Corva Welcomes You? Abigail would have thought that, after the tortures of the day before, she would be used to the discomfort by the time she woke. Naturally, neither the world nor her body were quite so kind. She was roused so suddenly and from so deep a sleep that whatever nightmare flash she might have woken to was gone before it had appeared at all. That was, in some ways, a relief. Once awake, she could quickly clear her head of her bloody memories, and focus on her more immediate and physical pains. Putting on Rathley's shades she was glad to see that, as the tent came down around her, she had not been placed on Chopper's blood stained table again for the night. The patch of sand she had slept on, while less deep than the last, had still cushioned her and left her hips and shoulders less sore. They should have felt worse, she knew, but Chopper's painkiller shots, which helped her sleep, would still last well into the day. That was something she was eternally grateful for. After their wasteland hike the day before her legs felt like lead. She dreaded to think what condition they would be in if she was able to feel them fully. However, they did still work, and she found her feet slowly but steadily while the desert travellers packed up around her. As she stretched out her aches it struck her how quickly the novelty of having surface people around her had worn off. For all their quirks and foreign charms, they were not like normal people; like the people of Vault 42. They obviously had some sort of camaraderie between them, but it was not one based upon friendships, or care for each other's wellbeing. "Hey, how's our precious little invalid? Ready for another little stroll? Ha ha!" Rathley's loud comment, and the subsequent rock that Kyle threw at his head after tripping over the unpleasant man's belongings, summed up her point quite well. "Jesus! Bags, old man. Either pack them up, or I hack them up for our next fire!" Abigail was no stranger to chastisement over her late waking hours, untidiness, and her 'overly energetic' conduct through the vault corridors. She had been well known among her friends for the extra hours she was made to do at work, or the groundings she got from her proud and over-protective parents. "You do and I'll cut your fucking ears off to match your balls, boy!" But they had never threatened her with physical violence over her misdemeanours. They had never belittled her simply for falling sick. Back in the vault she had taken her punishments because she knew she had earned them, and she had genuinely tried to do better, because that was what everyone had needed of her. Everyone had to work together if they were all to remain safe, comfortable and happy in their underground home. Of course people had their fallings out, and fights occurred, but only over the worst incidents. Real crimes, and real inconsideration, were the unpleasant exception. Here, they appeared to be the norm. Instinctively she looked for Sharn. She did at least show that she really cared, even if she was just as strangely foreign and discomforting as the other three. And Sharn just shouted up for her... boyfriend? Husband? According to her, Kyle could take anything that Rathley could dish out, and still make the older man lose control of his bowels before begging for mercy. And in fewer words too. That was the side of Sharn that scared her. The savage girl that appeared when she thought Abigail wasn't looking. Absently Abigail reached behind her to hold the metal loop that hung as a tie for her long pigtail. However, pulling it into her fingers, she found that it was no longer the piece of jewellery that her mother had given her for her twelfth birthday. Instead, her hair was pulled through and tied around a coin, which had an off-centre hole of some sort through it. Had they thrown away her only real piece of jewellery? Chopper had not said anything about it when she had asked about her equipment. She forced the emerging tears back, and looked back up to the fighting pair. Of course they had tossed it. It had probably absorbed too much radiation to be safe, but it still hurt to lose it. "Admiring the circus?" Abigail literally jumped, letting out a cry of surprise when Chopper made her presence known. How long had the coarse woman been standing behind her? Abigail turned away from scene with a definite worry joining the hungry crawl of her weak stomach. "Not really." Then she swallowed hard, realising just how rude her tone had been. It had been honest, but at the same time she knew that she was in no position to be making open judgements about these people. Even if they had thrown away her possessions, her life was depending on their willingness to keep her alive. Chopper raised a single questioning eyebrow, and Abigail couldn't help but feel nervous at it, but Chopper did not say any more. She just gave Abigail that worrying smirk, and offered her a bowl of root mush. "Is that so? Well then, maybe something to eat will take your mind of them." Abigail took the bowl and looked down at it. It was the same unpleasant, fibrous sludge that she had tried to eat the day before, and only partially succeeded. And this time it was wetter, obviously with the salt-water medication stirred in. She was starving, she couldn't deny it, but could she really force herself to eat this again? And again at lunch, and again at dinner, if she was lucky enough to be provided with three meals instead of one? What choice did she have? "Thank you," she said in a quiet voice, and she tried to sound grateful, but given the smirk that stayed plastered on Chopper's face she did not know when she had succeeded. She scooped up a spoonful of the wet mush and tried to swallow it down as fast as her throat would allow without making herself ill. "Don't rush it," Chopper advised as she turned away to watch the unfolding scene between her companions. They were still sniping at each other, or rather Rathley was sniping at the once-again allied Sharn and Kyle, and they were returning the favour. And all three actually seemed to be enjoying the abusive air. "The best medicine tastes like shit," Chopper added. "Heh, it's a good thing you don't need the best." Abigail chose to believe that she was trying to reassure her, but either way, it was rather more information than she needed as she slowly ate her salty gruel. "Yes. A good thing, I guess." *** Abigail did get lunch as well, despite her pessimistic morning thoughts. In fact the atmosphere all around was lighter than the day before, such that Abigail could put her troubled thoughts behind her and simply walk without the frequent bouts of bickering that had plagued the last leg of this exhausting journey. It might have been helped by the fact that she did not feel up to trying to make conversation with them, so once they had settled down and back into the routine of marching along she could simply see them as the ragged wanderers that they were, and not in such a judgemental light. It helped that Rathley was not a talker once he was moving. His carefree and vulgar opinions vanished beneath the craggy mask of a... Abigail did not know what animal it was that he resembled, but he resembled it well. He did not so much turn serious, but simply started to pay a keen attention to the eternal expanse of rock and dirt around them. His attention was on the 'out there' and not on the rest of the group. And, as Abigail was forever realising as they marched, there was so much 'out there' to see. What he was paying attention to, or looking for, or feeling with his surface dweller's senses, Abigail could not begin to guess at. But it kept him quiet and engrossed as he walked along behind them, with Chopper in front. It gave Kyle and Sharn time to talk together, and talk to Abigail. "Abby-girl, are you holding up okay?" Sharn finally asked, after she and Kyle had run out of their own conversations, only half-heard and not listened in on by Abigail. "Are you legs tired? I'm sure Chopper has something..." It was true, Abigail's legs ached something fierce. They ached to the point that they hurt anew, especially now that the day was wearing on, and the drugs wearing off. To begin with they had ached with stiffness, and she had longed for a good hot bath. Then they had ached with the exercise, on top of the exertions of the previous day. And now they ached with tiredness, moving not with a simple thought but with an effort of willpower not to be left behind, or be verbally put down for holding them up. But she could still go on. Her muscles protested, but the food and her slow but steady recovery gave her the stamina to continue. "She's not due for another shot until sundown," Chopper added to Abigail's mental list of reasons. "Too much of my stuff and she'll end up numb and walking like a floater." Abigail didn't want to know what a 'floater' was anymore than she wanted to hear about Rathley's 'deathclaw'. Right now 'bed' or even 'sand' would have held her interest, but not much else. "I'm okay," she said, a little out of breath, but still sounding strong, even if she didn't look it right then. "And I won't need holding up this time." "Ambitious," Kyle said with a joking smile, and though it didn't feel welcome he did not let Abigail's lack of similar humour put him off this time. "We'll be going a bit longer today, you know. At least until Corva's watch towers come up in the distance." He pointed out to a speck just below the horizon. "Three wooden points on that dot, once it's become a wall. That's your target." Abigail squinted through her shades at the dot. He was right. It wasn't just a rock ridge. It was a proper artificial shape, just about, even at this distance. The sight pumped a flood of energy into her heart. "A town. A real town." "Corva," Sharn confirmed. "It's not a bad place, and there's plenty to keep people coming back, even this close to the Cobalt Line." "There has to be," Kyle added. "Since their crops aren't a sure thing with all the rads and nasty creatures about. That's why it's a good place to find work. There's always someone wanting something done, or it's the end of their job! A real melodramatic bunch." "Yeah, tell me about it," Sharn said, "but they're decent. They're ghoul-friendly, they've got some sort of sport running in the pens almost every day, the traders won't cheat you too bad on ammo..." "They got a brothel full of absolute talent, I'd say second best within two caravans' ride." They ignored Rathley, although Abigail was surprised that they didn't argue the point either. "We can get you fixed up real good with the stuff you were lugging around. Some of that's gotta be worth some decent leather at least," Kyle finished. Abigail wasn't so sure. "I need to sell it all? What am I supposed to do after that?" "Hey, it's your stuff, you do what you want with it. I'm just saying, some of that's gonna be worth more than the effort of lugging it around." Abigail guessed Kyle was right. Especially since he was the one carrying the majority of her supplies and books. "And we'll look after you," Sharn went on with her smile on her face. "We know what it's like out here, so we'll watch your back so you don't get suckered into anything. So don't worry. And you can rest up while we sort out our pay for this waste of a trip - I mean besides finding you, this was a bust - 'cus that'll probably take a bit, and Chopper's put you through too much as it is." At the sound of her name Chopper joined the conversation. "Since we're on the subject, there's a few things I want to lay down *before* you start introducing yourself to everyone and their dog." Abigail didn't like the sound of that. Chopper had rules. But then they were probably for her own good. She was the naif there. "Uh, such as?" "Hm, one: don't trust people too much. You got lucky with us, and even we might have sold your ass if you hadn't turned out to be worthwhile." Abigail looked up at the woman in front in alarm, only to have her soften the warning. "And you've proved yourself for now. Just keep it in mind, you might not want to stick with us, or anybody out here. "Two: don't think you can survive alone either. If you can't use people when you need to, then learn. If you get in with the right ones at the right time then they might owe you for it, and that's worth more than that gun you're so desperate to have." Abigail's surprise turned a little sour. "I don't *want* one. I don't even know how to use them! I nearly broke my shoulder with one when I killed that last bastard monster in Vault 42! I just don't want to end up with a knife in me either. You're the one who said I needed a weapon." "Then bartering away some of those books and things for some leathers is just as worth while as getting a gun or knife. And hell, if you don't want a gun you can chuck rocks at the raiders when they turn up if you like! Anyway, learn who your friends are, because even if you don't have a gun or a spare stimpak, they might." And under that was an undercurrent that Abigail could hear. She might not be able to trust them fully, but she *did* owe them her life. It was up to her whether she reneged on that debt. "Three: When you're not hobbling around, don't take it as a sign to be a hero when some stupid prick pulls a gun out, or start making trouble. If you stand up, you're their first target for that shiny magnum. There is a difference between bravery and idiocy, and not many idiots get the chance to learn from their mistake. They're too busy bleeding out all over the floor. "Four: I don't know what the stance might have been in that vault of yours, but don't fuck anyone out here. You don't know where they've been, and you sure as hell don't want some of the shit that they might be spreading around." That brought all three of the others up short. Especially Rathley. "Hey, I've been layin' the best of them for fucking years, and bein' damn good at it, so you can blow it out of your ass, Chopper! Don't spoil my chances with the kid before I get to get it on with her!" "What?! Like you'd ever have a chance with her!" Sharn shouted back. "She's got to have better taste that that!" Abigail most definitely agreed. Sharn didn't know how right she was. Rathley would never have had a ghost of a chance with her, and even if that hadn't been the case he was... nasty. "But seriously Chopper," Sharn started, "that's just..." "It's going to keep her clean at least," Chopper justified. "You don't want to know some of the sick diseases I've been asked to treat. And especially for a girl there's often not much anyone can do, not even me. At least for a guy you can take a knife to his dick if it's bad enough. And," she said to Rathley, "I'll look forward to the day when I finally do lower myself to touching your prick for that very reason." Rathley gave her the finger and a few nasty words in reply, but Chopper was trying to make a point. "Rathley's still clean because he knows his whores and skirts are clean. No flop house will ever keep a girl who's caught something, and around here at least the customers get checked over to make sure their girls and guys don't catch anything in the house beds. "So, until you know they're clean, keep your hands to yourself. I've tried to keep three women alive after they caught black widowmaker, and the one who survived the treatment was worse off than when it was rotting away at her insides. Except she's alive now, and the others aren't." Even Rathley couldn't say anything to that. It was alarmist, but apparently all too true. Abigail felt her lunch roiling in her stomach at the thought of what Chopper had described. If it was supposed to make her feel humble and honest, the lecture had worked. "You really don't have to worry about that." She didn't want to leave them room to enquire, but she was too late in asking what rule five might be. "Say... you're not a woman yet?" Sharn asked. She looked genuinely surprised, but the question didn't come with any of the expected ridicule. "You know, I'm sure we can find you a clean..." "No, really, just don't worry about it. I'm not in a rush for that kind of thing right now." Especially not out here, she thought, but she sighed hard to clear her head. "What about number five?" Chopper shrugged. "If I think of one I'll let you know. I thought I'd save the best for last." Abigail didn't thank her for that. "Eh." Kyle evidently didn't like the rather awkward silence that followed. "Anyway, all that crap aside, you could find a lot of worse places to heal up than Corva. It's not quiet, but it's got mostly decent people and lots of decent places to waste your caps if you're in the mood for it." Abigail blinked at yet another unfamiliar term. "Caps? You mean money?" Kyle nodded. "Heh, I guess you didn't have bottle caps down in your vault." He fished into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a bottle cap to toss at her. And it was exactly what she had thought it couldn't be. The cap from a bottle of beer or soda - she couldn't tell which, it was too faded and worn. It was bent, and with most of its printing scratched or rubbed off. "This... is money up here?" "Sure," Sharn said, again looking surprised. "Why do you think Nuka- Cola is so expensive? Free money." Abigail had to stifle a slightly hysterical giggle. And to think of all the bottles and their caps just sitting in their vault's store rooms, carefully rationed and re-used for over sixty years to make sure there was always enough vault-brewed beer to go around at festival time. No wonder the drink had been so carefully distributed. No wonder the bottle caps, with a little careful and creative thinking, could be though of as just as valuable, being finite, as the drink they kept safe. And out of some perverse habit of collection, had they kept their value on the surface long after the refreshment they had protected was gone? Suddenly the surface was not just a frightening place. It was becoming weird, and in the most unsettlingly logical way. Abigail was glad that the town in the distance was growing its towers as it came closer, because she was worried that she was beginning to understand something of this surface world, and right then even something was simply too much! *** That night, as the four wastelanders made camp, Abigail sat staring at the town in the distance from beneath her cape. Although she was tired beyond belief, she felt as though the sight of those three wooden towers, marking the bounds of the buildings below, could have kept her going for hours. Only the relief at finally being able to rest upon her little rock cushion, followed by the promise of painkillers and sleep, had stopped her. Somewhere in that town, beneath the uneven line of the roofs, there would be a bed. A real bed, with a real mattress and blanket, and a bathtub, and maybe even something other than salty root gunk to eat. She did not want to say it for fear of the answer she would get, but her sore skin was not helped by the sticky jumpsuit that she had been wearing the last two days. Her other, the one she had walked out of the Cobalt Line in, had been thrown away. The last thing her skin had needed was what had been baked into that cloth. But those had been her only two sets of clothes. She had always been owed one of the spare jumpsuits in the vault, but it had never actually been provided. She had guessed it would have been given to her on her twentieth birthday. Her tired heart fell a little further at the memory. There would be no more birthdays, and no more festivals. But, she thought, perhaps she could find such things out there in the blasted desert. Performing had been her passion. Surely there would be a chance to do so if there were people who would watch. As long as they weren't all people like Rathley. She was wrested from her thoughts when Chopper sat herself down on the hard ground by Abigail's rock. "Nice to see you keeping up this time." Of all the things Abigail had not needed right then, it was Chopper's beside manner that had ranked a solid second place. She didn't know what a 'pig-rat' was, but just the way Sharn had said it those two days before had made it sound like an accurate description for the medic when it came to personal skills. "I'm tired, Chopper. Please leave me alone." The woman shrugged, unconcerned by the dismissal. "Too bad. I guess you'll just have to watch us eat then." Abigail turned to see Chopper dropping a pair of turnip-like roots back into her medical box. "W-Wait!" She exclaimed, before Chopper even had a chance to get up. She was feeling lousy, but with the town so close to her she was not so depressed as to want to miss the chance for a third meal, no matter how disgusting. And God was she tired of this power game. "I want to eat, okay? I'm sorry. Just... don't talk to me like that. I don't want to be your pet, or your unwanted child. I'm trying, but it's hard. I've lost my home, and my family, and everyone I ever cared about, and it's not my fault I nearly died out here!!" She almost screamed those last words, and hadn't even realised it. She looked up at the other three, still erecting the tent. Sharn looked shocked, but Kyle was grinning from ear to ear, and Rathley looked as though he was trying with all his might to stop himself from unleashing his crude wit on Chopper, and only succeeding because he wanted to hear her reply. For her part Chopper looked at her with raised eyebrows, and blew her breath out through her nose before sitting back against the rock, not with a frown or a glare, but a satisfied and perplexing sort of smile. "At least your backbone looks like it's healing." Abigail tried hard not to look pleased, but she was. She had just got away with being something other than the invalid or the hanger-on. She was also relieved that the woman hadn't shot her for it, and that only added to the thrill of it. It made her feel a bit bad - she had been raised not to be confrontational with other people that way - but that little show of independence made her feel a lot better about herself. "Um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Chopper interrupted with her usual casual bluntness. "I'd suggest exercising that backbone if you want it to heal properly, Abby. Everyone loves a shrinking violet, but only because they can be stepped on so easily." Abigail took the hint and allowed herself to feel good about it. She dropped the subject and just continued to watch the others as they worked, rather than turning back to stare at the town. Watching Kyle and Sharn finish putting up the tent was a picture of efficiency. Sharn followed Kyle's lead as if on instinct, while the leather armoured man pulled everything taut for his companion to pin into the earth. And Rathley, his job on the shelter apparently done, had moved over to examine the rocks at the side of the camp. As last time, Kyle had wanted to pitch the tent next to an outcropping of rocky ground, larger this time with several insanely out of place boulders resting against the rubble and the small wall of protruding earth. There was enough of the debris for the aging man to climb well out of sight. Then she heard him strain against something in the clear evening, followed by a loud thump. It made Abigail jump a little, not having expected it in the slightest. "What's he doing?" Chopper continued to mash Abigail's dinner, not looking up. "Pretending to be good at his job." Sharn, looking slightly dustier than usual after erecting the tent, ambled over to join them. She was far happier than Chopper to actually explain what was going on. "The men are going to get us some dinner," she said, plopping herself down on the same rock, next to Abigail. "They're both way better at catching iguanas and geckos than us." Just as she said it a not so small lizard, about the size of Abigail's forearm, came flying through the air from Rathley's direction. It sailed over Kyle's head, its arms and tail floating limply in the air, before landing with a thump on the ground. To Abigail's distaste, its head had been crushed flat, and it bled slowing over the ground. Suddenly food didn't seem as welcome as it had. Especially since the bloody lump above its shoulders reminded her far too vividly of another green, caved-in skull that she had inflicted the damage on herself. "Oh God, that lizard." Sharn looked at her as if to ask what the matter was. "That's dinner. And not as puny as the ones last night either. Really, it's not bad, for lizard. Didn't you have iguanas underground?" Abigail shook her head. "No. No, we didn't! I thought you were all eating those roots and plants, like me. Or that cake-thing in the packet Rathley had for lunch." "You should know by now," Sharn replied, "Rathley's a freak. Those pre-war MREs taste like toilet paper. And you can't just live on desert weeds." "Actually you can," Chopper said, mixing some of the medicine into Abigail's bowl. "But why put up with it if you don't have to? Even the drugged up tribals hunt for meat." "Hey!" Sharn exclaimed, indignant about something there, but Abigail was paying more attention to the hunt. Rathley had scrambled back over the rocks a little way, and both he and Kyle seemed to be hunting in one patch of smaller rocks. Rathley crawled across them like a reptile himself, while Kyle stood poised and still as a statue with a knife in his right hand. Nothing seemed to happen for a while, except for Rathley's crawling over the boulders, until in the blink of an eye Kyle was no longer standing, but crouched down with his knife buried behind the rocks. And when he came back up, the iguana was writhing on his knife, the blade piercing right through its body. "Ha," Rathley condescended. "Lucky shot, boy. But you won't take the lead." Kyle smirked at him and reached for the lizard's slowly twisting neck. And he snapped it. "The head start won't do you any good, old man." "This is a game to them," Abigail realised. "Hunting is so boring," Sharn said, defending the pair. "I never learned, because even with Kyle teaching me it seemed like such a waste of time. It's a sport for them, because otherwise it would drive them mad." Abigail watched as Rathley caught his second iguana, this time in full view. His method seemed to lack the skill and precision of Kyle's method, but it was far more productive. Kyle was waiting for the opportunity to strike as the creatures fled or slowly explored their way into the evening from their burrows and cracks, whereas Rathley was actually trying to drive the iguanas where he wanted them do go. And as soon as one made its mistake, Rathley's strong hands were around the right rock, and he only needed a second to heft it clear of the ground and bring back down a few inches further away, onto the creature's head or back. But Rathley did not win the match. Kyle benefited from the iguanas that did not flee where Rathley wanted, and instead headed back to their cracks beneath the rocks, where he was poised. They both caught two, making one lizard meal for each of them except Abigail. And even with her gruel as her only other option Abigail did not want one. She felt a little sick as she watched them gut their animals, before spitting them and lowering them over the fire that Sharn had started. There had been no dry brush by the rocks this time, but the desert girl had been carrying enough to make a modest fire as the light had faded. "Are you sure you don't want some, Abby-girl?" Sharn asked, offering some of her barbecue, but Abigail still refused. Abigail didn't consider herself a vegetarian, but she had been one by circumstance rather than by choice. She had never seen an animal prepared for food, and nor had anyone in the vault ever expected the knowledge to be necessary. They had no livestock to butcher, and all the meat they ever needed could be grown and synthesised from the fungal hydro-farms, rather than slaughtered. Livestock would have been a massive drain on both food supplies and space within the vault, as well as a health risk in the unlikely event of disease. The technology had existed to make animal farming redundant. It was not the ideology of eating meat that made her nauseous as she ate her root paste so slowly and carefully. The simple reaction to seeing the creatures killed, and eaten right from the carcass, was disturbing enough to her. "She couldn't even if she wanted to," Chopper illuminated, before adding, "Or have you finished pissing blood, Abby?" Abigail, newly brave against her situation, gave her a dark look for her invasive remark. But Chopper was her doctor, so she still had to answer. "No. No I haven't. If I could, believe me, I would." "But it doesn't hurt now, right?" Sharn asked. Abigail wondered how the young woman could be so kind, and yet so insensitive about her most personal issues as well. It wasn't her fault it hurt to pee, and it wasn't her fault she was 'only a girl' either. But she nodded in defeat. Chopper deserved her newly reclaimed ire. Sharn didn't. "Not as much." Chopper smiled, enjoying the sight. "That's something then." *** For some reason, despite her fatigue and the influence of the shot Chopper had given her before she had turned in, Abigail found it difficult to sleep. For the first time since coming to the surface her mind was overriding her body and refusing to rest, and not just because of the hard ground beneath her. The surface was undoubtedly a barbaric place, she had realised, but more than that it was simply primitive. Vault 42 had required a vast amount of maintaining, but in return it had provided them with everything they had ever needed. The surface was a different world altogether. Food had to be found or grown from the ground up. Clothing and necessities would not be provided; she would have buy or barter for them. An occupation would no longer be provided for her, and she would now be left to find her own place and her own path in life. She was sure she was capable of it. She knew she would have a great deal to learn, but she had time to learn it, and it seemed that her rough saviours wanted to keep her around. The idea made her uncomfortable, but she knew that she could use them. She could learn from them, and they would show her how to live on this backwards surface. Her thoughts now were not on whether she could survive, but on how best to do so. And she couldn't wait around to be handed the opportunity. All her life she had been brought up knowing who she was and what was expected of her in the future. No-one would give her that security now. She had to take it, or remain helpless. She would need to discover what her options were, but she was sure they were out there. If these people could make their livings wandering the wasteland, then she could surely put her skills to good use for similar types who could not work their own machines properly, or did not understand the sciences she had been taught. It was, in a way, freedom to survive however she wished. And it terrified her. Only hours before the town had seemed like a beacon of hope, except she had not had any idea of where she might fit into such a place. Just that it existed had been hope enough. All she had wanted was proof that humanity still existed as a community, like Vault 42 had been. But what kind of community? It would be the kind these wasteland people knew, and lived within. It would not be hers. She did not know the customs, or what was expected of its people, or their attitudes to... anything at all. She had only just learned how these people ate, and like almost everything else about them, it seemed *wrong* to her. As bad as it made her feel for thinking so, it was no longer enough that humankind had survived. She wanted to be a part of it again. The more she thought about it the more uncertain she made herself, and yet she could not shut those thoughts out of her mind and sleep. They were too pervasive. It was almost a relief when Chopper joined her. "You're still awake?" the woman asked. "You won't last tomorrow without sleep." "I can't." Right then she did need someone to talk to. Even if it was Chopper. "I don't know what to think any more. I don't know what I'm supposed to do." "What? You're not... You're supposed to sleep. That's it." Of course, it didn't make her feel any better. "I'm scared! It's all wrong! You people are wrong! What am I going to do like this?" Chopper huffed. She lay down in her clothes, pulling her coat over herself as a makeshift blanket. "Ether you'll get over it, or you'll die." As expected she did not try to reassure Abigail with her tone, "And I don't think you'll be doing any of the second, or else I'll take my fee out of your hide. Or did you *try* to kill yourself out there, and the vault story was just one big lie?" Abigail felt a furious tear fall down her face. "It wasn't! It wasn't a lie! You think that I..." "Good," Chopper interrupted. "If you've still got the will to live then you've got enough to stop feeling sorry for yourself. And if you're not, then prove it. You've been tough enough to last this long, so sorting yourself out once we get to town will be child's play." That wasn't the point, but Abigail held her tongue. She did need to knuckle down and sort herself out, and it wasn't as though she expected it to be easy. But she was tired of the worries, and her insecurities. Even if it had been a lie, she would have liked someone to humour her and say that it was all okay. Lying there, staring at the canvas overhead, Abigail would have asked where Sharn was. She would have been some comfort. But before Abigail even had time to think of asking the point was rendered moot by a distant, happy moan. The first of several, which were unmistakable Sharn's, and soon unmistakably Kyle's as well. Abigail found herself feeling rather awkward, listening to them. The pair, though only caught in the odd loud gasp or sound of exaltation, sounded very energetic for two people who had been travelling on foot all day. Though wholly inexperienced Abigail had heard sex before, and that was not the sound of the slow lovemaking she remembered hearing while fixing the air circulation systems over bunkroom 703, when Jacquelyn and her much older and evidently very gentle boyfriend had persuaded their roommates to take an evening at out. This was more... lustful, she guessed. Chopper let out an annoyed sigh of her own. "Her resolve didn't last very long." After a moment, and a few more overloud gasps, Abigail spoke again. "They're... just having sex out there? On the ground?" Chopper gave a cutting laugh. "Knowing them, Sharn's probably stark naked and up against a rock." Mercifully the sounds did not last too long, but before the reprieve came they were treated to every audible detail of the pair's out-of- kilter orgasms. Again, after a moment of silence that Abigail found uncomfortable, she asked, "They are in love, right?" "Apparently so. If not, they certainly get enough practice to fake it annoyingly well." Abigail didn't know whether to be glad for them or jealous. She would have given anything to have someone hold her right then, but at least it gave her hope if these surface people could genuinely fall in love. She also hoped that tomorrow would come before she had a chance to dream, because she really didn't want her dreams, or her nightmares, to become any more lurid after that. *** To Abigail's relief she got her wish for the most part. The sun was already high in the sky by the time she was awakened by the bright deconstruction of their tent, and she had slept well enough that only an underlying sense of guilt remained from whatever unremembered dreams she'd had, instead of the more usual fears. Whether it was pleasant guilt or regretful she couldn't tell, so it dulled the experience, but it either way she considered it an improvement. She put on her - Rathley's - sunglasses before opening her eyes. The ground was hard beneath her, but she was in no rush to get up. The town of Corva was waiting for her, and she was nervous about meeting it. After a moment the others must have noticed her lack of enthusiasm, because the clear sky was suddenly replaced with Kyle's towering form. "Time to see some real civilisation after all this wasteland, Abby!" Civilisation. She doubted that the town would quite fit her interpretation of the word. She didn't fight it though. It was either that or living out in the desert, and she had lived through enough of that to last her a lifetime. "Alright." Abigail knew that her lack of enthusiasm had not escaped their attentions, but she tried not to meet Sharn's looks of sympathy or concern. It still unsettled her that she and Kyle had had sex the night before, out there in the wilderness, and she didn't quite know how to look at them now. They didn't seem to behave any differently with each other at all, but it was there. In Abigail's mind there was now a sort of distance between herself and the wild looking young woman. She could no longer be Abigail's crutch, because Sharn had her own life and her own needs and intentions. It had made Abigail realise just how little she had been thinking of Sharn as anything more than emotional support. Likewise Kyle seemed that bit more approachable, a bit more human, but then why would she want to approach the man simply because she could? To him, she was 'something else'. Something other than a wastelander. Just as he, just as all of them, were something other than normal to Abigail. Touche, she thought. "You nervous, Abby-girl?" Sharn asked. "Really, it's not such a bad place." Abigail didn't want to hear it, and changed the subject. "You said it was 'ghoul friendly', and you," she added, turning to Rathley, "said that 'at least I wasn't going to go ghoul', back when you found me. What is a ghoul? " Before then she would have asked herself whether she really wanted to know, but now she knew that she didn't have that luxury. After the bottle caps and the iguanas she could not afford to be naive any more. She couldn't take anything for granted, or assume she knew what anything would be like from here on. She had to swallow her fear and discover these things, or else she would never be able to survive, with or without these four travellers. Rathley, though his attention never strayed from the desert around him, was the first to answer. "You see a dead old timer staggerin' around and talkin' to his navel and stinkin' the place up, that's a ghoul. You can't miss the fuckers." Kyle and Chopper chuckled at the description. Sharn didn't. "They're people, sort of," Kyle clarified, "but they're ugly looking bastards with skin falling off and not too many marbles left. Ancient old people from when the bombs hit, who soaked up too many Rads but changed into something else before it could kill them. Nasty. I heard them called zombies too, but 'ghoul' is what most call them." "They're nice people, mostly," Sharn said, trying to re-clarify Kyle's clarification. However, Abigail could tell she was having a hard time trying to paint them in a good light. "I mean, when they're not rabid and crazy. They're just... old, and senile a lot of the time. Most of them turned when the bombs hit, so they've been alive for longer than any human. It makes them weird sometimes. And sometimes they can be unpleasant to look at because of what the bombs did to them." Chopper didn't have time for Sharn's attempt at the considerate approach. "They're ugly bastards, full stop. Decent ugly bastards sometimes, but you don't want to live with them. They should be dead but the radiation changed them, just like it changed a lot of things out here. So they might look dead, and even have their guts hanging out, but it won't bother them a bit. They'll die of old age eventually, but until then they'll keep wandering around and talking at everyone about glowing water and ghoul haters and whatnot." It sounded farfetched, even for the surface, but then what evidence did Abigail have to say that it wasn't true? "... Really? They're dead people?" "Not dead," Sharn replied. "Just old, and... falling apart a bit." "It doesn't happen to everyone who gets radiated though," Chopper went on. "Usually radiation poisoning kills you before it can change you. Plus, anyone who took radiation meds would just die. Lower the radiation in your blood and it just gives it more time to kill you, not more time to keep you alive. We're talking massive amounts to turn ghoul. If you'd come out of the Cobalt Line *without* being half dead from Rad-X overdosing, then *maybe* that would have done it." The idea sounded pretty grim, but if these ghouls had been alive since the two hour war then maybe they could tell her about it. About what her Grandmother had escaped as a child. *** Looking at Corva from the outside, Abigail wondered whether it was less of a town and more of an overgrown village. She doubted that there were more than a hundred buildings, and she used the word 'building' loosely. From the southwest side the majority of them seemed to be constructed out of scavenged materials and put together in the style of a shanty town. Walls and roofs seemed to be put together out of anything from wooden boarding to corrugated steel to large plastic panelling, all bound together with a mix of welding, rope and earthen cement. The few homes that did look purpose built from the start still betrayed their origins as scrap buildings, with metal poles still poking from the clay walls at strategic points. Such building would obviously stand up to weather better, but under the seemingly constant sun that was probably not so necessary. But it was a town, and while not as pretty as she had hoped it was more than a dry field of tents. The town apparently had two main streets, one bisecting the town neatly from the south east to north west, along which the markets and shops were arranged, and another wide road reaching north east from the rough middle of that street, which provided the main road into and out of town. It also gave access to the market street for the town's 'police' and the trading caravans. When she asked, the police were spoken of with less than reverence by all four of Abigail's saviours. They were more a small group of armed would-be mercenaries, paid for by the sheriff and mayor of the town. They were alternately heavy handed and impotent, and served as an image to make the town feel safe more than to actually enforce any law on the place. The caravan guards often did that more than well enough as it was. And at either end of the market street, and at the main gate, there was a watch tower. They were not actually that tall, only a few metres higher than the roofs around them, which was why they had been so difficult to see from the distance. But they, more than anything else, gave the rows and clusters of ragged and earth-made buildings a sense of organisation and purpose. It was not a wasteland slum but a real town, lived in and protected by real people. Also, as they were approaching from the rear of the town, the buildings were bound to be shabbier, Kyle had explained. That was where most of the homes were. The town from the market street forwards was for the bars, hotels, hostels and police quarters. The 'nightlife', and the people to control it. The town, to Abigail's surprise, had no outer wall. They could have walked right in through the buildings at the back. "That's not kosher though," Rathley said, as they instead skirted the edge of the town. "The watch tends to get pissy if you just walk in. Wouldn't do much for the town if people just came and went like that, and missed the main streets. And no-one's mad or tough enough to come here from the Cobalt Line anyway, except exploring parties. And you, Sugar." But Abigail saw the flaw in that plan, just at the same time that Kyle and Chopper did. "But, is there even anyone up there? Are the playing cards some sort of town symbol." Rathley looked up and squinted at the tower to see what Abigail meant, and Abigail checked again, just to be sure she wasn't confusing them unnecessarily. The oversized playing card was still there in the open side of the watch tower; a seven of diamonds. Looking around at the others, Abigail saw that Rathley's words could have come from any of them. "Oh for fuck's sake!" Abigail looked to Sharn. "What is it?" "The fucking Diamonds," Sharn said, with a mix of growl and fed up sigh. "Listen Abby-girl, just stay put. We might be able to make a little loot out of this, but this isn't a joke. The Diamonds are raiders, and they're either coming this way or they're already inside the town. They're pathetic ones, but they still have guns. Good guns, usually." Kyle nodded. "Stay here, the both of you. Rathley, Sia, let's have a look around." Chopper gave him a smile. "You don't have to tell me twice. Have fun playing with your guns, and try not to make too much work for me." For Abigail it wasn't as simple as that though. "Hey, wait a minute! What do you mean..." But the three of them were already gone, slipping through between the building and disappearing. And, just on sheer confused impulse, Abigail followed. "Hey, where the hell do you think you're going!?!" Chopper called after her, but Abigail wasn't listening to her. She was trying to ignore the pain in her legs, and the lost, confused feeling that had filled her the moment her three companions had left, and most of all the voice inside her head that was screaming 'IDIOT!' at her. After she had passed a dozen or so houses she slowed to a walk. What on earth was she doing? They had told her to stay behind, and told her so for a very good reason. She was sick, and unarmed, and knew nothing about the town or about the raiders that were coming or were already there. She might end up with a knife or a bullet in her back, and she would never have known what hit her. She had just followed them on scared impulse, not even thinking, and what had it got her? She spun around, suddenly panicking at her own foolishness. No-one was there, but that only made her feel more isolated. She had panicked when Sharn, Kyle and Rathley had left her so suddenly, and she panicked even more, because now not even Chopper was with her. She spun back, and again nothing. And now she had no idea which way was forward, and which was back. The houses all looked the same to her. A part of her said just to stay put. Someone would find her. She chose a direction and started walking, as slowly and carefully and quietly as she could, because she didn't *want* anyone to find her. Soon, she knew, she would emerge from the houses. Either it would be on the outside, and she could follow the town edge to find Chopper again, or it would be the inside, and she could simply turn around. But it seemed to take a very long time. Too long. And everyone was gone. The town seemed deserted. Were they bundled away in their houses, she wondered, or were they out there where the trouble was? And then she reached the edge. On the inside, between a fruit stall filled with ugly green and red things, and a caravan piled high with boxes. And in front of her, she saw everyone. It must have been half the population of the town. And if they turned her way, everyone would see her. She suddenly looked for somewhere to hide, and threw herself behind the fruit stall. It was low, but she could hide behind it, and that was all that mattered. There had been a line of brave and scared looking people on the other side of the street, looking on at the spectacle. There were lots of them, these Diamond raiders. Abigail knew which had been them in an instant. The onlookers had worn normal clothing, or the mish-mash of cloth and leather that passed for normal on the surface. Several others, the police Abigail guessed, wore leather armour much like Kyle's, only more complete in its coverage. The raiders on the other hand, they looked even more ridiculous and bizarre. They had paler skin than most of the onlookers, and it made even more of a contrast since most of them were wearing black leathers of their own, but ones that looked more fashionable that protective. The outfits had torn sleeves, legs and backs and those tears were lined with jewellery, marking every gash and every bullet hole, and even the worn holes in the knees and elbows. Every tear was highlighted in gold and silver and gemstones, from broken rings and necklaces to messily crafted adornments of their own making. Abigail, through her fear, thought that they could at least have dressed in red instead of black. Diamonds were supposed to be a red suit. And, as Sharn said, they carried guns. Pistols, rifles, shotguns, even a big, long machine gun of some kind. Abigail poked her head up in morbid fascination. Seven raiders - for the seven of diamonds on the watchtower card, she surmised - each with a gun of their own that looked far more polished than the old thing that Chopper had in her belt. They could have killed everyone in the crowd in seconds, if they had wanted to. But it looked like a stand off. The police had their guns trained on the Diamonds, and the diamonds were returning the favour, so if anyone shot anyone they would probably kill off more than half of each other's people. There were more police mercenaries than raiders, but the raiders had their guns on more targets, by the look of it. And, even if anyone had wanted to take the risk and wipe out the Diamonds, they held their fire because one of the raiders, presumably the leader by the way he was talking, had a hostage. Abigail couldn't see her clearly, she was looking on from behind, but it was a girl, and a short one at that. A teenager, certainly. On the other side, the Sheriff was trying to talk the Diamond into releasing the girl, but the more she listened the more Abigail could see that it was never going to happen. The girl was not just a hostage, but the prize as well. "I ain't going to give her up, old bastard! Erin's mine, and I ain't gonna leave her in this shithole just so the Hearts can have her! You're gonna die anyway geezer! You want that for her too? 'coz if she's gonna die anyway, I'm gonna be the one to do it! No Heart's gonna rape my girl!" "I'm not 'your girl'," the hostage retorted, but she squealed as the raider held her tighter and pressed his large, silver pistol into her temple. "You can be," the raider hissed to her. "Trust me, you'll learn! Do you want to die here?!" She noticed that his gun also dropped a little as he whispered to her, and the police also noticed. In a moment almost half of both sides had switched their targets, and both the Diamond leader and the sheriff were shouting for them to hold their fire. The crowd fled like panicked birds as the machine gun's sights passed across them in that moment. Abigail ducked behind the stall again, though now, with a clearer head, she was no longer so sure it could protect her from the gunfire. When nothing came of that crisis, she poked her head up again. The police had all of the raiders covered now, but several raiders with pistols now had a second in their other hand, or a melee weapon in their fingers. And the machine gun was now pointed directly at the sheriff. And Kyle was standing with those few petrified or gutsy people where the crowd of onlookers had once been. He also had a gun in hand, just like the one that Diamond leader her against the hostage's head. Did that mean that Rathley and Sharn were also out there? Abigail felt a swell of courage. She was hidden, behind Raiders, and no-one had a gun trained on her. If she could give them the opportunity, then Sharn and Kyle and Rathley could take it from there. It wouldn't have to be a big thing. Just a little bit of help, so that the Diamond's gun wasn't pointing at the hostage. Really, there would be no risk at all, and she could hide again before anyone knew what had happened. She had found them down behind the stall, when it looked like they would start firing. A small basket, filled with very hard, round things. Some sort of nut or gourd, but just bigger than a softball. Wall darts had been Abigail's favourite vault sport, but softball had been fun as well. She had always been picked in the first three, during the matches in physical conditioning class, because she pitched so well. So pitch she did. But not towards a batter. It wasn't a throw for fun. It was a throw that hoped very hard that the Diamond would not pull his trigger out of reflex, and out of anger, that someone could consider human life so expendable. But she had chosen her moment, when the raider leaned in to whisper at his hostage again, and his gun slipped slightly backwards so that his lips could reach the girl's ear. That would be enough. She prayed that would be enough. She prayed so hard that she forget to duck back down as the giant nut struck the man full in the side of the face. It pitched him to the side, and his arms flung out in surprise as he tried to stay on his feet. Then the shooting started. From some hidden corner the rifle shot rang out, and the lead Diamond's head jerked yet again, taking the unbalanced man clean off his feet and whirling sideways through the air, spraying blood from his temples like a perverse toy fountain. His huge silver pistol did fire, but way off target as he flailed in the air, and his bullet disappeared into a clay wall down the street. Then everyone else opened fire. Abigail screamed and jumped out of her skin as she realised that she was still standing in the middle of those streams of flying lead, but she couldn't move. She was paralysed by the flashes and the spraying blood, and by the raiders and the green phantom monsters that paraded in front of her shaded eyes. Somewhere in that mix she saw Kyle, striding forward confidently without a single gun trained on him, and his giant pistol tore into the arms of the machine gunner before he could even fire of a single shot. Two more bullets put the Diamond down for good. The police all opened fire with their pistols, to mixed effect, while the two that held shotguns filled another shotgun wielding Diamond with so much metal that he flew for metres before falling to the ground in a bloody, mangled heap. Two of the pistol Diamonds put their bullets into the better armed police men that covered them, leaving only a single mercenary alive, but with a nasty shot to the stomach for his trouble. Somewhere in the distance another shotgun barked out and the only uncovered raider keeled over with a scream, peppered with shot. The sheriff put him down for good. And that left just a single raider, and another single sniper shot that took his own rifle from his hands with brutal efficiency. But he was otherwise unharmed, and he had been the one to see Abigail standing there and panicking with her hands over her ears. And, with his gun now gone and an unseen rifle trained on him, he broke into a run. Abigail had the cover he wanted, and she had been the cause of the slaughter. Abigail's eyes met his, and his were eyes that burned with desperate vengeance. He, like the other Diamonds, had his backup weapon at his side, and he pulled the rusty crowbar from the gilded rope around his waist and swung it back in one swift motion. Abigail panicked as the raider closed the distance, and she reached for another of the pitching nuts. They were all she had. The raider had reached the stall, ready to dive over it to meet her, when Abigail rose and threw her pathetic weapon. At that same moment another shot rang out, and a bullet punched its way through the raider's black jacket. It was a shallow shot, only catching his side, but it made his back arch in pain, and gave Abigail enough time to throw her improvised weapon into his face at point bank range. The Raider fell back with the force of it, his nose breaking audibly, and he howled in pain. Abigail, full of terrified adrenaline and anger at the man who had been about to cave her skull in, leaped over the stall and onto his fallen body. He screamed again and clutched at his punctured side as she landed feet first on his stomach. Abigail's feet hurt like hell now, but she was too blinded by rage to stop. She picked up the Diamond's fallen weapon, and returned his favour. This time, in one sickeningly familiar stroke of the crowbar, she left her enraged mark on her target. She broke his face with it. Then his skull. Then his ribs. Then his sternum. Then, with a desperate wail, she let the dull, rusty curve of the weapon hit what bloody pulp remain of the man's head, before it fell from her exhausted, limp fingers. And then, before she realised it, Chopper was beside her, shouting in fury. "Abby! What the *fuck* did you think you were doing!?" And then Rathley came, wearing a metal shell over his chest, applauding. "Holy shit Sugar, that was crazy cool!" And then Kyle and Sharn. "Hell, Abby," said the pistol man, "that was nuts, but god damn if it didn't give Sia the perfect shot! You've got some serious guts." "Yeah, that could have been... Abby-girl?" And all Abigail could do was cry, clutching herself to Sharn as if the wild girl could undo it all. Tension, anger, adrenaline, fear, confidence; it all exploded from her in the most wracking tears Abigail had ever cried. And Sharn held her until she was done, turning the girl away from the body of the man she had killed. She might have said something, and the others might have replied, but Abigail couldn't hear them over her own confused grief. It was a while before the rest of the world existed to her again, and the noise was much louder than she remembered. The deafening roar of gunfire had been replaced by cries of relief and joy and sorrow, and strange people were dashing to the bodies of the fallen, only to be warned away by the sheriff and the men of his that remained unharmed. And the sheriff was looking towards the hostage and Chopper as they talked, now some way off. They seemed to be discussing something, though the more Abigail watched the more convinced she became that it was an argument. The sheriff shouted something to them angrily, and Chopper ignored him. Instead the hostage just became more upset and irate, before Chopper turned angry herself and walked off. Away from Abigail. The hostage, however, did turn her way. Now that Abigail could see her, even through her sore and watery eyes, it was clear that the girl was young and pale skinned. She was about sixteen years old and slim faced, frail even, and with her black hair bobbed around her cheeks. She wore a simple long sleeved cotton top, and a heavy skirt that reached down to her ankles. Quite different from the mass of minimal shirts and various trousers that those around her preferred. "You're Abby, right?" The girl asked in a quiet, unsure voice. "Um, my name is Erin. Thank you. For helping, and not getting me killed." And just like that she nodded to Sharn, and Kyle, ignored Rathley, and turned away. Kyle smiled as they watched her leave. "This could be interesting." "What do you mean," Abigail replied, sniffing back her tears and trying to steady her shaking hands. "She and Chopper were fighting. Do they know each other?" "Heh." Rathley smirked. "Know each other? Our doc stole that girl's innocence. Seduced her right and proper. And Dad wasn't too happy about it either." Abigail was too stunned by that to say anything. "She's not too happy about Butcher-girl leaving with us disreputable types either." "You're the only disreputable one here, Rathley." Abigail was still stuck several sentences back though. Chopper, and that Erin girl... had been together? She looked down in contemplation, only to see the mangled body at her feet, bleeding onto the dry ground. Her stomach turned horribly. "Oh God." She swallowed back the taste of bile, and had to turn away. "Can we leave please?" *** Abigail looked up, staring at the comfortingly familiar grey of the ceiling. The crumpled white sheets barely covered her, or the dreadlock haired girl that lay sleeping around her, but for that very reason Abigail was warm enough. She smiled to herself at the mumbled noises Gillian breathed across her cheek. The girl really was quite adorable when sleep had robbed her of all that confidence and bravado. How could she have failed to fall in love with her? Gillian was tall enough to hold her as the protector rather than the protected, and sure enough to know what she wanted, and ask for it. Yet when she was dopey and ready for sleep, or for a good lie in, she could be petted and coddled like a kitten, and she lapped up the attention as such. The vault rested quietly, leaving nothing but the ceiling and the girl in her arms to occupy her mind. It was the kind of dream that, when dreamt often enough, could been seen as such while she was still dreaming it. After all, they were not sixteen any more. Nor had Gillian ever accepted her virginity, or even her love. It was a fantasy that had plagued her many times when she had been that age, but she was happy to see it again after so long. She resisted that dream temptation to look down at Gillian's face, or at the floor below the bunk they shared. Anything to reveal the dream as something else - anything disturb this warm and loved feeling - had to be avoided at all costs. She did not want to see what the girl she had once loved might become in her arms, and she knew that beneath them on the floor would be the stuff of nightmares. So, as tempting as it was to give in to the nightmare, she stared upward and remained happy. She would let herself believe this wonderful fiction until the waking world came to take her away. Abigail was a virgin, and she had not been afraid to admit as much, but it had been a matter of circumstance, rather than choice. For as long as she could remember having the notion of love, be it as idealised romance or as hormonal urges, she had always seen herself together with a woman, rather than a man. She had on occasion fantasised about men, she had tried very hard at times, but the notion had always left a worrying and uncomfortable distaste in her. Just as her friends had said they felt in those candid confessionals when they admitted having tried to think of themselves with other women. Being gay had never been an issue in the eyes of Vault 42. Race, colour, gender and sexuality were all as equal as they could be. Except that out of a little over three hundred men there had been only one openly gay couple. And no other lesbians. Not one. At least, not one that had ever come forward, or said as much on their census reports. Abigail knew. In her desperation one night she had done the unthinkable, and with her friend Daniel had broken into the vault computer's census records. He had been looking for other things, but Abigail had had only one thing in her mind. Was she going to live and die without anyone to love her as anything more than a daughter or friend? That despair had come soon after the girls' candid little sixteen- year-olds talk about their boyfriends and sexual interests, or lack thereof. Abigail had rarely felt uncomfortable about anything they had ever had to say to each other. She was a confident and wilful girl, but that night she had said very little. Jacquelyn had been the obvious star that night. She had never been overly beautiful by anyone's standards, but her attitude had been more than enough to win her a boyfriend almost twice her age. Had her parents known they would have lynched the poor man. Karen had her sweetheart from level nine, and being inseparable after being minded together since the age of four, she confided that they had already got to know each other as much more than friends. Geeky Patricia had always gone on about her designs on various members of the security teams, and claimed that she would act on them as soon as they accepted her constant petitions for a vocational change. Alice, ever level headed and studious, was waiting for a husband from her eventual career as well, and intended to be well read on how to keep hold of him once she found him. Funnily, Dee, who was privately known in their little group as rather obsessed with procreation, had spent the whole night beetroot red. She just didn't know who she wanted, or how to get them. Jacquelyn spent an inordinate amount of time sharing her 'secret' with the girl. And Gillian, like Abigail, had been mostly quiet, and looking rather awkward. Abigail had dared to hope that Gillian might also have had preferences that ran the other way, since she chose not to speak up when the subject of 'alternative sexuality' was broached. After all, Gillian had always been a bit of a rebel. Perhaps that was a part of it as well. She was wrong. When she had come out to Gillian that night, after the others had all returned to their bunk rooms, and confessed her attraction to her, Gillian had not responded in kind. She had not even let her down gently. She had simply frozen, and stammered out a defence of her heterosexuality before getting as far away from Abigail as she could, leaving her alone in the library after lights out. And Abigail had stayed there. Better to wallow in her grief and be scolded the next day than return to her family bunk room and be asked for a reason for her tears. And Gillian had not spoken to her after that. In such an enclosed environment avoiding someone required effort, and Abigail feared that she had lost her best friend forever. That had been the reason she had gone with Daniel to hack into the vault census' two days later. Little had she known that, on the third day, Gillian would seek her out after their studies, and apologise so much that they would both end up weeping again. Gillian could not return Abigail's affections, but that was no reason to destroy their friendship, although Abigail did wonder on more than one occasion whether that was the real reason behind the girl abandoning her to Marcus, and electing to join the night shift. As if it was just to make sure that things didn't get too weird. But it hadn't stopped them being the best of friends. Abigail had recovered from her depression, and simply accepted her limited future. Maybe she would have found someone who had never admitted their sexuality even on the census reports. And until then she enjoyed the dreams, where Gillian - or later, the married Overseer Beatrice - could be everything Abigail had wanted. Abigail smiled, recognising the smell of those silly dreadlocks. They were hardly clean, but Gillian's defiance had been a part of her charm when it came to that kind of thing. "Mmmm," Gillian stirred beside her, "Abby-girl." Abigail realised that it wasn't Gillian any more. It was a shorter, stronger girl, older than sixteen, and her hair tickled against her face. "Abby-girl?" Abigail felt tears leaking from her eyes as her contentment fell apart... *** ...And she woke up with a shudder, clutching at the thick blanket, Rathley's shades still pressed into the sides of her head. The surface blanket was far to hot for her, even though she only wore her jumpsuit, and she threw it off herself. It felt scratchy through her jumpsuit, which was already itching against her skin with two days worth of dry sweat. She looked up at the ceiling, hoping to see the safe greyness of the bunk room metal, but her eyes were met by the dry wood of the hotel room instead. "Abby-girl? Sorry I woke you." Sharn looked at her with such compassion, but it was not the loving compassion that she had wanted in her dream. It was the compassion for a poor, helpless little kitten. "Are you feeling okay now?" Abigail sat up, and rubbed at her watery eyes, trying very hard not to look like she had been about to cry. She was stronger than that. "No," she said, sounding as bitter about the question as she felt. It was unfair, she knew, but she was *not* feeling better. "No, I'm not." "Abby-girl," Sharn said in sympathy. She obviously wanted to ease her mind, without knowing why Abigail was behaving this way after being so vulnerable and quiet. "He was a raider. A Diamond! He got exactly what he deserved!" "I didn't want to become a murderer!!" Abigail shouted back, staring daggers at Sharn. Behind the desert girl Chopper walked through the door of the hotel room. "You started that fight, and you finished it. What did you expect? You'd rather it was you with a crowbar in your skull?" She gave Abigail a very fearsome look, and Abigail retreated further back up the headboard of the bed. "And you started a fight, with raiders, without a weapon or anything on but that nothing of a skin suit. You should be *dead* after what you pulled!" "Chopper!" "Shut up, Sia." Chopper's eyes never left Abigail. "I told you what to do, and you tried to get yourself killed the first chance you got." "I was *scared*! I panicked! And that bastard *deserved* it!!" "Then murder was exactly what you wanted, wasn't it. As long as you weren't the one doing it I suppose?." "NO!" Sharn stepped in, "Chopper, stop it, that's enough. Abby, uh, Corva has very generous looting laws, so I made sure no-one took what's yours." She held up the bundle she carried, held together by the tied up jacket that the Diamond had worn. Abigail's share of the spoils from her kill. "GET THAT AWAY FROM ME! JUST... GET IT OUT! Please! I don't want it!" Abigail could feel the tears flowing freely down her cheeks again. What the hell was she doing, being offered her victim's clothes and gun and God only knew what else? But there wasn't any God up on the surface, she realised with a sudden, haunting clarity. She may have been lax in her prayers, and skipped chapel in favour of the gymnasium or a good book, but she had believed. Now she didn't. Not any more. Just like that. And Abigail Iseley suddenly felt very small. All she could do now was put her head in her hands and weep for what she and the world had become. "I'll just... I'll leave these outside, Abby," Sharn said quietly, and sounding unsure of where she should be. Chopper on the other hand just sat at the room's battered and broken looking dresser, and waited for Abigail to finish. Outside they could hear Sharn and Kyle talking, but what about was muffled beneath Abigail's sobs. Once she could bring herself to raise her head again, she found Chopper waiting. She wanted to spit out some horrid rebuke at the woman, but her mind didn't seem up to the challenge. All she could manage was to glare. Chopper returned the look with a curious one of her own, before she got to her feet. "Alright. Strip." Abigail's glare faltered and fell. "W-what?" "Strip, Abby. Take that skin suit off. I might as well see how your body has fared these last few days, since it's obvious you won't be getting out of that bed." Abigail's glare returned, but with much less vitriol behind it. After a full minute without winning the war of stares, she looked away and peeled herself out of the clothing. She was learning to hate this world even as she became more and more a part of its dirtiness and brutality, but she still wanted to be healed. "... Fine." And so she lay resoundingly silent and hideously naked while Chopper looked her over with keen eyes, back and then front, poking and prodding her all the while. "Just scream if it hurts too much," Chopper said, but Abigail was steadfast in ignoring what was being done to her. And in truth, it no longer hurt as she was touched and moved around. The sting whenever something pressed her skin had faded dramatically over the last days, and her muscles protested only in exhaustion from all the undue exercise, not out of irradiated agony. She could swallow free from discomfort, and her abdomen only twinged instead of crying when Chopper's tough hands explored it, pressing down into her belly. Her hands were not so red now, and were peeling, but they only itched, instead of stinging. The same was true of her face, which she assumed was similarly ugly. But looking at herself her real worry was that her ribs showed, at her sides and under her meagre breasts. She did not feel starved, the root mush had averted that, but she looked it. At lest she recognised her muscles as still being there. It was nice to know that she could not lose her athlete's form after only a few weeks inattention. She was also glad that Chopper's fingers did not cause her to recoil when they alighted on her right shoulder. Whatever injury the shotgun had inflicted on her had been long in fading, but it had now gone. But no matter how she tried to ignore it, she was painfully aware of the examination, and of her nakedness. Had this been her life for those three days she had spent unconscious and in Chopper's care? The thought made her very uncomfortable. She was also aware that Chopper's eyes might be doing more than the medical examination she had thought, back in the desert. If she was a lesbian, then what was Chopper's judgement on her? Did she even have one? Abigail knew that she herself would not have been able to avoid having an opinion, had their positions been reversed. "Chopper?" That eyebrow of hers rose again. "Yes?" "You're... gay, right? Lesbian, I mean." Chopper smirked. "Yep, as bent as they come." Somehow hearing that, even from someone like Chopper, was such a great relief. "... I am too."
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