After the Vault: Chapter 15
    
    Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Fallout or anything that 
comprises it. This is a non-profit story written solely for my own 
enjoyment and that of anyone who wishes to read it. The story and all 
original characters are mine. Please don't use them without permission.
    
***
    
    After the Vault
    
    -A Fallout Fan-Fiction by Nutzoide-
    
    
    Chapter 15
    
    Backlash
    
    
    For most wastelanders, even the coddled townies, two days on the 
road was not a long time to walk anywhere. For Abigail, who had lived 
her entire life a single lift-ride away from anywhere in her small 
underground world, it was the most draining part of surfacer life. 
    
    Not the gunfights, or the food, or the messed up morals, or the lack 
of hygiene facilities. Or the drugs.
    
    Walking for hour upon hour under the desert sun, with her hot cape 
over her head to keep her from burning: that was the one greatest test 
of her willpower that the surface had to offer.
    
    The fights were very different. The danger, the adrenaline, and her 
confidence in her own agility - be it real or chemical - it all ensured 
that the fear and the thrill were over quickly, one way or the other. 
Likewise, she had found herself adapting to daily life with remarkable 
ease. The food was palatable, and even preferable to her vault meals at 
times, and she simply had to remind herself that people lived the way 
they did on the surface because that was how they stayed alive. It was 
survival of the fittest, but also survival of the most common interest. 
A single slaver or raider might be hunted down and shot without trial or 
mercy, but an organised gang of them could ensure their own survival, 
and that of anyone willing to affiliate with them. Or at least tolerate 
them. Such a case was unpalatable, but the only alternative was a 
bloodbath, and not even the gangs' victims wanted to offer up their 
lives so cheaply. It was an upsetting truth, but one she had to live 
with.
    
    The treks were always fine to begin with, exhilarating even, but 
walking eight or ten hours a day under a sun that Sharn said had already 
lost the worst of its summer anger... That was a trial beyond any other, 
physical and unrelenting. She walked no matter how her muscles ached or 
her head throbbed, because if she did not she would end up dying where 
she fell from desert exposure. She knew her friends would not have let 
that happen to her, of course, but then she would be keeping *them* out 
in the Waste even longer, and they endured the same things she did.
    
    It had been so much easier when they had ridden a cart.
    
    The walk had worked as she had hoped though. In such close quarters 
her four companions were all there were to take any note of, beyond the 
rocks and dry weeds that poked through the cracked earth. A quartet of 
wild brahmin were the highlight of the trip, and one Rathley noted not 
to stray too close to. In such an environment Abigail had been given no 
chance to succumb to her cravings for the little green pills in her bag, 
and though her nerves grew strained she did not dare to chance it in 
case she was caught. 
    
    The flaw was that it was impossible for the others not to notice her 
withdrawals. The inner tension and weakness she could simply keep to 
herself, but when the paranoia set in she couldn't help but look away 
when Sharn tried to engage her in conversation, in case she might notice 
something. Thankfully Chopper put her moods down to exhaustion and the 
heat, because despite eating well at Willets High Abigail was still too 
skinny for Chopper's liking. 
    
    Part of Abigail was still hoping that Chopper would realise what was 
going on, and that could help put an end to it once and for all, but her 
girlfriend still seemed pre-occupied with other things. Abigail had 
hoped that, once they got to their destination, they might be able to 
talk again without it needing to be about her health. Chopper was not 
usually talkative unless they were alone, but they had at least flirted 
in the tent on past travels, if not more.
    
    But for all her conceived hardships Abigail was very glad to be 
moving again. As gruelling as it could be and as worried as she was in 
case one of them questioned her reticence too closely, she could take 
Chopper's hand and have it held firmly, as if the mutual, unexplained 
silence between them was not even worth thinking on. Rathley was still 
his crude, authoritative self, pointing out banalities that would ensure 
that they survived, with Kyle and Sharn taking notes on the rare cases 
it was not common knowledge for them. It was *all* new to Abigail, and 
though she was in no shape to memorise the notes it reassured her that 
Rathley still gave them. And Sharn was there to help explain the truly 
mundane, like why they rose so early in the morning and camped so early 
at night, matching the arc of the sun, or how to pace herself to 
conserve both energy and water. 
    
    These were not just people who picked her up from the Cobalt Line 
and dusted her off. They cared, they looked out for her, and that made 
it all so much easier. 

***
    
    It took Abigail a while, but after getting there and settling in 
over the course of an afternoon, Abigail could see why Chopper liked 
Bob. Bob was the sort of simple, straight talking town that suited 
Chopper down to the ground. 
    
    The town was also called Bob, which for all her stress made Abigail 
giggle like she was nine years old again. Bob. She though she might try 
to write a song about it. 'Out, in the Mid-Waste, livin' in a town 
called Bob.'
    
    As the townsfolk had told her, if 'Robert' was a good enough name 
for a man, it was good enough name for a town. It was just the 
affectionate way they still called it Bob for short. It cracked her up.
    
    The others weren't immune either. Rathley barely spoke a word that 
wasn't drenched in sarcasm that the townsfolk simply didn't get, and 
Sharn admitted her amusement in private. 
    
    Chopper thought they were all hypocrites. She was happy to know of a 
town without a name like Celebrity or Paradise, that couldn't even 
pretend to deliver on its shallow promises. The town of Robert didn't 
put on airs, it just sat there and got on with life. Yes, despite the 
opportunity for ridicule - and it wasn't as though she didn't take the 
opportunity - it was definitely Chopper's kind of town. It also helped 
that they hadn't banned her from practicing there yet.
    
    It was very much not Rathley or Kyle's type of place though. It 
didn't cater for customers, and the best entertainment to be had was 
challenging the patrons of the town's single bar to cards. There were no 
bored skirts to impress, no hookers to hire, no dodgy dealers to cheat 
or humiliate. Just crop farmers and the caravan market they sold to. 
Even the alcohol was boring; either pale, flat beer or gut wrenching 
moonshine. No sipping liquor or rotgut rum here.
    
    It was the kind of rural town that must have been normal back before 
the bombs fell, Abigail decided. Maybe the details would be different - 
she doubted the farmers would have been their own armed police force 
back then - but then how could she know? All she saw were people going 
about their business, earning their livings honestly for once, and not 
fearing the next sudden attack from wasteland gangsters or mutant 
animals.
    
    "Oh, we get the mantises, and the pigrats," she was told when she 
voiced her thoughts. "But they don't argue with a 12 gauge too long."
    
    It *was* obvious that everyone, absolutely *everyone*, was armed. 
The large, sun-baked farmers, the wicker-weaving girls, the fruit-stall 
owners. There was no sheriff and no town guard, but apparently they 
policed themselves. Abigail had to wonder how justice was done when 
every man and his dog had at least a knife in evidence, if not a pistol.
    
    The response was simple. "You wanna take my crops or my husband bad 
enough to die for it? No, we're not that stupid here, 'cause we know 
we'll do it. And you folks don't look that stupid either, else you'd 
have been warned to keep your hands to yourselves. God knows old scar-
faced Rathley got told enough, back in the day. He was wise enough to 
listen."

***
    
    While the men might have chosen a livelier destination that did not 
mean they could not amuse themselves that evening. The final morning's 
walk to the town had not been a hard one, and it did not take them long 
after dinner to ingratiate themselves with the evening's drinkers. Both 
could handle any liquor the Mid-Waste could throw at them, and Sharn was 
instantly embraced by the men's wives and girlfriends as a fellow woman 
whose company had been spurned in favour of drink and inane games of 
chance.
    
    However, Chopper had disappeared upstairs soon after their plates 
had gone, and with her energy drained and wits pulled tight from 
withdrawal Abigail chose to hide from her friends in favour of finding 
the woman whose strong, warm company she needed to pull her through the 
night. Abigail knew it was mostly her fault, her paranoia keeping them 
all at a distance that was more separating than safe, but at the same 
time her emotions were ruled by far more than just her Buffout problems. 
Chopper had barely spoken to her in days, and though she was in the 
worst of positions to make an accusation Abigail desperately wanted 
Chopper to talk to her again. Chopper had never shared a single worry 
with her, and now Abigail needed her to. It was that, or Abigail herself 
might have to bring down the divide between them. She could not deal 
with her own problem if she was also worry about Chopper like this. 
    
    And she was worried that, if it was taking this much effort just to 
deal with her own problems, Chopper might have to be the one she shut 
out, along with whatever issues she now had, so that Abigail could right 
herself again.
    
    It was the first time Abigail had even contemplated letting go of 
her lover. Certainly, Chopper might have got bored of her like she had 
Erin, but willingly pushing Chopper away? For all her faults, no-one had 
ever made Abigail feel as loved, as desired, or as appreciated as 
Chopper had in their moments of passion and intimacy. The idea of 
letting that go in the hope of finding someone who even gave her a 
fraction of what Chopper did was terrifying. Especially now that she 
wanted so badly to draw on someone else's strength for her own sake.
    
    She found Chopper in their rented room over the bar, looking out of 
the open window and watching the sun set over the tall lines of woody 
grain that filled the dry fields beyond. And damn her fears, Abigail 
could not even bring herself to go and stand there with her.
    
    "Chopper?"
    
    Chopper looked back briefly before turning back to the vivid red 
sky. "What?"
    
    "Are... are you okay?"
    
    "Shouldn't I be?"
    
    How could Abigail know? Chopper hadn't told her anything. "I don't 
know. But I'm worried."
    
    "Why?"
    
    "... Because you aren't talking to me." Abigail stepped closer, and 
was rewarded when Chopper turned to her again, properly this time.
    
    "Do you have something you want to talk about?"
    
    Yes! God, yes! "N-no. Not really." Of course, there was no God there 
to answer any prayers, and make her confess. She had known that already. 
All she had was herself, and that would have to do. She just had to be 
brave, because if she would not talk to Chopper, how could she expect 
Chopper to do the same. "Uh, why did you want to come here? To this 
town."
    
    Chopper raised an eyebrow. Maybe she was surprised that Abigail had 
opened the dialogue herself, but whatever the reason she did answer. 
"Why not? They do things right here. They get their work done, and they 
don't fuck about over it."
    
    "Is it the kind of town you grew up in?"
    
    Chopper paused, and there was another flicker of reticence and 
uncertainly in Chopper's eyes! "Yes," she finally answered, after some 
thought. "Before the shit hit the fan."
    
    "Is it... Bad memories?
    
    Chopper gave her another look. A dark one this time. "No worse than 
yours."
    
    Abigail didn't know what that meant, but it made her stomach turn to 
remember the torn bodies that had laid strewn about her vault. Combined 
with the weakness in her limbs she suddenly wanted to vomit. "I, uh, I'm 
sorry."
    
    And to her credit Chopper looked shamefaced for making Abigail 
wobble where she stood. "Don't be. I'm not."
    
    But how could Abigail reconcile like this, if Chopper had nothing to 
tell her but these veiled illusions to a forgotten past? It was so 
dispiriting. If only Chopper would tell her what was wrong! "Marie? Was 
it me? Did I do something wrong?"
    
    Using her given name did at least get a response, and Chopper turned 
to frown at her. Any response was better than none. "Are you trying to 
piss me off?!"
    
    "I'm trying to make you love me! I... I want you to love me again!" 
Abigail could feel tears stinging her eyes. Why the hell was this so 
hard? She could already feel her voice cracking as it weakened. "You 
said you loved me. That wasn't a lie, was it?"
    
    And slowly, ever so slowly it seemed, Chopper's face softened into 
the kind, considerate one Abigail knew she was capable of. "No. It 
wasn't a lie. I do love you, Abby." She huffed, as if she was trying to 
fight the small smile that appeared. "Though I wish it wasn't such hard 
fucking work sometimes."
    
    She took Abigail's hands, reassuring the girl, and that was all 
Abigail needed to lean into Chopper's body, weeping and utterly 
exhausted. "Damn it, Chopper. You're the one that's hard work!"
    
    Finally in that embrace she felt free enough that her fears had fled 
for the moment, and she leaned up to kiss her lover. However, their lips 
met for only a moment before Chopper pulled back.
    
    "W-what? What's wrong?!" Abigail demanded. "You... I just want you 
to hold me..."
    
    Chopper looked genuinely unsure for a moment, but to Abigail's 
relief it was soon replaced with a sultry smile as Chopper licked her 
lips. "Okay. That I can do, hon."
    
    Abigail offered no resistance as Chopper was the one to lean in this 
time, her mouth capturing Abigail's with more intensity than it had in 
weeks. Abigail found herself leaning back as Chopper's sudden passion 
overwhelmed her, and while Abigail merely held Chopper's soft waist 
Chopper herself was pushing her back onto the bed and pulling her out of 
her jacket and jumpsuit top with barely any help from Abigail. Abigail 
crawled back onto the bed as soon as their lips parted, or else she 
would fall, and looked back up at her partner. The sight of Chopper 
pulling her shirt over her head took Abigail's breath away in 
anticipation. Abigail had so been hoping to feel Chopper's fingers 
tracing her skin for these last few days. To those heavy breasts pressed 
against her. Even just to have Chopper kiss her, wrapped in her arms.
    
    A moment later Chopper's makeshift bra was discarded and she loomed 
over Abigail, almost nose to nose, her nipples gently resting against 
Abigail's as one hand slipped around underneath her and began to fulfil 
that wish.
    
    Abigail's breath was heavy already, and she tilted her head up, 
awaiting another kiss. 
    
    "And no more toothpaste," Chopper whispered, before giving Abigail 
that kiss. The caressing hands that she had missed so badly made Abigail 
shiver and again, when Chopper broke their kiss she licked her lips 
looking like a cat that had got to the cream. "You're what I want, not 
the damned peppermint."

***
    
    Ten minutes later the sounds of Abigail's orgasm penetrated the 
wooden floor and down to the bar. Cheers and snickers were met with an 
equal number of contemptuous glances upwards, but Rathley just huffed 
and took another sip of moonshine.
    
    "About fuckin' time, girls."

***
    
    Eternal desert, bereft of life, the only sound the unfettered wind 
and the only smell the dust that it carried. A black sun beat down upon 
the dead expanse, drawing from it any rare moisture that might have 
remained. 
    
    Abigail was tired. There was no shelter, and no sustenance. Nowhere 
to hide any more. Though not intended, she had seen to that herself. 
Ironic then, that this was how she had finally found her peace. She sat 
cross legged on the rocky ground, protected from the elements only by 
her torn and bloodied jumpsuit. The final remnant of her first nineteen 
years of life.
    
    "It's big, isn't it?" Gillian said. The two sat back to back, 
friends in the face of every adversity. Her dreadlocks tickled Abigail's 
neck, the single source of welcome warmth under the dark, baking sun.
    
    "Bigger than I ever imagined," Abigail agreed. "I had never realised 
how confined I had felt until I saw the sky. I thought it would swallow 
me whole, it was so vast."
    
    "I can't imagine life without it," Casey observed. The two of them 
looked up together, and though they faced away from each other, their 
fingers laced themselves together. "It gives me hope, you know? That 
there's somewhere else to explore underneath the next star. Someone 
exciting to meet. A place to call home."
    
    "Home." Abigail echoed the word as if she no longer knew the meaning 
of the word, but even so it was a comforting sound. "Home. Home. But I 
think I'm already there. I don't want home to be somewhere different. I 
want home to be with you too."
    
    Overseer Beatrice disagreed, and she rubbed Abigail's thumb 
comfortingly as she held the girl's hand. "I know you don't mean that, 
Abigail. You have your own places to go, and I have people who need me 
to return to them. Just as you do."
    
    "But they don't need me. I'm the one that needs them. And even that 
isn't enough."
    
    "We all have people who need us." Marcus' voice was stern, the 
lecturing mentor now rather than the older friend. "And we will always 
need others. That's a fact of life, Abby. It doesn't matter what they 
call you, or what they believe. In the Vault, or out here, it isn't as 
different as you might think. You all have a role, even if the machine 
you are running is too vast to understand as a whole."
    
    "Even if I don't know what my role is?"
    
    Overseer Jahera's reply was soft and understanding. "Yes, even then, 
Abigail. And none of us are perfect. We all have our rough edges. What 
matters is that we keep trying. Should we falter, we have friends and 
partners to pick us up and keep us going."
    
    "But I don't know if she will be willing to pick me up. And I can't 
get up on my own."
    
    Alfred Parker laughed. "Hahaha, of course not. You never learn, do 
you, Jinx." Abigail pulled her hand back from his, hurt. But his voice 
lost its humour instantly. "It's a curse, Jinx. But don't worry. Who 
says it's going to be *her* that picks your sorry ass off the floor?"
    
    That Abigail could at least agree with. "Maybe. But I'd like it to 
be her."
    
    "Pumpkin, we all have someone like that," her mother said. "I never 
wanted to admit how poor a housekeeper I was when I met your father. It 
didn't stop him marrying me."
    
    "I love her so much though, but it still wasn't enough."
    
    Chopper just shrugged, leaning back against Abigail. "Shit happens, 
hon. Life goes on."
    
    "Yes." And Abigail swallowed the little green tab in her mouth. 
"Yes, it does."

***
    
    Abigail didn't kiss Chopper that morning, and nor did she let on how 
poorly she had slept. The evening had been perfect, setting her mind at 
ease like it had not been for weeks, but her body was less easily 
pacified. She had woken in sweats after only a few hours, and had crept 
from the bed to avoid waking Chopper like this again. Her legs had 
barely supported her as she stumbled quietly through the dark room to 
sit against the wall. She had remained there for over an hour, waiting 
for the trembling and nausea to pass. 
    
    It hadn't. In the end she had been left no choice. Either she gagged 
and retched out of the window, or she took the pill. With Chopper still 
sleeping in their bed Abigail had chosen the latter, and remained 
silent. It was remarkable how quickly the symptoms subsided as soon as 
the Buffout crunched between her teeth, and she smelt the aromatic 
chemicals filling her sinuses. Though guilty Abigail had soon returned 
to bed with a new sense of power and purpose, to dream her surreal, 
reflective dreams.
    
     With that newly ingested confidence Abigail had finally slept, but 
could not remain in bed beyond the rising of the sun. She wanted to be 
lazy, and make the most of this contented mood while it lasted, but 
instead she forced herself from the bed and dressed while Chopper dozed. 
    
    When Chopper did rise not long afterwards she was surprised to see 
Abigail out and cleaning up the room. "Hmm? Since when are you an early 
bird?"
    
    Abigail might have lost her paranoia for the moment, but her caution 
remained. Chopper would notice her mood if she was not careful, not to 
mention that she had not brushed her teeth after what Chopper had said 
the night before. So, while she wanted to walk over and kiss her lover 
passionately for last night she lowered her head a little and tried to 
look bashful. "I'm... not. I just thought I ought to put my stuff away."
    
    Chopper threw the sheets off herself and walked over, still stark 
naked. "Feeling better then?"
    
    Though she yearned for a cuddle or a kiss, Abigail made a point of 
taking her hand instead. It was a reserved gesture, but one she would 
still have been comfortable with even in the depths of her withdrawals. 
"Yes," she said, blushing at her own recollections.  
    
    If Chopper noticed her duplicity she did not show it. Instead she 
just squeezed Abigail's hand in approval before picking up the underwear 
that Abigail had collected and left on the dresser. "Good girl." 
    
    
    
***
    
    Robert was unlike any of the other places Abigail had been taken to, 
even apart from its moniker. For a town without definite leadership it 
was curiously lacking in social politics or power struggles. They were 
not harassed by bandits because they had so little to steal, and the 
monstrous animals of the desert had long since learned not to try their 
luck against farmers who were not only armed but would club together to 
hunt down any offending wildlife. 
    
    With few insects to butcher and no raiders to defend against 
Abigail's group drifted apart during the day, each falling back on what 
they did best. Seeing that his scavenging and mercenary services were 
not needed Rathley set up camp at the bar, taking company as it came to 
him. For a few caps, or another drink, he was more than happy to live up 
to his reputation not only as a rogue, but as a master traveller. Though 
his own tales seemed to bore him on occasion, there were plenty of 
younger townsfolk willing to pay the meagre fee for him to dispense his 
wisdom, be it on wilderness survival, animal hunting or tactics for a 
gunfight. His advice was plain, straightforward, and would keep those 
listening alive if they were unlucky enough to need it.
    
    He also got to drink, show off his worldly knowledge in front of 
lesser men, and flirt with the ladies who had occasion to join him. Not 
a bad trade off, seeing as there was nothing better to do.
    
    Chopper on the other hand wasted little time in going about the 
entire town, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that a proper medical 
woman would be staying for a while. Though most injuries and sicknesses 
she had to treat were minor - the town hardly being rife with gun 
fighting or plagues - she had now brought its population of practiced 
medical doctors up to a total of one. Any healing that got done was 
usually seen to by one of the various older women of the town, and 
treated with what basic remedies they could remember from their own 
mothers. As such, she too not only had healing to perform, but teaching 
to give both to Sharn and Abigail when they were around and to those 
women who could spare the time to be taught. Though Chopper was not a 
people person by nature, Abigail did think she seemed to enjoy the job 
satisfaction that came with such a role.
    
    Kyle and Sharn, when not taking their cues from their respective 
tutors, found a place for themselves with the caravan traders at the 
gates. Sharn's personable attitude and Kyle's greater knowledge of 
wasteland goods' worth meant that they could play advisor to either the 
townsfolk of Robert or the caravan traders themselves as necessary. 
There was little to actually buy with caps in Robert, and so the value 
of bartered goods was much more variable than in larger, less rural 
towns, and equally the locals here would often over estimate the value 
of good that they did not produce and regularly sell themselves. 
    
    It also meant that Sharn and Kyle could make some nice trades for 
themselves as well, cleaning out much of the groups unnecessary bulk in 
exchange for a few more valuable commodities. One particular trader was 
carrying some books and journals that Sharn leapt on with great 
enthusiasm once she realised she could make an offer for them. With 
education at a premium such things were much sought after, even if the 
subject matter was of little interest to the buyer.
    
    As for Abigail, she tried to study with Chopper when she could, but 
spent much of her time learning just what it was like to eke out a 
living in the desert, rather than living on hospitality that could be 
bought. Desert farming was laborious, unrewarding work, but those she 
talked to seemed happy with their lot. They were the ones making sure 
their own families were fed, no matter what happened, and they could 
still make a living from it as well. Unlike so many surfacers, such as 
the money lenders in Corva, the pimps and card sharps in Micasa or the 
slavers of Willets High, these people worked all the day they could in 
their dry fields, orchards and Brahmin pens to pay their way.
    
    While Abigail joined only them once or twice, being untrained and 
untalented at farm labour, it gave her new respect for what was actually 
required to survive out there. 
    
    And that was how the five of them continued for a short time, 
working with and around the farmers and their little trading post.  That 
is until their fourth day of convalescence, when Erin Golway arrived.
    
***
    
    Sharn was alone at the trading post, and unlike the past few days 
she was happy not to be taking part in the bartering that was going on 
around her. Her smooth tongue and desert savvy wasn't needed when water 
caravan prices would always be extortionate. Either you paid what you 
had to, because you were desperate, or you trusted that what you had was 
enough to tide you over. And the more desperate you were, the higher the 
prices would be. Dirty profiteering, but it worked.
    
    Instead Sharn had turned her mind to her friends. Abigail and 
Chopper had made up, but both were still too tense and snappy for her 
liking, and their personal little rollercoaster seemed on it downward 
dip once again. She left them to it now though. If some serious, no 
holds barred sex couldn't sort their problems out, Sharn didn't know 
what would. Maybe that was a peculiarity of being gay, in which case 
Sharn was even gladder that she wasn't.
    
    She perked up as another caravan appeared on the trail to town, as 
did most of those who had done their business with the water merchants 
and were looking to actually sell some of their own wares for more 
varied trades. 
    
    "Don't know who these are," one of the farming daughters told Sharn. 
"That looks too big for the High Town Couriers."
    
    Indeed, the caravan that approached was a full seven carts strong, 
and better guarded than even a convoy of *that* size required. It piqued 
the curiosity of everyone present, even those who weren't there to trade 
on behalf of their families. Several people un-holstered their firearms 
in case it was a poorly conceived raiding party, but it soon became 
apparent that wasn't the case.
    
    It wasn't the caravan from High Town, but as they approached two of 
the carts split off from the group and stopped short of the town gate 
posts, while the five traders filed inside. The traders were two 
different companies from Mercedes, much further to the south and not 
expected to arrive on the same day, but the two carts that stopped short 
bore no insignia, and from them flowed a twelve-strong band of 
mercenaries.
    
    And in the middle of that band stood a short, petite girl in a dust 
covered cloak and hood. But beneath the hood Sharn recognised her 
immediately.
    
    "Erin?"
    
    It *was* Erin, daughter of Corva's Mayor, still wearing a horridly 
impractical dress underneath her filthy cloak. She looked as though she 
hadn't slept in days, her dusty face and unsteady steps only making her 
look worse. 
    
    The girl paused when she heard her name, and the swarm of armed men 
and women stopped with her, eyeing Sharn with caution. While several of 
the traders were content to welcome the Mercedes groups as they where 
supposed to, many more just watched Sharn as she approached the armed 
group.
    
    Erin did not bother with the pleasantries Sharn might have expected, 
and instead made right for her as soon as she realised who Sharn was. 
    
    "Where's Chopper?!" the girl demanded in a rasping voice.
    
    Not only did Erin look terrible, Sharn realised as Erin approached, 
but she smelled horrific as well. Or, to be more precise, it was the box 
Erin carried that smelled so gruesome. "Erin, what are you doing here? 
Are you okay?"
    
    Erin might as well not have heard her. "WHERE IS SHE!?!"
    
    Sharn scrunched her nose and took the girl by the shoulders, which 
brought several of the Mercs' weapons to bear on her, but she looked 
Erin in the eyes in an effort to get through to her. "Erin, Chopper's 
here somewhere, I'll find her for you. Just tell me what's wrong. Why 
did you leave Corva?"
    
    Erin's face twisted, half in a snarl and half in desperation as she 
took her stinking box in both hands and opened the lid. Sharn recoiled 
as the smell hit her ten times as strongly, but her stare was one of 
revulsion and appalled shock. The dry, severed head of Mayor Gerald 
Golway stared back from inside.
    
    "They took it," Erin growled. Her eyes were wet, but her voice was 
dark and steady. "The Hearts. They killed father, and they took our 
town. I'm going return the favour!"

***
    
    The bar and rest house was packed following Erin's arrival. Not a 
single farmer remained in his fields, and those who found no seats 
remaining sat on the stairs or perched themselves on windowsills to 
listen as the young woman related her morbid tale. News like this hadn't 
come to Robert in years, and already the gossip machine was in full 
swing, even as the story unfolded. 
    
    Erin had been on the road for over a week now, after the Hearts' 
leader - a gifted psychotic called Jackhammer - had given her her 
father's head and sent her on her way. She was to bring him the girl who 
had killed his Brute, and he would return her town, as long as he hadn't 
got comfortable there in the mean time.
    
    Rathley's only response to that was to laugh. "Ha! He'll just 'give 
it back', will he? Ain't he charmin'."
    
    "Of course he won't!" Erin snapped back, moving seamlessly from one 
glass of sickening moonshine to the next, and grimacing as she sipped 
it. "Eagh. And even if he did, I wouldn't let him! Not after this. They 
shot my father down and then cut him up like a brahmin! They have to die 
for it!"
    
    "Hence your little army." Kyle looked at the armed newcomers. 
Several he recognised, and they he knew to be skilled. Not on Rathley's 
or the late Nathaniel's level maybe, but with reputations none the less. 
And some of them just seemed to be armed do-gooders, taking up Erin's 
cause because it was the right thing to do. One of them was the merchant 
who owned the second caravan cart, and had given up his trade route in 
order to take part. "And you want us?"
    
    Erin nodded. "I know better than most how good you are. Having 
Rathley on our side would be a huge benefit, for the sake of morale, and 
the rest of you... I've heard about your skills, and Sharn's. And 
Abigail was the one to finish off their Super Mutant. I'll do it without 
you if I have to, but I would have banked on your assistance before." 
    
    She gave the four of them a pensive look. "And now I get to see if 
I'm as good a judge of character as I think I am."
    
    Chopper remained quiet, as she had been since she had heard of this, 
and Rathley sighed, as if the whole thing was imposing on some busy 
schedule of his, but Kyle remained businesslike. 
    
    "And you think, what, twenty of us would be able drive out a force 
of Hearts large enough to take Corva by force?"
    
    Erin grimaced over her drink again. "I will be returning past 
Giltford and Micasa, the way I should have gone in search of you, 
apparently. I think we can hire more guns there as well. But you are 
correct. We will be facing most if not all of the Hearts' camps. I don't 
know how many that is. But they have two more Super Mutants with them; 
the Brute's friends. It told the Hearts' leaders where to find them, 
before being given to the camp you took down."
    
    "T-two?" Abigail stammered, suddenly turning pale. "Two more!?!"
    
    "And at least, what, three dozen Hearts?" Rathley guessed. "Assuming 
they've sent some of their camps back out by now. Not good odds, Sugar."
    
    From the bar side one of the unknown hirelings, the armed merchant 
man, spoke up. "Fuck the odds! And fuck your wage, all of you. This is 
about putting the Hearts down, permanently. Cutting the head off the 
fucking snake!"
    
    "No," Erin corrected him. "It won't stop them for good. Not unless 
we're stupidly lucky. But we can get most of them, along with the man 
who got them organised enough to make attacks like this. And we will. 
But the more people we have - real fighters, like you five - then the 
fewer people have to die doing it."
    
    "And," she added, icing the cake, "I know my town. I know where my 
people will have gone to save themselves, and how best to get inside to 
meet up with them. They won't have gone down without a fight, and they 
can help arm and support those who need it."
    
    She cast her eyes around the entire bar. "So will you help me avenge 
my father, and everyone in Corva who was butchered by these monsters? 
They are fighting for their lives right now. Please?"
    
    Abigail nodded. Her hands were trembling knowing just how unlikely 
someone was to survive the kind of attack Erin was presenting, but if 
ever there was a time to help people, this was it. This was where she 
made herself worthwhile, and if there was even one of those Super Mutant 
freaks still alive out there then... 
    
    Then she would be too scared to sleep, until she saw it dead.
    
    "I'm in." 
    
    "So am I." Abigail's heart lifted to hear those words echoed from 
Chopper's mouth. She would be there with her as well. Kyle and Sharn 
followed suit, each one making the prospect seem less like suicide.
    
    Then, to Abigail revulsion, Rathley asked a very simple question.
    
    "What's the pay then, Sugar?"
    
    "Rathley!!"
    
    Erin took the question in her stride. "Whatever my father had to 
spend on his cowardly guard, it's yours. Half of them did not stay to 
earn their pay when they saw those hulking mutants, and the rest were 
killed because of it. I will pay it all to any who help. I don't know 
how much it is, but it must be four hundred caps each, even if we all 
survive. 
    
    A few whistles flew across the room. If she was expecting to get 
twenty five warriors on her side that was ten thousand caps, right 
there. Instantly Abigail could see that the temptation there would be 
too great for some. Knowing what so many wastelanders were like, Erin 
really did need all the help she could get.
    
    "And whatever you take from the Hearts is yours," Erin continued, 
barely pausing. "No doubt they have some of those caps themselves 
anyway."
    
    Rathley mulled it over, before nodding. "Count me in then. It's been 
a while since my last town war. Gotta keep up appearances, an' all."
    
    And from the doorway, quite unexpected, a large, older farmer barked 
out his approval as well. He held a long, double barrelled shotgun in 
his hand, and at his side two tough, grizzled looking dogs barked at the 
noise. "Me and all!"
    
    "Harv, no!" came a pair of feminine voices from further outside, but 
the man just beckoned them inside, past him, and shook his head. 
"Corva's been good to us. Good trading people. We can spare a gun or 
two, and the Hearts have never had a Robert's dog chase 'em into the 
dirt!"
    
    At the table Erin sagged a little over her empty shot glass, her 
face showing a smile of tired relief for the first time since she had 
arrived. "Thank you."
    
    "Heh, thank us when we win, Sugar." 

***
    
    Abigail didn't regret putting herself forward for the task, or that 
she had been the first of her friends to do so. She was trying to be 
their moral compass, and anything she could do to make life safer and 
more just, she would. 
    
    It also meant that she would be walking into a firing squad, and 
among that squad would be yet more of those grotesque green hulks she 
had come to hate so desperately. Despite the nausea in her stomach she 
had once again chosen to put her life in danger, this time for people 
like Christian, Celia and Stephanie - people she actually liked - but 
the threat to her life was greater still to compensate for that.
    
    Sitting alone in her darkened room at the inn, she could only wonder 
why she was so eager to throw her life after such futile, noble causes. 
It wouldn't change much in the end. She might save a few people she 
cared about, and surely that was enough, but to risk her life so often, 
and so easily... It worried her. 
    
    So did the bottle of pills in her hand. Just six of them left now, 
and with this new gauntlet thrown down so suddenly she could not resist 
four days of need now. Hopefully that would be enough to get her through 
the trip back to Corva and the fights that would follow. If ever there 
was a legitimate need for the Buffout, two super mutants and a town full 
of raiders would be it. 
    
    She twisted the lid on the bottle and dropped one of the pale green 
pills into her palm. It was as she lifted it to her lips that the door, 
already cracked ajar, slammed open. 
    
    "Chopper?" Abigail tried to hide both the bottle and the pill behind 
her back, though she knew it was futile. She had shut the door fast when 
she had come up, knowing that she needed the drug's help tonight, so 
Chopper must have opened it with great care since the latch hadn't 
clicked.
    
    Indeed, Chopper had done just that a minute before, into order to 
watch this happen. "You thought we wouldn't find out eventually?" 
Chopper growled as she strode into the room. Abigail got to her feet, 
about to protest, but Chopper took her by the arm and, with strength 
Abigail knew she was capable of, Chopper wrestled the bottle from her 
hands and gave it a rattle. "Humf, sounds like you got through a lot of 
this shit. It *is* the same bottle, isn't it?"
    
    The pill in her hand didn't give Abigail the same arrogance it would 
have done between her teeth, and now she was caught she merely nodded. 
"Y-yes."
    
    Abigail didn't know what she expected in response, but the strong, 
powerful slap that whipped across her cheek was surprise enough to take 
her off her feet and leave her sprawled on the bed. "Ahh."
    
    "I WARNED you about this shit, Abby. And then the moods, the 
inconsistent periods, and that *fucking* toothpaste! I'm amazed it took 
as long to realise it as it did."
    
    With her cheek and temples throbbing and her nerves already frayed, 
Abigail snapped. "SHUT UP! You don't know what it's like! You don't 
know, and you can't tell me what to do!" Abigail sat up and defiantly 
threw the pill into her mouth, the synthetic taste fuelling her rage 
even without crushing it in her teeth. "Fuck you, Chopper! I'm sorry I'm 
not perfect, but I don't fucking care! I can deal with it on my own!"
    
     Her tirade did not have the effect Abighail had intended, and 
Chopper just looked down at her in angry disappointment. "*This* is 
dealing with it? You wouldn't know *how* to quit even if you could. I 
warned you. Buffout's not one of those you just *decide* to give up!"
    
    "Well maybe if you'd SAID something instead of *blowing up* at me 
I'd know, wouldn't I!"
    
    "You shouldn't *need* to know, Abby! No-one in their right mind 
*needs* to know! It's common fucking sense! You don't *take* the fucking 
stuff!"
    
    Abigail was furious. This whole Buffout mess was Chopper's fault 
anyway. She would have bitten down on the pill and given Chopper a real 
piece of her mind, except that she was supposed to be giving up, wasn't 
she? She only had six pills left, so she'd face it eventually. She 
needed them for the super mutants, not for fighting Chopper. And Chopper 
had the bottle now anyway. 
    
    Fighting against both her anger and her tortured good intentions she 
used the last of her energy to spit the pill onto the floor, still 
whole. Feeling the taste still on her tongue without the rush to go with 
it was enough to make her weep. "Fine! Take them," she sobbed, glaring 
at her woman who was supposed to love her. "Then I'll have to stop, 
won't I!"
    
    Chopper looked down at the pill, then at Abigail. "Crying about it 
won't solve anything." And then, to Abigail's horror, Chopper tossed the 
bottle of pills back onto the bed next to her. "If you're dealing with 
it, then *deal* with it. Either you wean yourself off properly, or you 
quit cold turkey and hope the chemical shock doesn't give you a fucking 
heart attack!"
    
    "W-what? Y-you can't do this to me Chopper!" Abigail wailed, now 
crying in earnest, unable to move from the bed. Her voice fell to a 
whimper. "You never told me. How was I supposed to know that?" 
    
    "Wake the fuck up, Abigail! I've known about you and those pills 
since Willet's High! *I* read it in *your* medical book because *you* 
were taking the fucking steroids!"
    
    And that was it. Chopper left, slamming the door behind her, and 
Abigail was left to cry herself into furious, pitiful exhaustion, no 
longer knowing what to believe - about anything.

*** 
    
    With time of the essence Erin's carts left the following day, taking 
their new recruits with them, but even before they left the change in 
the air was clear. Like their prior lovemaking, the screaming match 
between Abigail and Chopper had not been subtle, and Sharn couldn't help 
but note that only Abigail appeared from the shared room that morning. 
Chopper slouched through the bar's front door having slept elsewhere, 
and when she looked towards Abigail the younger girl - unkempt and puffy 
eyed - looked down to stare angrily at the remains of her meagre 
breakfast. 
    
    The pair did not speak a word to each other all morning, and the one 
brief approach from Chopper only made Abigail turn away again, and leave 
to pack her possessions. When it came time to leave they boarded 
separate carts, Chopper pointedly taking the cart that did not have Erin 
sitting beside its driver, and Sharn followed Abigail when she chose 
differently.
    
    "Shit," Abigail swore when she saw Kyle and Rathley join Chopper. 
    
    Sitting next to her Sharn could see Abigail's hands trembling, 
though whether in anger or out of physical need she didn't know. 
"They're just going to try and talk some sense into her, Abby-girl. 
Believe me, Kyle's on you're side, and Rathley's probably just gone to 
wind her up."
    
    "D-did you know too?" Abigail accused, glaring not into Sharn's eyes 
but at her jacket.
    
    "About the Buffout?" Sharn shook her head. "No, I didn't know. If I 
had done I wouldn't have been so worried about you! And I *was* worried, 
you know."
    
    Abigail just looked down at the cart floor. "What? How could it be 
*worse*?!"
    
    "You could be sick. I mean, really sick." Sharn answers simply. 
"Maybe that place was killing you inside, with the slaving and all. 
Chopper could have been taking something out on you."
    
    "She was, Sharn!" Abigail spat, suddenly angry again. "She knew. She 
knew I couldn't do it on my own, and she just *watched*! She didn't 
help, she just wanted to see me struggle!"
    
    "Abby, that's not true. Chopper isn't kind, but she's not that cruel 
either. Not unless someone deserves it."
    
    Abigail looked at her with very serious eyes. "What if she thinks I 
*do* deserve it?" then she looked back down at the wood. "I get it, I 
screwed up. Again. But she could have helped me! She could have... said 
something, at least."
    
    "We would have helped if you'd told us," Sharn replied softly. "I 
*wanted* to help. I just didn't know how I could."
    
    Abigail remained quiet for a long time after that, and Sharn thought 
it best that she let her digest what they had said. The problem was that 
Sharn didn't know why Chopper hadn't spoken up. Chopper was a brutal 
woman at times, but she spouted her overblown ideas about good health 
and drug use at anyone who would listen, given the chance. Why would she 
sit back and do nothing now?
    
    Then, several minutes later. Abigail opened up her bag and pulled 
out the white bottle that must have held the Buffout. "You can help. You 
can get rid of these. Just take them away already!"
    
    The rest of the cart watched as Abigail thrust the squat plastic 
bottle into Sharn's hands. 
    
    "Hey, if you're giving shit like that away I'll take 'em!"
    
    Sharn glared at the man. "No. She'll sell them to you." Sharn tipped 
out the six remaining pills into her palm. "Six tabs, that looks like 
twelve hundred caps trade to me, Merc."
    
    The man in question hissed through his teeth, while Abigail looked 
on in disbelief at their apparent value.
    
    The Merc did not seem wholly convinced, or perhaps was not well off 
enough to consider it, and several others in the cart were eyeing the 
little green pills now, so Sharn turned up her saleswoman's approach. 
"Or 220 a piece if you don't want the bulk discount. After all, this is 
what helped our Abby take down the Hearts' *first* super mutant without 
taking a scratch!"
    
    Several trades later and Sharn handed Abigail two pouches of caps, a 
pair of full ten mil armour piercing clips and a pistol to go with them. 
"There. Now, do you think you're going to be okay?"
    
    The Merc who had given up his spare sidearm and ammo for three of 
the pills seconded Sharn's genuine concern, "Yeah, you're a brave one, 
girl. Buffout crash is a killer."
    
    Abigail just nodded, shaking just a little more, and this time in 
trepidation. "So I'm told."
    
    Sharn draw her into a hug, and in no time at all Abigail was 
clinging back tightly. "Its okay, Abby-girl. You'll be fine, and we'll 
help if you need it, Kyle and me. I'm sure Chopper will too."
    
    Abigail shook her head, buried against Sharn's shoulder. "No. I 
don't care about her. It was all a lie, and I don't need her any more."
    
    Sharn didn't know whether she could believe that about Chopper or 
not. Chopper wasn't that good at hiding her intentions, Sharn was sure. 
But then Sharn had never been convinced of this 'hidden angel' beneath 
Chopper's coarse skin either, so maybe Chopper was a better manipulator 
than she ever let on. "Oh, Abby-girl."
    
    But for Abigail's sake she wouldn't let herself believe that. Not 
yet. 

***
    
    "She didn't last long. I'm surprised. She seemed nice."
    
    Chopper looked up from where she sat her small bed, in Giltford's 
smallest hotel. Most of Erin's mercenary army, now three men stronger 
again, were camped out with the wagons, but those with the caps to spare 
had bought themselves proper lodgings for the night's stay. 
    
    Erin, now standing in the doorway, had bought a room next to hers. 
Abigail was spending the night in a different hotel, and Erin had 
noticed.
    
    Chopper had no desire to explain herself, or debate the situation 
with anyone, Erin least of all. But after Kyle's lecture and Rathley's 
verbal abuse - both responded to in kind - Chopper was worryingly 
willing to humour someone who might actually listen. "'Nice' isn't what 
it takes. She knows that. *You* know that."
    
    Since she had got a response Erin closed the door behind her. "She 
doesn't know you very well, does she?"
    
    "She knew. She thought she knew better." Chopper's look turned 
annoyed. At Abigail, at Erin, at Kyle and Rathley. Even at herself. "She 
didn't."
    
    Erin moved closer, her intentions obvious to Chopper, and Chopper 
batted away the arm that reached out to her. "She didn't bother 
listening. That's a problem you two seem to share."
    
    And, predictably, Erin's lip began to tremble. "D-damn it, Marie! 
You w-won't even give me a c-chance?!"
    
    This was exactly Erin's problem, in Chopper's eyes. The girl wanted 
a crutch. She didn't need one; she was strong willed enough. She just 
*wanted* to be weak, to be protected by others. She didn't *want* to 
stand up for herself. It was a wonder that she had worked up the 
backbone to lead these mercenaries herself. 
    
    And Erin *didn't* listen to Chopper's wishes. "And how many times 
have I told you not to call me that?"
    
    "It's your name!" Erin retorted, losing her composure. "I love your 
name! I love you! I never stopped! Your little vault-girl doesn't care 
any more, but I do!"
    
    It was then that Erin's tears broke loose, and flooded down her 
face. "Father is dead, there are Hearts in my home, and I don't even 
know if they've left any of my friends alive! You... You're all I got 
right now, Marie! Can't you even pretend that you care?!"
    
    Chopper felt her angry resolve waver. Yes, this was just like Erin, 
but she *had* suffered enough to reduce anyone to tears. And to lose her 
father, that was the worst. He had been a good man. Not a man she had 
towed the line with, but a good man none the less. She didn't need to 
pretend when it came to caring about that loss. She stood and, ignoring 
Erin's wet, surprised stare, she took the young woman in her arms at let 
her cry. 
    
    "At least get rid of his damned head. It can't be doing you any 
good."
    
    Erin only squeezed her tighter, and cried harder.
    
***

To be continued...

***

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Many thanks to Richard King for his proofreading assistance.

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