what little remained inside. "Give her a break already!" Kyle objected, but the Merc remained undeterred. "If it doesn't happen now, it will later. Better get it out as soon as possible, so she only has to do it once. I know, girl," he added. He seemed to be trying to sound kind as Abigail sobbed through her discomfort, but all she wanted was to be finished. "But trust me, I've been there, and it's better this way. Now come one, a couple more, make sure you're done." *** "I have to say, I wondered why you'd be here," Hickman admitted, speaking to Abigail even though she had not been taking part in their history lesson on her lost and lamented Vault 42. "Can't say I blame you after that." The pain in Abigail's stomach and side had receded into a dull, enervating throb. After the indignity of puking her guts out Kyle had given her some water to re-hydrate her, though she'd just been grateful for something to take away the taste of bile, and he'd picked her up so that they could catch back up to the cart. Now she sat safely between him and Sharn at the back, Sharn once again holding her hand in the hope that it would comfort her. After far too many furtive glances and whispered comments Sharn had also stood up for her and told them the tale of their exploits, going all the way back to what she knew of Vault 42's downfall. Abigail was surprised how complete her knowledge was, combined with the odd addition from her boyfriend. The assorted Mercs and do-gooder soldiers seemed to put more stock into the rumours of the small, black clad and shade wearing vault girl warrior now, even if she was still sick and quivering in front of them. Abigail certainly didn't *feel* like she was living up to the image she had crafted for herself, but at least she had control of her body again, and all the talk was a welcome distraction from her aching belly. "Why did you buy them?" she asked the apparently pleasant Merc who had tortured her insides, and who had at last introduced himself as Hickman. "If you had to suffer this, why would you want more Buffout? Give up your gun for them." Hickman was one of those Mercs who looked after himself, keeping his hair cut neatly and shaving his thin, angular jaw like Kyle did. His confident smile was all the more handsome for it. "There's a time and a place for everything, Abigail. Given what I've heard about Corva's problem, I don't think an extra couple of dozen bullets and a backup gun are going to be what keep me alive in there. In a town war like this? You can probably loot back half the ammo you use, and if my H-K packs in," he held up a sub-machine gun much like the one Abigail knew Chopper kept beneath her heavy coat, "then I'll pry another gun out of the Hearts' dead hands." He held up one of the pills, though securely so that the men either his of him couldn't snatch it. "This, dear though it might have been," he gave Sharn a knowing look, "is a surer bet. If I get pinned down, or God forbid I meet one of those big green S.O.B.s you lot talk about, I'll still be fighting. Maybe take a bullet or two, but as long as they don't cap me on the first shot, I'll take them down." "Heroic bastard, aren't you?" said the one other Merc woman in the cart, her voice contemptuous of his obvious confidence and lack of doubt. "You ever tried to kill a guy who's been on this?" Hickman asked in return. "If it's not a kill shot, it's damn near impossible to stop him." He lifted up his shirt, and Abigail turned away, her stomach churning again. The man's entire torso was a mess of scars and old, healed bullet wounds. Rathley's scars were bad, but nothing like this. "'Course, you've got to learn to keep your head too," he admitted. "That was from before I knew better, but I still got up after taking this lot. The Diamonds didn't." He laughed, as if it was a heroic tale someone else had told him. Not something he'd only just managed to survive. "Two rounds of buckshot and half a clip of ten mil. Cost me a lung, most of my liver and a put more stitches in my stomach than you'd ever want to see. This stuff might have been all that was keeping me alive while they stitched me back up. Chopper and the girl she had back then." "Chopper did it?" Sharn asked, surprised, and Abigail shared the sentiment. "In Steel Point, down south, about eight years ago? Nasty battle, that one. That's the problem with Buffout though: it makes you reckless too. Takes a while to learn how to throttle back, and by then... well." After that several of the Mercs joined in with him in boasting about their old wounds, though none could compare to Hickman's in blood curdling severity. They were all in far better physical shape for it than him though, and he admitted it freely. His injuries had cost him a lot of his stamina, and he could not take on the more energetic jobs or posts because they would leave him breathless. Next to him at the rear of the cart his friend and point-man Charles 'Charlie' Winters listened to his story, and those of the others with patient good humour, but he did not tell any stories of his own. He was content to explain himself as a scout and forward pistol-man, and a talented one by Hickman's claims, but his key to winning a fight was not in collecting war wounds and anecdotes, but in making sure his enemies had not seen him before he had the chance to shoot them. The woman, Vas, was likewise serious and straightforward, though far more willing to boast. She was discomfortingly eager to relate the tales of her various marks and victims, and how she would surprise each one, killing them with the specific tool she felt best suited them. She was a bounty hunter first and foremost, and Abigail sincerely hoped that she knew there was no longer any reward for Rathley's head in Micasa. Vas also did not exaggerate when she spoke of just how many different weapons she had at her disposal, and was more than willing to show off a few of the more rare and wicked ones. The 'Ripper' in particular looked horrific - a foot long single edged chainsaw, essentially, but crafted and weighted specifically to be swung in combat and powered by a micro-fusion cell of all things. Vas had a particularly dark look when she said it was reserved for the human monsters who deserved it most. Sitting at the front of the cart Simon and Trevor were brothers, twins in fact, both far younger than the rest of the Mercs, and perhaps even younger than Abigail. They had tales to tell and scars to show though, and for them this little war was a personal matter. They had been trained as caravan guards by their father in the same company, Simon being the head shooter with his pistol and hunting rifle, while Trevor had a little more muscle in his shoulders, carrying a full sized double barrel shotgun. It was Trevor who had also bought one of the Buffout pills with most of his caps, and he was grateful to talk to Hickman about when and how best to take the stuff. He had intended to ask the Merc who had first offered to take them, but that man had swapped carts with Kyle for this leg of the trip, apparently put out that Sharn had taken the initiative to sell them at the notable price she had. The boys had lost their father to the Hearts, as many sons of caravan guards did. They were bitter, and eager to take as much revenge as the raiders would provide targets for, but Kyle, Sharn, Hickman and Charlie were all on hand to talk them into a more careful state of mind after the pair had riled themselves up. They were good boys, Abigail had to admit, and for Mercs Hickman and Charles seemed much more pleasant than some she could remember. She hoped that they at least would be able to survive what they were walking into. *** The caravan made good progress, barely stopping at Micasa to recruit a few more men the following day, which Kyle was all the more grateful for. His recent falling out with his home town had left a mark on both of them, and their company wisely chose to put up with each other for those few hours rather than return to meet what friends they had there and risk bringing the law back down on them. He would have liked to see Kana, Frank, and especially Elspeth again, but while Rathley might not be worth any caps now, the town guards' pride was likely still shot full of holes where they were concerned. Though it was a distance from there to Corva, even by cart, they covered most of it by nightfall. The morning would see them up and on again, to reach the speck that was Corva just as high sun hit. That would be the ideal time to insert themselves back into Corva; lacking in shadows to cling to, but likely too hot for over-indulgent hedonists like the Hearts to mobilise properly against them. As long as they overpowered whatever welcoming committee did meet them they could disperse into the town to meet up with the various groups that Erin hoped would still be holding out. That was for tomorrow though, and the night ahead was for preparation and reflection. One of the Mercs had a cell powered lantern to give them light as they went over their weapons and ammunitions supplies, while the rest sat around their modest fire. Actions had to be checked, several guns were broken open and cleaned, and even Abigail had shakily gone over her .38 revolver, separating out her two options for ammunition, and bartered for a holster that would fit her newly acquired 10 mil pistol. She seemed to think that the armour piercing bullets she had for it might be useful, though against what, Kyle didn't know. That she was willing to carry it ready at all surprised him, considering she already had the .38 in one pocket and her preferred knives in the other. Kyle had been among those who hadn't checked their weapons. He kept his in good order as a matter of routine, and he did not like to manhandle his guns without reason. Several others with him obviously didn't care, joking amongst themselves about the gun freaks caring for their little babies, but Kyle hadn't joined them in their amusement. Better they cleaned their neglected guns before a fight than not at all. More interesting to him was Erin's preparations. She said little to them, beyond asking them to be ready to fight come sun up, and instead she retired away from the camp. From there she watched them in nervous silence, and listened. That the fight was so close was bringing out the girl's nerves, and not without reason. Their merchant driver also voiced his second thoughts, willing to fight the good fight against the Hearts, but reluctant to die now that death was such a near possibility. The twins, Trevor and Simon remained as brave and outspoken as ever next to professional soldiers who had since gone quiet. One by one, fearful or not, their company turned in under the stars. Some were content just to lie back by the fire and sleep as they were, while others pitched their tents or crawled into their well used bed rolls. Kyle did neither, letting Sharn get to bed ahead of him. Instead he lay back in the cart, next to Charlie's silently dozing body, and continued to watch. Rathley had long since packed his sun glasses away in his pocket and fallen asleep in the dust, but Chopper still sat hunched over, staring into the fire, every now and then her gaze shifting to Abigail and Sharn's tent. "Hypocrite," Kyle muttered, amused. Chopper was a practical woman, arrogant and sure of herself, and yet for the year that he had travelled with her had she ever been content when she had not been in love? Not just getting laid - that was Rathley's drug - but actually romancing either Erin or Abigail. Now her straight talking had set Abigail against her, and maybe with just cause, but while she could freely ignore the feelings of others, she could not ignore her own. Chopper sat there, so clearly wanting to return to their tent, and each time forcing herself back. Was it out of her own self-defeating rancour with the girl, or just worry that Abigail would remain cold even if she did try? Either way, despite their argument Chopper *hadn't* fallen out of love with the girl this time, and it was coming back to bite her. And up in the driver's seat of Kyle's cart, Erin sat just as Chopper did, caught in just the same trap as the contrary woman below. Strange how that had worked out, Kyle decided, before doing what Chopper clearly wanted to and joining the girls in their tent for the night. *** "Okay, now these two wires here, what are they?" Abigail looked over the water filtration mechanics that the wires ran from. The machine's back was a mess of unlabeled switches, dials and valves, its circuit boards hidden away in their tight little access pipe. "Water pressure and overflow controls?" Next to her Marcus smiled. It was difficult to see his face, and not just because they were working by flash-light. She just couldn't seem to see it clearly. Maybe she needed glasses. But even so, it was a familiar, safe face that smiled at her. Or maybe she was starting to forget what he'd looked like. "Got it in one, Jinx. See how they're fused at the water chip contact? No wonder we're getting impure water coming through. This whole board needs checking every month at least. If we don't clean it up this kind of thing will burn out the chip. Maybe replace the overflow wire and connectors while we're at it. This is the third time it's gone this year." It was strange how clear his voice was, kind but authoritative, when his features seemed so vague. The pipe too, it was familiar in its confines, but surely it was too bare for being behind the water processing units. She could still find her way around the circuit board though, and soon enough they were done for the day. "So, what do you have planned tonight?" Marcus asked, sounding genuinely interested. "Not another vote down at the cinema, I assume." Abigail laughed. They had done that far too much recently, even if they had got their way as often as not. "No, Alice wants to go down to the library, and she's put up with our film-fest for long enough!" "Now there's a girl you should be emulating," Marcus said in approval. "That night owl Gillian is a bad influence on you." Abigail disagreed. Gillian was different. Special. Maybe one day she would tell her as much, but not today. Today was book day, though only two of them would have actual print and paper books in their hands. Much of Vault 42s library was electronic, with large chunky consoles lining the walls, and each isle dotted with electronic reading screens. Dee had a real book in her hands, her chubby face as bland and faded as Marcus', and her voice faint and nondescript, but her laugh... oh that laugh was clear, ringing like music through the library as she squealed over her romance novel. Jaqueline had read that book before, and smiled in knowing amusement. It was a clear smile. Abigail had always liked Jaqueline's lips. She was not really all that pretty, but she remembered those well shaped lips, and the gentle words that would come from them. "Oh, has the Count made his move then?" "Yes! Haha! It's *gorgeous*." Karen and Patricia were staring at the screen readers, making their own observations as they went. Abigail joined them. Those two weren't so keen on the library, but when they went they were their own little two- girl book club. Or three girl, in this case. It was sad, but it seemed that Karen had nearly gone. She had always been the quietest of them, but Abigail couldn't make out what her voice sounded like now, or the colour of her eyes, or the shape of her simple hair. She just knew that she was there. Patricia was clearer, but was now something of a caricature; all outspoken views and long term plans, and gossip about the strong, masculine men on security team. Abigail joined them though, because they were friends, and it was a good book that they were reading. The other two in Abigail's tomboy sub division had more important - and as Dee put it, dull - things to read. Alice had been after a read of some old surface law drama for weeks, the hefty volume file still only half finished, while Gillian was studying. She had time before her own tech shift to swat up on her fusion conduction mechanics. She was going into the reactor rooms today. But God, the two of them; still so clear and vibrant in front of her dreaming mind. The clear, brilliant eyes that let slip Alice's intelligence behind her short hair and pleasant demeanour, and the knowing, crafty smirk that never quite left Gillian's lips. Abigail might no longer be able to find where the library kept its real print books, or just how many screens there were to an aisle, but Alice and Gillian were still there in every little detail and mannerism. "Say, Abigail? Do you think Connor is really as evil as he's made out to be?" Abigail was brought back to her book, and for that one moment she could hear Karen's voice. That sweet, guileless, ever hopeful voice, and though she might have forgotten the girl's eyes, at least she still had this much left of her dear, missing friend. *** Waking from that blissful dream to cold, bright reality made Abigail's head reel and her stomach turn. The tracks of happy, unconscious tears chilled her cheeks. She rubbed her eyes on the sleeve of her jumpsuit, and even that little movement was weak and painfully stiff. But, she thought as she reached for her glasses, what did it matter now? She knew what awaited her if she tried to eat, and her wretched sickness seemed only to be getting worse before it got better. At least she could enjoy lying down, not having to move for a little longer. Her bitterness was not reserved just for her self-pity though. In the last few days she had not been the only one bartering away drugs, and observing them all exchanging stimpaks, pills or performance enhancing syringes, it made her past addiction seem all the more wasteful. Caps were a widely fluctuating currency she was still figuring out, even after months of using them, but thinking of the small fortune she had eaten in Buffout over those past weeks was horrifying. That one band of Hearts she had scavenged them from had provided her more money in drugs than any of the others had looted in arms and armour - they had probably doubled her already notable worth in bottle caps. She had not told any of the Mercs just how many she had found, but she got the impression that a haul like hers, almost two dozen tabs in one go, was a rich find indeed. Even the power and confidence they had given her hadn't been worth throwing away so much money. She might even have been able to buy Sharn that sniper's rifle she had asked about from the late Mayor Golway. Once again, did it matter now though? She couldn't undo her mistake. She just had to live with it, however unpleasant that might be. She needed to rise above her self-pity, or else what would her parents, Gillian and the rest of them think? She staggered to her feet with a groan and dressed herself as best she could. She was beginning to see how Sharn could venerate the ghosts of her ancestors. There was a certain emotional logic to it after a dream like that. *** If she was tired and drawn from the last week's trials, she was not the only one. She had managed to pack her things and make it to their cart, but that was all she was capable of before she collapsed in the back, and overhearing the driver talk it seemed their animals were not faring much better. "I know we need to get there quickly," the man told an anxious Erin, "but my brahmin have just made a five day caravan trip in little over two and a half. They are exhausted, and there wasn't much scrub for them to eat last night either." "They're brahmin," Erin argued. "They'll be fine." "Of course they will! But they'll only be able to take us a fast as they can. Ask Higgs," he said, pointing to Erin's own hired driver. "He'll tell you the same." Off to the side Kyle had cornered Chopper, and while Abigail's body had returned to its old, useless state, her ears were still good. "Chopper, come on, at least take a look at her. She can barely walk on her own." A pause, before the answer. A surprisingly plain answer. "Just make sure she drinks plenty. There's nothing else to do." By the time everyone was loaded up Erin had conceded defeat, and their packed two-cart convoy got underway at the best speed its beasts of burden to comfortably manage. "Abby-girl, you did have something to eat, right?" Abigail smiled up at Sharn from where she sat slumped beside her. As the morning was wearing on she was finding it harder to sit up against the rumbling of the cart, and her breathing was laboured because of it. "I did," she sighed, grateful for Sharn's concern but wishing the kind woman wouldn't worry quite so much. It made her far too attractive. "I had some water, and a bit of bread. Hopefully that will stay down." Opposite her Charles spoke to Sharn and Kyle, though not quietly enough to avoid her ears. "She's in no state to fight. You know that right?" Hickman agreed. "She won't be recovering before we get into the town." Abigail groaned, using what little energy she had to sit up again. She soon wished she hadn't, her limbs and back complaining almost instantly, but she put her hand into her jacket pocket to pull out one of her knives. She held it out in front of them, as if to throw it, but her hand was trembling far too much to steady on its own. She let the hand drop, and slumped against Sharn's side, her breathing heavy again. "I guess you might be right. After all," she admitted, giving Kyle a tired, self-deprecating smile, "I can hardly walk on my own." Kyle shared the smile, but there was more pity than humour behind it. Pity for little fallen Abigail. "Sharn? Do you mind if I take a nap?" Abigail asked finally. "I'm so tired." It was only physical, but maybe she would be fit for something in Corva if she rested on the way there. Even if all she could manage was getting off the cart and finding a safe place to hide, that was better than being carried from it. Sharn hesitated, perhaps wondering along similar lines, before she agreed. "Sure, Abby-girl. I'll wake you before we get there." "Thanks, Sharn. I promise I won't slow you down." "Of course not. Just get some more rest." *** "Abby-girl. Abby-girl, time to get up." Sharn's every instinct wanted not to wake the sick, sleeping girl who lay curled up with her head in her lap. Abigail needed the rest, and not one of Sharn's long dead ancestors would have advised her otherwise. The problem was that time was not on their side, and this was one cart-drawn arrival that the girl could not afford to sleep through. "We're here," she soothed, as Abigail looked up at her with dull, bloodshot eyes. It was perhaps unkind to ask, but Sharn had to, if only to give voice to her painful concern. "Are you feeling any better?" Abigail swallowed, as if tasting something unpleasant. "Uh, a little, I think." Sharn looked over to her beloved, who offered Abigail their flask of water. "Here." Thankfully Abigail did not refuse and took a few gentle sips. Sharn thought Abigail had been looking very sheepish and timid since the whole Buffout ordeal had come to light - not her normal vibrant self at all, or even her more recent closed off but still capable self - and it was nice to see her accepting the help now. The voice that soon followed didn't sound like the Abigail that Sharn had been such fast friends with though. Not the brave, reckless, naive girl who had picked herself out of the irradiated dirt and become a wastelander. "Is that Corva?" Yes, it was. Not the wide caravan entrance, but the northern side, where the poorer homes and ghoul quarter lay. It looked as though nothing had happened there, but smoke rose from fires deeper in, hopefully small and isolated, and the guard tower furthest from them on the south side had been annihilated. Only the bare wooden supports of it remained. "Yes, that's my town," Erin said in a trembling voice from the front of the cart. "It looks better from this side." "They wrecked the south side?" Sharn started to pay attention as they conversation turned to matters that would be more useful to their insurgency. "Some of it. Half of them came through there. We knew they were coming, more than we could handle before they got inside, but they had explosives. They left the east tower intact, but destroyed most of Main Street once they were past it. Just for the fucking sake of it." The curse that flew from Erin's proper lips stung like Radscorpion venom. "They destroyed the stalls, or the buildings too?" Sharn asked. It looked intact enough from where they were, but if they were to be fighting in wreckage then she would need to know. Being able to shoot from a building made for a different fight to skirmishing among ruins. She had already saved Erin from the Diamonds from the safety of a rooftop once, and being able to set up attacks such as that made for a quicker, cleaner fight. "Both," Erin rasped, the reasons behind the question evidently lost on her. "They beat the traders and shot the guards, and smiled as they wasted their bombs on the Main Line Inn." "What about the rest of the town?" asked Hickman, his mind obviously working the same way as Sharn's. "How much of it will they have razed?" Erin groaned, evidently not wanting to think in those terms. "I don't know. Not much. It can't have been much, beyond Main Street. That man, Jackhammer," she spat out his name like another piece of poisonous refuse, "he told me he was taking the town, so why destroy it? And how many explosives can they have? I don't know how they did it, but it would take more than one of Stephanie's grenades to level a building like the Main Line. "But they could," Vas noted, her interest in the raiders' methods seeming almost academic. "That can't be cheap." "And the mutants will have heavy weapons," Kyle added. He put the Heart's secret weapons into a wastelander's perspective. "Our one had Brotherhood level firepower, and could still use it after a rifle shot to the skull." Sharn was brought back to her more personal worries as Abigail straightened and coughed. "Abby?" "The Super Mutants," she volunteered, "maybe... They used explosives when they broke into my vault." "So maybe they supplied the raiders," Simon surmised, while his brother had slightly different theory. "Or they might be the only ones using them. The ones at your vault were carrying all their own supplies, right?" Kyle spoke up again, less concerned with the details and more the larger picture. "Either way, they have them. We'll find out soon enough whether these two Super Mutants could supply the Hearts' combined numbers." He elaborated, if only for Abigail's benefit, and those few who had not had to deal with the Hearts before. "They are *not* usually that well armed, so hopefully we can start dealing with them properly before they realise what's going on and get their act together. If they have been equipped by the Super Mutants, then we need to *see* how, before we can make proper plans." Indeed, there was not a raider in sight, and Sharn was impressed at the lack of raider reception as they moved in past the first houses. The two carts were taking separate routes in, to meet up with different groups Erin expect to have come together, and in known defensible positions in the town. It was not a situation that had been planned for in detail, but many major names and regular mercenaries in the town knew what they would do if it ever came to this, as did Erin. The raiders' inability or unwillingness to meet them with guns drawn now either meant that their high-noon plan had paid off, or that the Hearts had become complacent in these last two weeks. She had noticed that there had been no-one in the still standing watchtower at their north end of the town, only at the main entrance on the east side. A gunshot rang out from across the town, followed by three more in concert. Though it made them start, at least it proved that someone was still resisting, and Sharn hoped that whoever it was had been successful. Either that or it was one of the Hearts having a bad Psycho trip. They were known for that sort of thing. "There is a private warehouse up ahead," Erin explained, when she was asked as to their cart's plan. "It's as big underground as it is above. The men that own it store building materials there, to shore up or expand this district. They could also hide fifty people down there, and supplies for them, if they didn't want to evacuate. If I already have a worker's army, this is where they will be." *** There was no living army to meet them. Abigail did not venture from the cart to see it, instead content to watch for trouble as best she could outside, but what they described upon their return was the same image that had been burned into Abigail's mind for over a month. The dreams had subsided, and the gory memories been replaced by their subsequent battles and hardships, but the carnage wrought by a minigun was still an image that leapt into her mind all too quickly. Many men *had* tried to make a stand, and organise themselves against the Hearts. It had just been done and discovered too soon for it to help Erin. The girl had come out in tears, but it was still her who the rest looked to for direction. "We... we try the pump house. And the rat sheds, and Marge's. Some of them must have survived, even if they had to surrender!" The pump house was better, thankfully, but only in being so barren. Being the only place to get water in the town besides the frequent water traders it had been wishful thinking that Erin's armed friends might have held it. It was too important in a crisis, and too close to the market street, but anyone who had died for it had been taken away already. Being high sun there was no-one there standing guard, and the Mercs could search the place without worry. "Should we stop here then, and hold this house?" Vas asked. "If they'll have to come down here anyway, we can pick them off as they arrive. Quietly." "A good plan," the merchant driver said, "until they cotton onto us. There's no way out if they do." "And there's nothing but machinery inside for cover," Charlie added. "We should definitely use it for an ambush, but unless we fortify it ourselves this is nowhere to make camp. Batter we find people than a place right now." However, while they debated inside Abigail sat hidden behind the low wall of the cart, in the fortunate position to see one lonely soul who had braved the midday sun for the sake of water for his bucket. And he did not walk well, but had the stiff stagger of a ghoul. "Nigel?" Abigail asked, slipping from the cart and staggering out herself to meet him, forgetting her danger for the moment. "Nigel, you're still here?" "Eh?" The old ghoul asked as she approached. "Here? Why wouldn'ts I be here? This is my home, girl. What're *you* doin' abouts here though?" Abigail blinked, her sudden wave of rare enthusiasm ebbing. He didn't seem to remember her. "Nigel? It's me, Abigail." "Abigail?" Then his unfocused eyes widened in recognition. "Oh! Abigail! Christian's old friend, eh? Yes, yes, I remembers you, girl. We went rat watchin' together. That was a good fight though, wasn't it? That grizzle grump Rathley still gots good moves." Then he peered closer at her, and his patchy, greenish eyebrows curled in a frown. "But say, you don't looks so pink skinned as I remember you, girl. Them Hearts ain't done you no harm, I hopes?" Abigail felt like crying again, and for the first time in a while it was in gratitude, that this absent minded old man had remembered her after all. She reached forward to grasp him in a hug, ignoring his pungent odour and probably putting more weight on him than his rotted bones needed, just glad to see a friendly face in the seemingly deserted town. "Easy now girl, careful there. Don't go gettin' tangled up in me bits and bobs. Bad enough those God awful raiders gone and put a bullet in me ribs last week. Never gettin' that bit back." "Oh God, Nigel! You were shot!?" Her appalled sympathy just seemed to amuse him. "Oh, it takes more'n a bullet to puts us down these days, girl. Don't you worry your head none. But hadn't you left? What's you doin' back already, and with all this trouble to boot." Now the rest of the Mercs had filtered back out of the pump station, and Sharn, Kyle and Erin had all come running over to see the wandering ghoul. "We came to help," Abigail explained. "Because of the raiders. But what about Christian, and Celia? Are they okay?" "And where are the survivors?" Erin asked, urgency thick in her voice, "Are there still people fighting the Hearts? What parts of town are still safe to hide in?" Nigel blinked at her, obviously recognising her. "Oh, well, here's as safe a any place, Miss Erin. Most of the peoples this side have gone, fled for the fightin', but them raiders don't bother us deaders. Gots better things to do, I'd guess." Then he bowed respectfully, a gesture unlike any Abigail had seen before in the wasteland. "I'm sorry about your Pa, Miss Erin. We heards what happened, and it weren't right. You wants me to takes you to the rest of us? We gots some more pink skins with us too, who didn't go." Erin nodded, finally looking a little more relieved. "Yes, please do." Abigail beamed through her fatigue. "Thank you, Nigel." Nigel just beamed back. "Think nothin' of it, girls. Now, just lets me fill this here bucket, and I'll be takin' you." *** "Habigail! What are yhou dhoing back soh soon?" Abigail felt Celia freeze as she ignored the question and staggered into another embrace so soon after she had hugged Christian. "Celia! I'm so sorry!" Celia's sudden tension seemed to lift when Abigail hadn't recoiled back, and she stroked at Abigail's hair with her single hand, torn lips twisting into a soft smile. "Sohrry? Habigail, why sohrry?" Abigail wept into Celia's shoulder at the memories. "I read your diaries." "Oh. Do not whorry, Habigail. Those mhemories hold no swhay over me nhow." Behind them Christian was greeting the others at the entrance of the Seven Feet Under clubhouse, friendly and affable as always, though mellowed by Erin's arrival. "Yeah, we've some people here," he told them. "They that didn' wan' to go into tha' desert. I's easy enough to hide 'em. I'd say we'd wan' to help an' all, but I don' know how much good a bunch of us ol' wrecks'd do to be helpin' ya'." Erin was obviously uncomfortable around the ghouls that by contrast Abigail felt so close to, but the girl remained composed. "That's okay, uh, Christian. If you could keep some of us in here, and the rest around the ghoul quarter. I don't know how many yet, but at least twenty five. We need a safe place to make our plans." "Surely, tha'd be no problem, Miss Erin. 'slong as you don' mind it bein' a few ol' ghoul houses, you can be usin' our club'ouse for your plannin'. The Hearts, the don' care so much where we go, so we can be tellin' you what you need to be knowin', iffn your frien's here can' be goin' about to look." "That... that's the first good news we've had today," Erin admitted with a sigh. "Please, put up those of us here, and I will bring the rest. I know the places they would go. If Mr Hickman and Mr Winters would accompany me?" Hickman and Charlie did so, glad that Erin had at least wanted a guard in case they came across their enemy, and they left the others to bring the ghouls and their human residents up to speed. Most of the ghouls Abigail actually didn't know by name, she had only socialised with Christian's small circle, and their human guests she likewise hadn't met, bar one. "Kirren?" Abigail remembered her all too clearly. Her green mohawk had half grown out, now trailing down her back instead of standing upright, and she did not wear her tough green armour, but Abigail could not forget that pierced face with its intelligent eyes, dulled by loss. Celia sat next to the Merc woman, and Abigail could see why Celia might have wanted to befriend her. Celia had made a great effort to be friends with Abigail when they had first met, going as far as to gift her with her past PipBoy diaries and maps so that she might cope better. For Kirren it was more simple; they both had lost an arm. Kirren her left, and Celia her right. "Abigail," Kirren greeted, evidently remembering her just as well. "You don't look like you've had it good since you left." Abigail shuddered, knowing how bad she must have seemed, because even despite this happy reunion she surely felt it. "Yeah. I made some... bad decisions. You're looking better though." Kirren might have been quiet and more taciturn still, but behind the resigned darkness in her eyes there was a new fire to her. Though she was not armoured, a new weapon sat at her hip, and Kirren noticed the look. "That Steph, she can make a good gun." Kirrn picked up the tall, squared pistol to show it off. "She had it when she came along with us, remember?" Abigail nodded. It was a rifle, cut down, re-balanced and re-fitted to be wielded as a pistol, while still retaining a surprising amount of its power and accuracy in the face of the dramatic modifications. "Her point 233 pistol, isn't it?" She allowed a small smile at Kirren's surprised expression. "Actually, I think it suits you." "Yeah. It does." "Ol' Kirr'n here been keepin' low, but she an' her frien's are what Miss Erin be wantin'," Christian said as he finally ambled over to join them. "She wen' and took on the Hearts when they first showe' up, and damn if she didn' throw a fit an' kill two of 'em on tha' first fightin' day. Shame there was so many of 'em or you'd've given 'em a secon' thinkin' about it, wouldn' ya girl? Still, better safe now than hasty an' dead back then, eh? Got a secon' chance to be showin' us, right?" Kirren nodded, deadly serious. "Damn right I have. Though you don't look fit to fight, Abigail." Abigail Sighed. It was the truth, but, "I'll be fine." "Come, Habigail, plhease tell us, what has happened?" Celia motioned for her to join them on the couch. For anyone else Abigail would have made her excuses, but for Celia, who had suffered so much herself and still been willing to share her life's closest thoughts for Abigail's sake, there was little way she could remain quiet. "Yeah, it don' feel good, Abby," Christian insisted, in her moment of hesitation. "Seein' ya' so pale and shakin', like the ol' hands." He raised his own slightly unsteady fingers, and cracked her a five- toothed grin. "If ya' be willin' to tell." Though the thought of recounting the last month herself was daunting, baring her foolishness alongside their varied exploits, she could not refuse friends like them. *** Chopper looked about the small room that had once belonged to a ghoul, now two weeks in the grave. Properly dead this time. It was relatively normal, if spartan, as she had expected. For ones who had lived so long, and forgotten so much, they had few homely needs to make themselves comfortable. A single bed, an old wardrobe patterned with the legacy of some long forgotten fire, and dry, crumpled clothing that would never again be worn, and probably shouldn't have been for some years. It served their needs, and Chopper wouldn't complain. A real bed, even as it was, would be preferable to a wary night in the back of their hidden cart. She had to commend Erin for the arrangements the girl had made. Erin had no love for the ghouls of her town. Certainly not the open tolerance that her father had been gifted with in spite of the trouble they drew. However, she had seen the chance to make much needed allies and take hold of a base for themselves, and snatched both in one fell swoop. A show of good judgement on her side. That did not mean that she appreciated the girl now stepping into her room, and closing the door behind her. "Erin." It was a neutral greeting, and as good as the girl would get from her. Chopper was tired, frustrated, and her patience for the girl's doomed obsession had long worn thin. "I hope you will forgive me," Erin said as she stepped inside, affecting an air of casual conversation in the small, intimate space. "There is limited room in the homes the ghouls have provided, and if I must sleep in close company with any one, I would have it be with you." "Erin, I am in no mood for you now." Erin obviously agreed. "No, you have not been in the mood for anyone recently. You have not joined me or your friends on our journey, and you did not entertain Rathley's comments, so I hear." "Checking up on me then?" It was disturbing, the way Erin would always be there, and always be informed. It spoke well of her burgeoning skill as a politico and town leader, but less well as a trustworthy human being. "Has there ever been a time I have not?" An honest reply. Far more welcome than any excuse. "Believe it or not, Marie, I gave your Abigail ample chance to be put with you. Instead she took a bed to herself, her good friends sleeping in their bedding on her floor." Erin had always been a receptive girl, sensitive to the mood of the scene and behaving in kind as needed, but now she chose to play to her own tune, and lay down her pack and prepared for bed regardless of Chopper's inclinations. "I am surprised you still look her way," Erin said, her words intentionally sharp edged. "If I am not up to your standards, then she has long since fallen below them." Chopper's retort was ready without a moment's thought or preparation. "And you are pleased with your new ghoul friends, I see. They seem to have served you well, in place of most others." Chopper felt a guilty glimmer of satisfaction as Erin paused, clearly stung by the remark. It was true enough, fewer than twenty townsmen and mercenaries had been found in the town that day, and most by the group Chopper had searched with. It was a far cry from the numbers Erin had hoped for. Whether they were dead or long departed didn't matter, one was just as damaging to their objective as the other. "Is there any more I could have done?" No, but that was no excuse for the weak, helpless look that grew on Erin's face. Stand up for yourself, damn it girl. Spit back some support for these people. Some fire. Look at what you *do* have! She could no longer be the damsel and expect to be rescued from her distress. But no. Erin stood there, half out of her cloak, standing to be judged. There was nothing more that she could say to defend herself, so she did not bother. Instead she let the insult lie, and bared herself once again to the woman she loved, both in word and deed. Chopper looked away as Erin's clothes were discarded. "Bloody hell." "If the girl you dote on will not take you to bed, then I won't leave you to sleep alone, Marie. Tell me the truth. Do you really love her, even looking like that?" "No. But I would, if I thought she would welcome it once she has suffered for her idiocy." Erin, naked as she day she was born, stood still awaiting judgement. "So, you would take her even after the drugs, and the grief she caused you?" The answer was not simple. It defied Chopper's own self imposed criteria, but it would all depend on Abigail now. She had spirit, a will to carry on regardless, somewhere beneath the weakened mess that was the girl she had adored. She was willing to hold her gun, even now. "She will have to survive it first. But if not, then she was worth it." Erin was defeated. Her petit body sagged under the knowledge, and she raised her arms a little, hoping for some faint affirmation of the feelings that she hoped Chopper had once held for her. "Chopper? Was I worth it?" Chopper stared at her, vulnerable and insecure, even though she had an army of fifty men at her command. Could the bright young woman she had once seduced, who had been so willing to learn and to experiment with her, be the same one who let her confidence hang on one reply from a love that had long since left her? "No. I had expected more from you, Erin. It was a good time, I won't deny it. You were an amazing lover, but you were always content to be nothing more that you were, and you made your choices. I won't sit back and coddle you while you run your town. If you reclaim it." It was sad, that she had to repeat this again. The girl should have moved on a year ago. It was hard to watch her cry. Erin had a strength of her own; one that had gathered these men together, and that had been willing to be both dominant and submissive in private, as their moods chose. Those tears pull at Chopper's emotions, but they undermined the woman they flowed from. "Then... that is that. I was never enough." Bullshit. "You were enough for me. But not for yourself. You were too eager to be dependant on everyone else, even when you so wanted to stand up yourself in this town of yours." "That's enough." Erin didn't bother to cover herself, but she had let all pretence of desirability and seduction drop. She could not compete with Chopper at her own game. "I did mean something to you. Once." "Yes. You did. Something significant." "Then let me touch you, one last time. That's what you showed me. How to touch. I don't need anything in return, but you taught me how to enjoy that; touching someone else. Showing how you love them. I still love you, and your Abigail doesn't." Erin stepped over to her, her flat, bare stomach in line with Chopper's gaze from her seat on the bed. "If this is the last chance I get... We will be fighting tomorrow, and I will have other concerns to keep me away. And afterwards, I cannot see you staying. I don't think you or Rathley would be disposed to rebuilding work." Chopper looked up at Erin's pleading face, a face she had once adored like many others, but more than unique enough in it's own right. Adventurous, ambitious, and eager. It had taken a long time to see that those traits were acted upon only in their evenings together. Abigail was gone, for good reason, and who knew if she would ever return? Chopper had felt herself deteriorate these last three days, and her desires were only making her more and more unsettled. Right now, with so much at stake in only one night's time, it was better that neither of them were miserable than both. She stood, and watched Erin's eyes soften as she pulled her shirt over her head. "You can have your night, and you won't be performing alone. But once the sun rises we will smile, put on our clothes, and that will be the end of it. We can still finish this on good terms." Chopper was glad when Erin nodded, stepping in to hold her tightly. The girl's arms were stronger that Chopper remembered, and she returned the embrace in kind. She did not know whether Erin's tears were born of grief or gratitude, but she was determined that whatever happened they would be the former before the night was out. And consequence be damned.
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