Fallout A Troubled Soul

Chapter 1

John sat atop the cemetery of Goodsprings, looking out towards the eastern horizon. This was John's favorite time of day; the bloatflies weren't out because it was still too cold. Even he shivered underneath his thick clothing of Brahma-skin hide. Still, the sight of the sun rising above the mountains, the vibrant blend of colors that were painted along the skies, pink washing through orange, which melted into yellow, which formed with red; it gave John hope in this bleary existence. Having to scrape together a living, day after day of having to hunt gecko and driving off Raiders and Legion soldiers, no other luxury other than his daily vigil of the morning, John felt that everyone needed hope. This was his only symbol of hope, a reminder that there was still some good in the world, however brief that glimpse of pureness it was. Despite the burn he felt in his eyes from the brightness of the sun, he continued to stare at the light, feeling the darkness of his soul purged by the purifying light.

Startled from his reverie by the sound of soft footsteps behind him, he shot to his feet, spinning around, his knife already in his hand and held in front of him. John couldn't force away the instinctive snarl that formed on his lips, even at the sight of his sister. Well, not blood-sister anyhow.

As a boy, all John knew of life was the constant threat of danger, his greatest weapon being able to hide from larger predators, such as radscorpions or deathclaws. Sunny Smiles changed that for him. She found him one day, lying underneath an abandoned trailer, bleeding to death from a recent encounter with a radscorpion that went wrong. He was seven at the time.

Now, he was seventeen, and she was the closest thing he had to a family. She was the first person he had known that hadn't cringed from his horrible scars. She didn't even balk at his instinctive snarls and callousness; to live in the wasteland with the beasts, you had to become one. That was one of his first lessons. It was a hard habit to break.

"Hey, John," Sunny said cheerfully, her warm voice instantly soothing John. John replaced the knife and watched her walk up beside him, her friendly brown eyes warming him to the bone as she kept his gaze. Not many people could do that either; John knew he was horrible to look at.

He turned back to the horizon without a word, sitting down. He heard her sit next to her, the leather armor she wore creaking as it bent. "You'll have to oil that soon," John reminded her, as he did yesterday. Another lesson he had learned in his youth; maintain your equipment, because it's your only lifeline.

"How many times are you gonna tell me that," Sunny asked playfully.

"Until you do it," John retorted, glancing at her. The warm smile on her face brought a quick tug to his own lips; a rare luxury for anyone to see. Sunny was the only one that could make John smile. Even Trudy and friendly Easy Pete couldn't drag a grin out of John like Sunny could.

For a while, they sat together in silence, John thinking about how alike the rising sun was to Sunny. How much she had changed him from the ruthless and brutal animal he used to be! He knew she had had her work cut out for her when they first met. Even though they had never been that far apart in age, Sunny had always acted the older sister, keeping John out of trouble, scolding him whenever he did something wrong. There were many nights when Sunny had sent him to his room for stealing one of Trudy's meat pies; he had never known what meat she used, and she had never told him. All he knew was that they were too good to pass up. Soon however, as soon as he was old enough to earn bottle caps for himself, it had been a weekly tradition for John to visit the Prospector Saloon for a cup of water and a meat pie.

As soon as the sun had completely crested the horizon, John stood up, brushing the dust off of his pants. "It's time to work," John said briskly, holding a hand out for Sunny. She took it, pulling herself up. Sunny led the way back to Goodsprings, John taking his customary rear guard, his sharp eyes peeled behind them for anything unwelcome. He had left his hunting rifle and pistol at the house, only bring his knife as he always did during his vigil. Sunny had often scolded him for being so careless, but John had argued that he could take care of himself. Sunny was resolute that he at least bring some sort of firearm with him, though John was just as resolute. Only after John had dragged the biggest radscorpion any of the Goodsprings settlers had ever seen into town, killing it only with his knife, John assumed that Sunny had finally believed him. She had finally given him trust.

From that day, a trust that had blossomed over the three years. Whenever John and Sunny went out hunting together, he knew where she was, what she was doing, how she was doing it, as she knew him. They were nearly inseparable, even in the town or out hunting.

The short walk back to Goodsprings allowed John to stretch his limbs from his two hour vigil, to warm up the cold muscles in his body from the cold desert wind. John and Sunny headed straight for Sunny's house. As solid as any building in Goodsprings, John felt pride at the sight of the house. Many of the renovations were his own, such as the newly repaired door and new wooden window shutters. Where John lacked in people skills, he more than made up for with tools, repairing equipment, and tinkering. Many of Goodsprings' settlers, even Chet, the general trader, had paid him good bottle caps to fix something that had them completely befuddled.

John followed Sunny into the house, shutting the door behind him. Closing the lock, opening it, and then closing it again as he always did, he headed to his room towards the left, Sunny to hers on the right. John passed through the kitchen, a dinky little room that held an oven, stove, refrigerator, and sink. A few pots and pans littered the shelves and counter. However small the kitchen may be, it served its purpose. John opened the door into his room, which held little more than a cot, a cupboard for his clothing and armor, and a chest for his weapons.

The only decoration in the room was a nightstand beside his bed. On the nightstand was a wooden statue of Cheyenne, which John himself had carved. He loved to work with his hands, and during the few times when there was nothing in the town that didn't need fixing, John found himself whittling at pieces of wood with his knife. They had soon become famous for their detail and seemingly lifelike appearance. From what Trudy told him, even people in Primm had heard of them and that there were a few buyers there. This had shocked John at first; most people saved their caps for supplies, ammunition, and weapons, not dirty little wooden statues. However, visitors from Primm and other nearby towns, even travelling merchants from communities far out of reach from Goodsprings, were willing to pay high prices for his carvings. However, John usually cut their prices in half; he wasn't out to get someone else's hard earned money for something he enjoyed doing.

John opened up his sturdy cupboard, ignoring his work clothes for his suit of leather armor. Pulling it out, he tossed it on the bed, stripping off his overalls and boots, and quickly pulled on his leather pants, buckling it tight around his hips and sliding his knee pads into a comfortable position. Then, he slid into his leather top, jerking his gloves and boots on next. The tight leather seemed to stretch over his lean, sturdy frame. After stretching the leather a bit, his armor seemed to sink into more comfortable positions. _I need to improve this armor_, John thought to himself. He had worn the same suit for about two years. While he hadn't really grown in height, his body's muscles had grown into a hard, lean, sturdy frame. John was happy about this more than he was proud; no longer was he the small, weak trembling boy that the town tolerated as the town outcast. Now, he was becoming more of a man, and he could see the dawning respect in the townsfolk.

Shaking himself from these thoughts, John moved to the chest, opening the chest and pulling out his rifle. Whatever pride John felt from his growing body, he couldn't deny the satisfaction from his well-kept gear. His rifle's wooden body was shiny from John's careful cleaning. When John worked the action, the bolt slid smoothly out and into place, proof of his meticulous care for his weapon, which was so difficult in a dirty world. Laying it on the bed, he pulled out his pistol, again going through his customary inspection. The slide worked perfectly; not too easily, but smoothly enough that there was no chance of it misfiring or the slide locking up on him. Satisfied with his inspection of his weapons, he pulled out his ammunition. He decided that four magazines for his rifle and three magazines for his pistol would be enough. They wouldn't be travelling that far away from Goodsprings, and with Sunny bringing her own firepower, anything they would meet that could withstand that, everybody was in trouble anyway.

John carefully inspected each round before he slid it into the magazine, brushing any dirt off he saw on his bed. If the dirt refused to come off, he simply retrieved another to slide into the magazine.

Soon, John was ready to leave, his rifle slung across his back, his pistol holstered at his hip, and his knife sheathed on the small of his back, and a small pack over his other shoulder to carry any meat in. He was always careful to never load a round into the chamber until he was ready to shoot. Accidents always happened, and he quickly learned that guns were not toys. He checked Sunny's room, but knew she would already be outside of the house. John had tried to press his own thoroughness on her, but soon gave up. She was simply too impatient.

When he left the house, Cheyenne, Sunny's dog, announced his arrival with a cheerful bark. For reasons that John couldn't name, he had a gift with animals that he never would with people. Cheyenne trotted over to John to give his hand a playful lick of her warm, wet tongue. John gave a playful rub on the head in return and looked up to see Sunny standing there with her arms folded across her chest, her hip stuck out to the side, her own rifle slung across her back, and a teasing smile on her lips. "It's about time you woke up, sleepy head," she teased playfully. John rolled his eyes at her. They both knew how much John had trouble sleeping, both waking up to his terrified shrieks in the middle of the night.

"Heard of any trouble lately," John asked as they walked towards the road.

"Sandra's been complainin' of a few coyotes prowlin' around west of town, near the base of the hills. I figured we could take a look around over there," Sunny answered as they passed by the general store and the saloon. John gave her a silent nod. Easy Pete was sitting in his usual place on the saloon's front porch. He gave them a wave, and Sunny returned it. After a few minutes of walking on the craggy, broken up road, they turned eastward. John unslung his rifle, as did Sunny. Cheyenne's furry ears perked up at the sound of the near-silent swish of cloth on leather, and she tensed her muscles, knowing that they were hunting now.

John scanned the land for any sign of movement, his careful footsteps quietly padding on the dry dirt of the ground. Sunny was almost as quiet, although her leather creaked every now and then, a sound that was beginning to irritate John immensely. In the wasteland, the slightest sound out of place was cause for alert, even to the dumbest gecko. Anything other than the constant sound of the wind was usually cause for trouble.

The soon came within sight of the hills Sunny was talking about, and sure enough, a small pack of coyotes were milling about at the base, around a hundred yards away. From where John was sitting, it looked as though they were looking for something, their noses close to the ground, their legs furiously working around in circles.

John touched Sunny lightly on the shoulder, and she nodded. She saw them as well. Cheyenne let out a low growl, smelling the dirty hounds more than actually seeing them. Hand gestures were more useful now, as the coyotes might be aware of their presence. Or other bigger, more dangerous creatures.

Sunny turned to John and motioned that she would move toward the left. John motioned that she would move to the right. Sunny nodded and headed off, as did John. John kept his eyes glued on the coyotes, but let his other senses spread out, lest something else try to sneak up on him. He heard the desert wind, whispering its way through the stubby shrubs that managed to poke its way through the hard earth, his boots barely stirring the ground beneath him. He smelled the dry dirt and sand beneath him, the sour scent of the shrubs around him, the smell of his leather armor, as well as the lingering scent of Sunny and Cheyenne.

Coming to a good position atop a small rise that overlooked the coyotes, he lay down and slowly slid the bolt of his rifle back, and slowly slid a round into the chamber, trying to make as little noise as possible. Locking the bolt, he aimed at one of the coyotes, the furthest one on the right. He waited for Sunny to fire the first shot as he always did. It wasn't long before he heard the resounding crackle of gunshot, and a burst of blood erupt out of one the coyotes. It fell limply to the ground, and the others fled away from the dead coyote as quickly as they could.

John was quicker. He accounted for the coyote in his sights, slightly leading his crosshairs in front of its head, and pulled the trigger. The rifle jerked, although his tight grip on the rifle and the stock firmly jammed in his shoulder absorbed most of the recoil. He the coyote's head explode into fragments, bits and pieces of its skull plastering the ground. John grimaced; now there wouldn't be much meat on that carcass.

Not giving it another thought, he ejected the spent cartridge and smoothly replaced it with another, aiming at the second coyote's chest. He followed it, allowed it a bit more slack in how he led it with his rifle, and fired again. This time, a splash of blood blasted out of its ribcage and it fell to the ground howling. John felt a grim satisfaction; a clean kill.

He heard a second gunshot from Sunny's position, although he saw a plume of dust erupt next to the last coyote. The coyote, seeing the dirt explode in front of it, tucked tail and ran up the hills. John smoothly worked the bolt again and aimed higher, knowing the erratic terrain on those hills. Though they called them hills, it was more like a small mountain, numerous craggy slopes and ledges allowing the coyote to run up and down erratically. Making it a much harder target.

Nonetheless, John was renowned for his aim, and when the coyote came to one such ledge, John opened fire again. It caught the coyote's leg, blowing away cartilage and bone. The coyote yelped and as it fell off of the precarious ledge, tumbling down the side of the mountain, and finally landed on the ground in a limp heap.

Before John stood, he scanned the area again, looking for any other signs of life. Satisfied, he stood and looked for Sunny, who was already making her way to the coyote carcasses. And from her angry stride, she was irritated.

John ejected the third cartridge, and slid the bolt back in place before he bent to pick up the three cartridges on the ground. He placed them in a pocket so he could reload them later.

When he made it to where Sunny was, she was nearly bubbling with rage. "Did you see that horrible shot," she fumed to John, who was careful not to show any superior movements. While he was indeed proud of that shot since not many in Goodsprings could manage that feat, he was careful around Sunny when she was angry. While she was normally very friendly and cheery, she had a rare temper. While John wasn't afraid of her temper (she had never vented her anger out on him, physically or verbally), he was cautious about causing negative feelings with the only friend he had.

"I saw it," John said simply, moving to inspect the carcasses and what meat they could salvage off of them. He slung his rifle and unslung his pack as Sunny continued to vent. "I mean, it was right there! It was such an easy shot! Ugh, how did I miss it," she said. John simply made minor agreements to her, knowing that she would vent now and joke about it later. Her fuming continued for a few minutes, but she finally calmed down and helped John inspect the meat.

The coyotes were clearly starved, meaning lean, stringy meat. The headless coyote was only good for its haunches, while the rest were pretty salvageable. After skinning the coyotes' hides, John went to work cutting off what meat he could, Sunny and Cheyenne keeping watch. Soon, only the skeletons of coyotes remained, and John stood, shouldering his pack. As he was about to tell Sunny that he was done, he heard a faint sound.

He spun in place, pulling out his pistol and sliding a round in the chamber in one smooth motion, aiming it at where he heard the noise. Sunny turned as well, Cheyenne's ears pricked. "What's wrong," Sunny asked in a whisper.

"I heard something," John murmured out of the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he quietly walked towards a small alcove in the side of the hills. In front of the alcove was a small, thorny tumbleweed. John nudged it out of place with his foot, and it gently bounced away. In its place was a pair of feet.

Sunny gasped at the smell of feces and urine. John merely wrinkled his nose. Cheyenne let out a low whine. John bent down to see a pair of legs, the clothing torn and dirty. "Help me pull him out, Sunny," John ordered, on the verge of holstering his pistol. Yet, he heard another distinctive sound; rapid clicking on the hard ground.

He whirled, firing before his eyes could focus on his target. The 9mm round merely bounced off of the chitnous armor of the radscorpion behind him. It hissed at his defiance, and John responded by firing the pistol again. This time, his aim was truer, sinking into the creature's face, although it barely slowly. Standing at about John's waist, the creature's black pincers were about as long as his legs and as thick as his torso. The bulbous stinger behind the scorpion was probably as big as his head.

John fired the pistol as fast as he could, trying to jog backwards and put as much distance between him and the creature as he possibly could. The radscorpion scuttled quickly on eight legs however, and seemed to be gaining ground on John. Sunny opened fire as well, her 5.56 rounds slamming into its side.

A pained whine escaped the creature, and after cringing at the sudden pain, it turned on Sunny, arching backwards in challenge. This giving John time to reload his pistol, he began firing again, his 9mm rounds managing to make a few dents in its thick, hard armor. The beast turned on John again, scuttling faster than ever. John turned and ran, firing behind him with one hand. He knew that he probably was missing the creature as much as he was hitting it, but he needed to put space between it and him.

The 5.56 rounds Sunny was putting into the creature didn't even phase the radscorpion anymore; it was zoned in on him. John soon ran out of 9mm rounds, and he threw his pistol away. He unslung his rifle putting his last two rounds into the scorpion's face. That finally managed to make to scorpion cringe, its dark green blood dripping down its black face.

John took this time to reload his rifle, but when he brought his rifle to bear again, the scorpion was on him. He had to jump to avoid his legs being crushed by its pincer, and landed on the scorpion's back. John rolled off of the slick carapace, and landed on his back. He rolled over and tried to scrabble away, but felt a searing pain clamp down on his ankle. He let out a pained grunt as Sunny screamed, "John!"

John rolled over to his back just in time to see the other pincer slam down on his torso. Fire erupted in his chest as the massive pincer clamped down, squeezing with unbelievable pressure. He slowly felt his ribs pop and crack. John pulled out his knife, desperately stabbing at the creature's face, opening to find a purchase. The small knife was made for skinning, not stabbing, and it slid off the thick carapace more often than not. When it did sink in, it only stuck about a finger width into the armor. That would never cause near enough damage needed to kill it. Then, John saw something that chilled him to the bone.

The scorpion's stinger rose in the air. Radscorpion venom was feared everywhere in the wastes, killing fully grown men in a few hours of hot, burning agony. If that managed to hit him, he had little to no hope of surviving. With lightning speed, John flash and bury its tip in his shoulder. Already the venom spread throughout his shoulder like hot acid, burning and searing his muscles into mesh. He couldn't stop the anguished scream that erupted from his throat.

Despite his fear, the pain brought strength, and he stabbed furiously into the scorpion's armor. Again and again and again, he stabbed relentlessly, knowing it was useless, although it was all he could do. However, the pain spread further throughout his body, like hot, scalding water. It rushed through his chest, his neck, his arms, his legs. His entire body felt like one big rod of red hot iron.

Blackness started to creep into his vision, and he knew that it was almost over. With one final surge of strength, he stabbed with all his might. Somehow, his knife managed to find a crease in the scorpion's armor, and sunk into the creature's head to the hilt. It squealed with pain at the steel that pierced its tender flesh and flailed around in pain. John felt himself thrown away, felt the dull force of hitting the ground. He felt his chest warm, his armor sticky. His head reacted slowly to his command as he looked down to a line of red blood seeping out of his armor.

He slowly looked back up to see Sunny and Cheyenne a few feet away, sprinting towards him. Something else warm and sticky welled up in his mouth and slid out from his lips, although his arm wouldn't obey when he told it to reach and see what it was. Everything started to blur as Sunny fell to her knees in front of him, pulling John's head into her lap. Her head turned to Cheyenne and she said something that John didn't understand, her words blurred together and seemed far away. But her voice was warm and soothing, even though it was full of fear and concern.

John did his best not to close his eyes, tried to keep them pinned on Sunny's face as she turned back to look at him. John suddenly realized how much he would miss those friendly brown eyes, her chocolate brown hair, her pure, gentle smile. He tried to reach up and touch the hands that cradled his head as she cried above him. He tried to tell her that he would be okay, that everything would be fine, to reassure her in anyway. He felt his lips move, and his throat hum with his voice, though he wasn't sure what he said. Then, the blackness finally consumed him.


End file.
