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Absent Are the Saints	By : VirusVescichetta Category: +A through F > Fallout (Series) > Fallout (Series) Views: 8230 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: If I owned Fallout...I dunno. Shit would be different. The point is, I don't. And college students don't make money, so that's out the window, too.

Chapter List
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"Oh, you're back!" Moira called out cheerily when I opened the door of her store. "Does that mean you're ready to get started on our book?"

"Turns out I have some spare time, so I guess I could get some of your research done," I shrugged. Even with the password for Moriarty's terminal I hadn't had a chance to to actually access it, yet. Until I got to that terminal and found out what I needed to know I was just as lost as when I'd first gotten to Megaton. I hoped that helping Moira out with her book might at least give me a chance to get my bearings.

"You're the greatest," she said with a face-splitting grin. "Alright. The first chapter's going to be about finding good places to scavenge food and supplies, how to deal with radiation sickness, and how to avoid hazards like landmines."

"Wait, landmines are a serious enough issue that a third of a chapter should be devoted to them?" I asked incredulously.

"They're all over the place, actually. There are plenty just kicking around that people like to pick up and put in nasty places where someone else might step on them," she sounded appalled but it did little to kill her cheery attitude. I had no idea how she could keep it going.

I shook my head in disbelief. "Well, how about I start with the food thing. That sounds pretty basic."

"Sounds good to me," Moira grinned again and pulled my left arm across the table. She completely ignored my protests to fiddle with the rudimentary map I had been making of the area. "I'm going to have to upload a real map into this thing when you get back," she frowned at me. "But for now I'll just key in the location of a place called the Super Duper Mart just east of the town. I think it used to be a grocery store before the war so it should be a good place to take a look around."

"How do you know how to work a Pip-Boy like that?" I asked. I was beginning to think I had some very serious questions for my father once I caught up to him.

"All computers are about the same, once you get down to it," she shrugged. "Besides, that thing's pretty easy to use."

"Probably because I got it when I was ten," I mumbled. I doubted she heard me. I was looking over the directions she had left me and that seemed more immediately important.

"Oh! And watch out for raiders. I've heard from the caravan merchants that there have been a bunch of them hanging around there."

"Raiders?" that got me to look up and pay attention.

"Oh yeah. I keep on forgetting you're from the Vault," she laughed, though I failed to see what was so humourous about my ignorance. "Raiders are really mean, nasty people who have a bad habit of um...doing mean, nasty things to travellers," her smile faltered. "You know, like robbing them, or...killing them..."

"So then I'll probably want to go into that place with something a bit more combat-worthy than a pistol," I guessed.

"Um...maybe," she agreed with a nervous laugh. "If you'd like, I have a hunting rifle and plenty of ammunition for it."

I gave her a quick nod. "I'll take it. And something to carry the bullets with."

Within seconds Moira had everything laid out on the counter before me. The rifle looked old and worn, but a cursory inspection showed it to be in decent condition. I knew it wouldn't be long before I needed parts for it, though. Hopefully it didn't need anything as hard to track down as the spring for my BB gun back in the Vault. The main thing I liked about the rifle, though, was the fabric carrying strap running down its underside. It wasn't as though I could just slap it on my back and make it stick.

I admired the hunting the rifle. Ever since I was a kid I had been something of a gun nut. I had read every book and watched every video available to me in the Vault to get as comprehensive a knowledge as possible of various firearms and how they operated. My father must have been concerned when he asked me why I had such a fascination with guns. "I like the mechanics," I had answered. "Guns always need to be fixed, and I like fixing things. Guns need discipline." He had very likely been more satisfied with that answer than if it had been "I'm a raving psychopath and I want to kill people."

Beside the rifle were four magazines and about fifty loose bullets in a small leather pouch on a belt. The belt had a number of other small bags and pouches that I figured would probably come in pretty handy for any small supplies I came across. "It'll be a hundred and twenty caps for the lot," she informed me cheerily.

I chuckled quietly as I dug my hand into the bag at my waist. "Is that what everything costs around here?" I didn't expect her to pick up my meaning, but it amused me regardless.

"No. Just this and Nova," she made me pause halfway to handing over her money. I thought about asking how she knew that but decided against it. Logic said it was just the result of living in a small town with only a few other people. Teenage hormones, on the other hand, were quite content to fill my head with images of a more sexual nature.

I kept my face as straight as possible as I paid for my rifle and ammo and left, Moira's "Have fun!" following me out the door. I shook my head in an attempt to clear it of my perverse thoughts.

The hot midday sun beat down on my head and back as I walked east of Megaton towards the ruins of DC. According to Moira's map the Super Duper Mart was on this side of the Potomac River, so at least I didn't have to go all the way into the hulking mess of metal and concrete on the horizon. The rifle strap on my shoulder was a comfortable weight, as was the belt at my waist loaded in ammunition. Up until then I had been keeping the pair of spare clips for my so far once-used handgun in a pocket of my jumpsuit, so I was glad to have them somewhere they wouldn't be constantly stabbing my thigh.

I shouldered the rifle as I walked to get myself used to the feel of the butt of the stock pressed into my flesh and bone. It briefly occurred to me I should probably take a couple shots at something to make sure the sights were accurate and looked around for an easy target.

As I came over a large rock I caught sight of something that looked akin to a pig I had seen in a pre-war book, though this beast was a lot uglier. Its skin was naked save for a few whiskers around its nose and horribly wrinkled. It squinted through narrow eyes as it snuffled around the ground in front of it, digging at the odd patch with a huge set of incisors that clearly marked it as a rodent.

"Damn, you're ugly," I muttered and brought my rifle to bear. I had no idea whether they were common or this was the last of its kind. The thought occurred that even if it was the last of its kind that it was still a dead species.

The first shot told me that I would in fact need to adjust my sights. It also told me that the rodent I had shot was a lot tougher than I had given it credit for. It let out a harsh, coughing yelp, turned towards me and charged. "Oh shit," I muttered. I cycled the bolt as quickly as I could and took another shot. This one impacted its head and it dropped without any further fuss. "Damn, the outside world is strange," I shook my head and cycled the bolt again.

I looked down at the sights and frowned when I realized I'd need a screwdriver to actually adjust them. Until then I'd have to aim a little to the right of whatever I wanted to shoot if it was further than about fifty feet away.

When I finally reached the Super Duper Mart I found the area in front of it occupied by a pair of what I could only assume were the raiders Moira had mentioned. "Well, lookee here," the first one, a male, called out to his female companion when he saw me. He had a baseball bat laying lazily against his shoulder and a quick inspection of the female revealed a revolver tucked in a holster at her thigh. "A lost little boy. Where'd a kid like you get a piece like that?" he laughed and motioned to my rifle. "You might hurt yourself with that thing. Better hand it over before something bad happens."

I swallowed past the anxious lump in my throat. I'd probably have to choose my next words carefully. "Or you could go fuck yourself. That might work," left my lips instead of something intelligent and life-saving.

My words earned me the woman's revolver in my face. "I don't think I like that tone of yours," she smirked.

Until that moment I didn't really know just how fast I could move. I found out that when the need arose I could grab someone's arm, hold it to the side and throw a punch across her jaw in less than a second. The strike made her jerk her arm, causing her to fire a round off into the air to the side. Some surprisingly quick-thinking part of my mind made the hand holding her wrist hit the cylinder catch and opened it, making all the remaining bullets fall out of her gun to the ground.

I looked up in time to duck and avoid the wild swinging of the man's bat. The quick evasion also had the added benefit of causing him to strike the woman and stun her, which gave me the chance to wrest the gun from her hand and toss it out of immediate reach. He spat out a curse at the blunder and wound up for another hit. I tried hopping back again but ended up slipping on one of the bullets that had fallen from the revolver.

Instinct took control of my body and time seemed to slow as adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream in full force. I didn't feel the kickback or even hear the thunderous report of my bullet as it tore from the barrel in a burst of fire and smoke.

The raider looked confused for a moment before touching a hand to the wound in his stomach. "You shot me, you little bastard," he mumbled weakly as the bat slipped from his other hand.

The female's roar caught my attention as I scrambled back to my feet. I moved only slightly too slow and received a jagged gash across my forearm from the knife in her hand. I gave a quick hiss of pain and deflected her second swing with the body of my rifle. A fast snap of the weapon cracked the stock into her face, knocking her back and giving me room to give her a proper strike with the full butt of the rifle. A sickening crunch sounded that I could only assume to be her nose breaking and she hit the ground on her back, the knife slipping from her fingers and skittering to the side.

"If I don't kill them, they'll kill me," I mumbled almost silently to myself. Another loud crack of my rifle preceded the bloody spatter around her head. I pivoted on my heel to bring the weapon to bear on the other raider. He was on his knees, something akin to a sheepish smile on his face.

"Guess we fucked with the wrong kid," he actually chuckled. I said nothing. I preferred to let my gun do the talking, and it seemed to agree with a deafening roar.

I remember seeing old pre-war movies in the Vault where people who got shot seemed to fly through the air. That isn't what happened. The back of the raider's skull simply exploded and he merely dropped backward into a pool of blood and bits of bone. One leg was bent at an awkward angle under his back and the other was twisted slightly to his side.

I frowned at the realization that this time, killing another human being truly hadn't bothered me. In fact, I actually felt rather excited from the adrenaline rush. I was only frowning because it seemed that my father had wasted nineteen years teaching me to always do whatever I could to help others. Those lessons had seemed so important back in the Vault, but now they seemed more like a dangerous liability to hang on to. I knew I needed to let go of whatever value I had on human life if I wanted to survive in this Wasteland.

With that thought in mind I retrieved the woman's holster and revolver, along with the scattered bullets and whatever spares she had on her person. It couldn't hurt to have another weapon spare. Words read in a book about gun safety and maintenance years before sprang into my head and I checked the magazine of my rifle and confirmed that it was empty. A quick inspection of the chamber, though, showed it still had a round in it, something I knew would be good to keep in mind. So long as I made sure to generally reload on the fifth shot I could avoid cycling the action for a faster reload. Any advantage in a firefight seemed useful.

I refilled my empty magazine with spare bullets, stuck it back in my rifle and reloaded the revolver. It was another comfortable weight in the new holster at my left thigh. I also picked up the knife the woman had attacked me with and its sheathe after realizing that if I ran out of bullets the only option I'd have would be to use the guns as clubs. Somehow a knife seemed a better alternative.

The weapon reminded me of my wound. I peeled back the sliced fabric and took a look at it. It wasn't deep and it had actually stopped bleeding, but concerns over infection burned in my mind. I would need to find something to clean it with soon. I thought that if I was lucky there might be something inside the building.

The door to the inside of the Super Duper Mart creaked quietly when I opened it. "You guys hear all that fucking ruckus outside?" I heard from somewhere inside the store. I quickly ducked behind a counter a little ways inside the building and out of sight.

"Probably just Sid and Josie taking shots at a few molerats or something," another voice dismissed the first.

I hazarded a glance over the counter and took in the layout of the store. Most of the shelves were knocked over on their sides or leaning against each other and the few that weren't had a simple system of wooden planks between them that I figured were simply for quicker travel across the store. Two raiders were behind a counter at the far back of the store and I could hear footsteps on the far side of the knocked over shelves. A hallway at the north end of the store lead to what appeared to be a set of washrooms and I assumed with a frown that more raiders were likely in there.

I ducked back down and gripped my rifle tightly. I had six bullets in my rifle and only three immediate threats. Even if there were more in the washrooms to the side, I could probably still drop all three in the common area and reload in time to shoot anyone who came running in. I'd have to shoot fast, though, and despite my many years with a BB gun I was still only getting used to the hunting rifle.

Still, I thought as I exhaled a calming breath, sitting with my back against a counter wasn't going to get me anywhere. I turned to a crouch and rested my elbow on the counter to keep my rifle steady. I forced myself to breath steadily to keep myself calm. The blood pounding in my ears wasn't helping.

I realized that I faced a very real possibility of dying in the next couple minutes if I didn't do things properly. Unfortunately, the more I tried to ignore that fact the harder it seemed to become to put out of my mind. My palms grew clammy as the seconds ticked by in my mind. I swore I could hear a clock ticking nearby obnoxiously loudly, but then it was probably just my own anxiety. I shut my eyes, took another deep breath, and held it when I opened them. I focused the sights on a male raider's torso. No need for fancy shots for the head. A bullet in his chest would do just as well.

The first loud crack of my rifle echoed through the store and stopped the blood in my ears cold. The floodgates broke open on my adrenaline for the second time in less than fifteen minutes and sound seemed to fade away. I was beginning to like this calm excitement, I realized. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, but everything seemed so muffled and dull. A red spray leapt forth from the raider's barely-covered chest. Apparently he had figured no one would bother to aim around the mismatched bunch of leather and thin metal adorning his torso.

The sweat was gone from my palm when I flicked the bolt back and forth. The sound of the bullet casing hitting the ground was shockingly clear and loud. Likewise, I was perfectly aware of the noise of a fresh slug being pushed into the chamber of my rifle with the action.

The second raider didn't even seem to realize that his comrade had fallen when my bullet tore into his left shoulder. His armour was far more complete than the first's and left far less room for a clean hit. A slight adjustment put my next round in his head and bolstered my confidence considerably.

The curses of another pair of them sounded distant and unintelligible as they stormed up from the back. One was male and brandishing a rifle nearly identical to mine while the other was clearly a woman and held a pistol in his hand. I pivoted quickly and let off a shot that caught him in the throat. Of all the things to hear, I didn't know why I picked up on his pained gurgle. His rifle dropped to the ground with an audible clatter as he snapped his hands to his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

A cash register next to me exploded when the woman began blindly firing at me in a rage with her handgun. If she had bothered to hold the gun properly and aim she may have actually hit me, but I suppose that holding a gun can make someone drunk with a false feeling of power and do foolish things. A red flower suddenly burst forth on her chest. Small bits of bone from her shattered sternum edged the fresh, clean hole now present in her body. The drop in blood pressure probably made her black out before she hit the ground.

One last raider stepped into the open; the one I had heard behind the shelves when I had entered the building. In one hand was a grenade but the other held its pin. She caught sight of me nearly instantly and wound up to throw the explosive. My sights centred on her forehead. With how I had been shooting, I was confident I could end her life before she ever threw her little package. A cold smirk split my lips when the rifle thundered to life before she threw the grenade...and took out a chunk of plaster from the wall next to her head.

Time seemed to slow to an absolute crawl. The grenade left her hand. I looked down at my rifle and realized that was my sixth bullet. I was out of ammunition. A grenade was flying at me. I had about five seconds to contemplate how badly I had just fucked up in my arrogance and desire for a fancy shot.

I stood, turned and bounded over two of the register counters next to mine. Two hundred year old wood and plastic probably weren't going to be much help against a grenade, but it was better than being right next to it. I hit the ground, dropped my rifle and curled up against the third counter. The shock wave from the explosion crashed over me and made my ears ring and my head spin. I could barely see straight enough to grab my rifle and change magazines and scarcely had the presence of mind to even save the empty.

I forced myself back into a crouching position, trying desperately to focus against the world spinning in my eyes. Dust surrounded me but I forced myself not to cough. I hoped the raider would come looking to see whether or not I was dead. A gunshot to my right barely preceded a searing pain in my arm. I spun around and fired the instant I caught sight of the woman. I saw her flinch but she when didn't immediately drop I fired again. The second bullet made her hit the ground like a sack of rocks, though the twin spots of blood on her back made me wonder if the second shot was really necessary or just a waste of ammo.

I set the rifle down on the counter next to me, figuring that if no one else was shouting or shooting at me I was probably alone in the store by now. I looked down at the weeping gash in my bicep and didn't know whether to be upset or relieved that it was in the opposite arm from my knife wound. The bullet only grazed me, though I supposed that was likely better than actually catching the round in the shoulder. The graze would need to be cleaned and bandaged and would leave a nasty scar but I'd still have the use of my arm. "Hurts like a bitch, though," I muttered to myself and slung my rifle back across my shoulder.

In just under an hour I had scoured the open areas of the place clean, including finding any ammunition the raiders had on their bodies or in various boxes around the store. The bathroom had a small number of dirty mattresses and a variety of pills, needles and inhalers that I made sure not to touch. There was no telling what kind of diseases might be present on them. I also found two refrigerators connected to a pre-war fission generator. I had to admit that I was somewhat impressed by the thing's longevity. Two hundred years couldn't have been easy on it.

Most of my time, though, was spent looking for a key to the door in the back labelled "Pharmacy". If I was going to find medical supplies for my injuries I knew they'd be in there. I would've just tried picking the lock but unfortunately I didn't have any bobby pins on my person. I personally had no idea how the trick my dad had taught me in the Vault worked. I just knew that he was forever lamenting showing his son how to flip open a lock with an everyday item. The only one I had never been able to pick was the one cleverly hidden behind the frame of his Revelation 21:6 picture.

I eventually found the key scattered amongst a bunch of mines and grenades in a small office in the back and couldn't help but think what a terrible idea that was, especially with the assortment of drugs in the bathroom/sleeping area. All it would've taken was one clumsy or high raider to fumble along for the key and more than one person probably would've been dead and the key lost. I likely should have been disturbed by the fact that only the latter possibility bothered me.

Inside the pharmacy I found a lot more than just medical supplies. Unfortunately, most of it was just junk. Random bits of scrap metal and parts were scattered on flimsy aluminum shelves. My curiosity drove me to inspect a great many of the odds and ends. It would at least be a good place to keep in mind if I ever needed to build something, I thought. Still, I did find bandages and disinfectant and even a few stimpaks and set to work on fixing myself.

I disliked the thought of using anything that wasn't sealed and sterile but I also knew I couldn't be picky. Soaking a few sections of the bandages in the disinfectant as well as covering my wounds with it put my mind a little at east. It only took a few minutes but ended up costing me both of my sleeves. I tucked the cut fabric in one of the pouches at my waist in case the suit needed repairs later and packed away as much of the medical supplies as possible.

A computer terminal in the far back of the room caught my eye. I guessed without even approaching it that it was for controlling the robot currently in stasis next to it. I toyed with the idea of trying to break into the terminal and take control of the automaton but decided against it. At the moment I figured it was best to simply get back to Moira in Megaton and tell her what I had learned.

After a quick meal of whatever unidentifiable meat was in one of the refrigerators I left the store. I saw that it was starting to darken outside and briefly wondered just how long I had actually been in the Super Duper Mart. I also realized that I had absolutely no idea when it was supposed to be day or night relative to time since I had spent my entire life underground.

The walk back to Megaton was as uneventful as the walk had been from it earlier and I spent most of my time sorting out my ammunition and supplies. The weight at my waist heavy but comfortable. It was a definite assurance of protection. Still, I was surprised by how much the sixty or so bullets I had for my hunting rifle weighed, much less the additional rounds for my automatic pistol and revolver. I also found some more empty magazines to actually keep my bullets in, though that did nothing to lessen the weight.

"You're back!" Moira exclaimed happily as I pushed open the door of her shop. "So how'd it go? Did you find any food or medicine?"

"Yeah, but securing it was less than fun," I rubbed unconsciously at the bandage around my forearm. "The raiders there didn't seem to like the idea of me taking their food."

"So they had set themselves up in a defensible position with food and supplies?"

"Yeah, but if you word it like that it might go over a few people's heads," I chuckled. "Just put down that if it's a free and open place it's great to grab supplies, and if you can get a few people together with some weapons it's a great way to keep yourselves consolidated. Personally, I'm amazed I survived. Pretty sure I should've died a couple times."

"Good thing you're such a fantastic research assistant," Moira beamed at me. I suddenly became a little uncomfortable with her grinning at me like that and scratched the back of my neck nervously.

"I got lucky, that's all," I countered. "That and the raiders weren't terribly good shots."

"Most of them aren't. They get by with numbers and intimidation," she nodded. "Still, it's great that you made it back in one piece."

"I certainly think so," I chuckled again. Even in spite of the bullets and explosives coming at me only a few hours prior, being around Moira still put me in a better mood. Her cheeriness was infectious.

Her face suddenly took on a somewhat regretful expression. "I wish I had something to give you for all your hard work," she said. "Tell you what. I'll give you a discount at my store so you can always have some supplies to help with the research."

"Uh, yeah, sure," I agreed hesitantly. A discount sounded nice. Continuing to throw myself into incredibly dangerous situations for the sake of "research" sounded less so.

She glanced over her shoulder at a clock on the wall behind her. "It's getting kind of late to keep going today, though. How about you drop by tomorrow and we can start the next part of the chapter?"

"If I have the free time, I'll stop by," I smiled back at her. Some friendly farewell chased me out the door when I left. I looked up at Moriarty's Saloon once I was outside. It was time to find my dad.

A/N: So I'm pretty sure I promised someone something like 7000 words to this chapter. This clocks in at somewhere around 5000. I apologize for the 2000 words short but I couldn't help but feel that it would've started dragging horribly if I'd extended this chapter that far. For once I actually got what I wanted done in this chapter. The initial seeds of the Lone Wanderer's fall from wide-eyed idealist into cold, callous cynic have been planted and he's come to terms with killing people who are a threat to him. The only thing I don't like about this chapter is I feel it's a little too...lighthearted at times. Too much comedy that isn't of the black variety. Other than that, though, I'm pretty happy with it. Let me know if you are, too, if you'd be so kind.
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Absent Are the Saints