After the Vault: Chapter 16
    
    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 16
    
    Abstinence with the Hearts on Yonder
    
    Abigail had not seen any of Giltford as their wasteland army had 
marched in. She woke in a cold sweat, the morning bustle of merchants 
and mercenaries not matching the sounds of her old room in Robert's 
public house. The ceiling was strange white plaster and the bed was too 
small, and why on earth was she shivering with cold the middle of the 
desert?
    
    Well, she was shivering, but whether it was *because* of the cold 
she didn't know. It was the uncomfortable clinging sweat that was 
chilling her, the sun yet to warm the land as it began to rise from the 
distant mountains, and the shivers... Those she would have to weather, 
for now. At least she had been mindful enough not to drown her sorrows 
that night, or who knew *what* sort of state she would have been in.
    
    It was bad enough that she awoke so early as it was. She felt dull 
headed and sluggish on the best of mornings, and the early sunlight that 
shone in through the window, though not direct, was still bright enough 
to make her squint painfully to find her shades.
    
    Why hadn't she thought to close the wooden shutters before 
collapsing?
    
    Maybe she had wanted the sun to complain about when she woke. A bad 
plan, in retrospect. Now she had not only the hour and the light to 
drain her spirit, but with her little green pills well and truly gone 
her limbs might have been made of lead, and she felt as weak and 
cowardly as she drew herself from the foreign bed, trembling like a 
leaf.
    
    She washed as best she could in the tin that she had been left with 
the night before, the cold water doing nothing for her shivers, but 
better that than remain foul and sweating for the rest of the day. For 
once she did not put her jumpsuit back on, but tossed it in the tin 
afterwards. Maybe she could ask for some soap, or a cup of ancient 
detergent, but the suit needed washing regardless. Maybe it could dry as 
they travelled. Or she could hang it out of the window, if she had long 
enough before their troop made the final leg back to Corva.
    
    Corva, under raider control. Now they were so close, Abigail dreaded 
to see what might have become of it. Or of the people who had been kind 
enough to befriend her.
    
    It was better not to think about that, and instead go to find that 
soap. The landlord did have some, thankfully, and Abigail was used 
enough to the smell of those brahmin-fat cakes to be grateful for it. It 
was even scented with some sort of seed oil, which made the tedious task 
of scrubbing her suit with it that bit less depressing. At least the 
activity seemed to calm her shakes.
    
    She was done and hanging the suit to dry when a knock came at the 
door. She really didn't need the interruption now she was up and putting 
herself to work, so while it might have distracted her more pleasantly 
she didn't bother to answer.
    
    And naturally the knock came again. "Abby-girl? Are you still in 
bed?"
    
    Of course, it was the one person in the town who she did want to 
see. Or at least, whose company would actually be welcome.
    
    "No. I'm up." She hung her clothes out as best she could as Sharn 
opened the door.
    
    "Hey. How are you feeling?"
    
    Abigail smiled, trying to put a brave face on her lethargic, 
simpering despondency. I'll be okay, she would answer. Or, I'm feeling 
better now. I'm dealing with it. It'll be fine.
    
    "... Pretty bad."
    
    Well done Abigail, she chastised herself. Her smile faltered, and 
with it so did Sharn's, becoming a look of sympathy. Great. Look what 
you've done now. Very mature, Abigail. Nice start to the day, for both 
of you. "Sorry. I'll... I'll live." 
    
    Sharn seemed to ignore her apology and came in, full of care and 
concern. "I'm sorry, Abby-girl. Come on, we'll get you some breakfast. 
You'll feel better with some energy in you."
    
    Abigail hoped that would work, because energy was the last thing she 
had right now. "S-sure. Thanks, Sharn."
    
    "Any time."

***
    
    Breakfast had helped, if only for a little while. Abigail had eaten 
silently, glad that the food had managed shift the cloying taste of rat 
fur from her mouth. Not that she was given to licking live rats to 
supplement her diet of dead and roasted ones, but it was what she 
imagined they must have tasted like. If possible the new lack of 
synthetic stimulants in her diet was making her morning breath even 
worse.
    
    The brahmin milk, cheese and unleavened bread was good though, and 
more than enough to make the day seem less forbidding. She still wanted 
to brush her teeth thoroughly afterwards, but voicing that intention 
would have likely set a certain someone off.
    
    Instead she left quietly, the caravans already packing up by the 
time they had finished eating, and Abigail was among the last to board. 
Thankfully Sharn had once again chosen to travel separately from Chopper 
- Kyle with her this time, being one of the few to change carts - and 
Abigail joined them.
    
    It wasn't long into the trip that her withdrawals began to get the 
better of her though. While it was hot in the cart, her cloak pulled 
over her against the morning sun, her shivers returned, and no matter 
how she clenched her fists beneath the cloak they would not cease.
    
    Sharn was among the first to notice, sitting next to her near the 
back of the cart. "Hey, Abby-girl? You're not cold, are you?" she asked, 
as furtively as she could.
    
    She took one of Abigail's trembling hands, but it didn't help. 
Though friendly, it only served to make her more uncomfortably warm. 
"No, I'm not cold." 
    
    With that said Sharn could work out the rest and pulled back. She 
still kept hold of Abigail's hand though, out of some sense of 
solidarity.
    
    Though Sharn had been quiet for Abigail's sake, it was not long 
before the depth of her problem was clear enough even to those who had 
not noticed already. This was the point that Abigail had always given in 
before. The shivering, though not severe, was uncontrollable, and only 
drained what little energy she had left. Her empty muscles began to 
ache, becoming a burden as she breathed. She wanted desperately to 
sleep, except that there was no tiredness in her mind. Just a vast, 
infinite world pressing down on her, and making her feel like an invalid 
surrounded by so many large, powerful soldiers.
    
    "Hey, looks like you got it bad, Vault Girl." It was the man who had 
paid for her pills with his second gun. "Been on the Buffout a while, 
huh?"
    
    Abigail looked up at him, his prying enquiry making her feel 
nauseous. Getting inside her head like that, where it was private; a 
place for her to suffer through her personal trials.
    
    "Don't worry," he continued, all friendly smiles. "A few days of 
hell, and you'll be right as rain."
    
    A few *days*! She didn't know how long withdrawal was supposed to 
take, but her first morning of proper sickness wasn't even over and she 
felt ready to keel over. She didn't know whether she could last days. 
Her insides knotted at the thought, each muscle throbbing as it did, and 
Abigail whimpered as she realised what her body was trying to do.
    
    "Abby-girl!!"
    
    Sharn mad a grab for her, but all she got was the girl's cloak as 
Abigail tipped herself out of the back of the cart, to land awkwardly on 
the dusty ground. Her shoulder and hip burst into a bloom of pain that 
spread their dull, aching agony all through her right side, but Abigail 
forced herself onto her hands and knees so that she could vomit into the 
sand.
    
    Each pull of her stomach made her cry out, and whatever fuss was 
made over her desertion was just noise behind her. In no time a pair of 
hands came to hold her shoulders and pull her braid back from her face, 
little the worse for her illness, but Abigail shrank away from them as 
she threw up. The last thing she wanted now was company. 
    
    "It's okay, Abby-girl," Sharn said as she rubbed Abigail's 
shoulders, sounding lost as to what else to do. "Kyle, have you got some 
water?"
    
    Then that friendly, invasive voice joined them. "Come one, Abby, is 
it? Get it all up."
    
    He placed a hand on her back before patting her pained stomach, and 
Abigail instantly retched again. God, if it had hurt before it was like 
torture now, her stomach and throat burning more each time they 
contracted. She started to cry as the man once again pressed on her 
stomach, its only reaction to contort once again and throw up what 
little remained inside.
    
    "Give her a break already!" Kyle objected, but the Merc remained 
undeterred.
    
    "If it doesn't happen now, it will later. Better get it out as soon 
as possible, so she only has to do it once. I know, girl," he added. He 
seemed to be trying to sound kind as Abigail sobbed through her 
discomfort, but all she wanted was to be finished. "But trust me, I've 
been there, and it's better this way. Now come one, a couple more, make 
sure you're done."

***
    
    "I have to say, I wondered why you'd be here," Hickman admitted, 
speaking to Abigail even though she had not been taking part in their 
history lesson on her lost and lamented Vault 42. "Can't say I blame you 
after that."
    
    The pain in Abigail's stomach and side had receded into a dull, 
enervating throb. After the indignity of puking her guts out Kyle had 
given her some water to re-hydrate her, though she'd just been grateful 
for something to take away the taste of bile, and he'd picked her up so 
that they could catch back up to the cart. Now she sat safely between 
him and Sharn at the back, Sharn once again holding her hand in the hope 
that it would comfort her.
    
    After far too many furtive glances and whispered comments Sharn had 
also stood up for her and told them the tale of their exploits, going 
all the way back to what she knew of Vault 42's downfall. Abigail was 
surprised how complete her knowledge was, combined with the odd addition 
from her boyfriend. The assorted Mercs and do-gooder soldiers seemed to 
put more stock into the rumours of the small, black clad and shade 
wearing vault girl warrior now, even if she was still sick and quivering 
in front of them.  
    
    Abigail certainly didn't *feel* like she was living up to the image 
she had crafted for herself, but at least she had control of her body 
again, and all the talk was a welcome distraction from her aching belly.
    
    "Why did you buy them?" she asked the apparently pleasant Merc who 
had tortured her insides, and who had at last introduced himself as 
Hickman. "If you had to suffer this, why would you want more Buffout? 
Give up your gun for them."
    
    Hickman was one of those Mercs who looked after himself, keeping his 
hair cut neatly and shaving his thin, angular jaw like Kyle did. His 
confident smile was all the more handsome for it. "There's a time and a 
place for everything, Abigail. Given what I've heard about Corva's 
problem, I don't think an extra couple of dozen bullets and a backup gun 
are going to be what keep me alive in there. In a town war like this? 
You can probably loot back half the ammo you use, and if my H-K packs 
in," he held up a sub-machine gun much like the one Abigail knew Chopper 
kept beneath her heavy coat, "then I'll pry another gun out of the 
Hearts' dead hands."
    
    He held up one of the pills, though securely so that the men either 
his of him couldn't snatch it. "This, dear though it might have been," 
he gave Sharn a knowing look, "is a surer bet. If I get pinned down, or 
God forbid I meet one of those big green S.O.B.s you lot talk about, 
I'll still be fighting. Maybe take a bullet or two, but as long as they 
don't cap me on the first shot, I'll take them down."
    
    "Heroic bastard, aren't you?" said the one other Merc woman in the 
cart, her voice contemptuous of his obvious confidence and lack of 
doubt.
    
    "You ever tried to kill a guy who's been on this?" Hickman asked in 
return. "If it's not a kill shot, it's damn near impossible to stop 
him." He lifted up his shirt, and Abigail turned away, her stomach 
churning again. The man's entire torso was a mess of scars and old, 
healed bullet wounds. Rathley's scars were bad, but nothing like this.
    
    "'Course, you've got to learn to keep your head too," he admitted. 
"That was from before I knew better, but I still got up after taking 
this lot. The Diamonds didn't." He laughed, as if it was a heroic tale 
someone else had told him. Not something he'd only just managed to 
survive. "Two rounds of buckshot and half a clip of ten mil. Cost me a 
lung, most of my liver and a put more stitches in my stomach than you'd 
ever want to see. This stuff might have been all that was keeping me 
alive while they stitched me back up. Chopper and the girl she had back 
then."
    
    "Chopper did it?" Sharn asked, surprised, and Abigail shared the 
sentiment.
    
    "In Steel Point, down south, about eight years ago? Nasty battle, 
that one. That's the problem with Buffout though: it makes you reckless 
too. Takes a while to learn how to throttle back, and by then... well."
    
    After that several of the Mercs joined in with him in boasting about 
their old wounds, though none could compare to Hickman's in blood 
curdling severity. They were all in far better physical shape for it 
than him though, and he admitted it freely. His injuries had cost him a 
lot of his stamina, and he could not take on the more energetic jobs or 
posts because they would leave him breathless.
    
    Next to him at the rear of the cart his friend and point-man Charles 
'Charlie' Winters listened to his story, and those of the others with 
patient good humour, but he did not tell any stories of his own. He was 
content to explain himself as a scout and forward pistol-man, and a 
talented one by Hickman's claims, but his key to winning a fight was not 
in collecting war wounds and anecdotes, but in making sure his enemies 
had not seen him before he had the chance to shoot them.
    
    The woman, Vas, was likewise serious and straightforward, though far 
more willing to boast. She was discomfortingly eager to relate the tales 
of her various marks and victims, and how she would surprise each one, 
killing them with the specific tool she felt best suited them. She was a 
bounty hunter first and foremost, and Abigail sincerely hoped that she 
knew there was no longer any reward for Rathley's head in Micasa. 
    
    Vas also did not exaggerate when she spoke of just how many 
different weapons she had at her disposal, and was more than willing to 
show off a few of the more rare and wicked ones. The 'Ripper' in 
particular looked horrific - a foot long single edged chainsaw, 
essentially, but crafted and weighted specifically to be swung in combat 
and powered by a micro-fusion cell of all things. Vas had a particularly 
dark look when she said it was reserved for the human monsters who 
deserved it most.
    
    Sitting at the front of the cart Simon and Trevor were brothers, 
twins in fact, both far younger than the rest of the Mercs, and perhaps 
even younger than Abigail. They had tales to tell and scars to show 
though, and for them this little war was a personal matter. They had 
been trained as caravan guards by their father in the same company, 
Simon being the head shooter with his pistol and hunting rifle, while 
Trevor had a little more muscle in his shoulders, carrying a full sized 
double barrel shotgun. It was Trevor who had also bought one of the 
Buffout pills with most of his caps, and he was grateful to talk to 
Hickman about when and how best to take the stuff. He had intended to 
ask the Merc who had first offered to take them, but that man had 
swapped carts with Kyle for this leg of the trip, apparently put out 
that Sharn had taken the initiative to sell them at the notable price 
she had.
    
    The boys had lost their father to the Hearts, as many sons of 
caravan guards did. They were bitter, and eager to take as much revenge 
as the raiders would provide targets for, but Kyle, Sharn, Hickman and 
Charlie were all on hand to talk them into a more careful state of mind 
after the pair had riled themselves up.
    
    They were good boys, Abigail had to admit, and for Mercs Hickman and 
Charles seemed much more pleasant than some she could remember. She 
hoped that they at least would be able to survive what they were walking 
into.

***
    
    The caravan made good progress, barely stopping at Micasa to recruit 
a few more men the following day, which Kyle was all the more grateful 
for. His recent falling out with his home town had left a mark on both 
of them, and their company wisely chose to put up with each other for 
those few hours rather than return to meet what friends they had there 
and risk bringing the law back down on them. He would have liked to see 
Kana, Frank, and especially Elspeth again, but while Rathley might not 
be worth any caps now, the town guards' pride was likely still shot full 
of holes where they were concerned.
    
    Though it was a distance from there to Corva, even by cart, they 
covered most of it by nightfall. The morning would see them up and on 
again, to reach the speck that was Corva just as high sun hit. That 
would be the ideal time to insert themselves back into Corva; lacking in 
shadows to cling to, but likely too hot for over-indulgent hedonists 
like the Hearts to mobilise properly against them. As long as they 
overpowered whatever welcoming committee did meet them they could 
disperse into the town to meet up with the various groups that Erin 
hoped would still be holding out.
    
    That was for tomorrow though, and the night ahead was for 
preparation and reflection. One of the Mercs had a cell powered lantern 
to give them light as they went over their weapons and ammunitions 
supplies, while the rest sat around their modest fire. Actions had to be 
checked, several guns were broken open and cleaned, and even Abigail had 
shakily gone over her .38 revolver, separating out her two options for 
ammunition, and bartered for a holster that would fit her newly acquired 
10 mil pistol. She seemed to think that the armour piercing bullets she 
had for it might be useful, though against what, Kyle didn't know. That 
she was willing to carry it ready at all surprised him, considering she 
already had the .38 in one pocket and her preferred knives in the other.
    
    Kyle had been among those who hadn't checked their weapons. He kept 
his in good order as a matter of routine, and he did not like to 
manhandle his guns without reason. Several others with him obviously 
didn't care, joking amongst themselves about the gun freaks caring for 
their little babies, but Kyle hadn't joined them in their amusement. 
Better they cleaned their neglected guns before a fight than not at all. 
    
    More interesting to him was Erin's preparations. She said little to 
them, beyond asking them to be ready to fight come sun up, and instead 
she retired away from the camp. From there she watched them in nervous 
silence, and listened.
    
    That the fight was so close was bringing out the girl's nerves, and 
not without reason. Their merchant driver also voiced his second 
thoughts, willing to fight the good fight against the Hearts, but 
reluctant to die now that death was such a near possibility. The twins, 
Trevor and Simon remained as brave and outspoken as ever next to 
professional soldiers who had since gone quiet. 
    
    One by one, fearful or not, their company turned in under the stars. 
Some were content just to lie back by the fire and sleep as they were, 
while others pitched their tents or crawled into their well used bed 
rolls. Kyle did neither, letting Sharn get to bed ahead of him. Instead 
he lay back in the cart, next to Charlie's silently dozing body, and 
continued to watch. Rathley had long since packed his sun glasses away 
in his pocket and fallen asleep in the dust, but Chopper still sat 
hunched over, staring into the fire, every now and then her gaze 
shifting to Abigail and Sharn's tent. 
    
    "Hypocrite," Kyle muttered, amused. Chopper was a practical woman, 
arrogant and sure of herself, and yet for the year that he had travelled 
with her had she ever been content when she had not been in love? Not 
just getting laid - that was Rathley's drug - but actually romancing 
either Erin or Abigail. Now her straight talking had set Abigail against 
her, and maybe with just cause, but while she could freely ignore the 
feelings of others, she could not ignore her own. 
    
    Chopper sat there, so clearly wanting to return to their tent, and 
each time forcing herself back. Was it out of her own self-defeating 
rancour with the girl, or just worry that Abigail would remain cold even 
if she did try? Either way, despite their argument Chopper *hadn't* 
fallen out of love with the girl this time, and it was coming back to 
bite her.
    
    And up in the driver's seat of Kyle's cart, Erin sat just as Chopper 
did, caught in just the same trap as the contrary woman below. 
    
    Strange how that had worked out, Kyle decided, before doing what 
Chopper clearly wanted to and joining the girls in their tent for the 
night.

***
    
    "Okay, now these two wires here, what are they?"
    
    Abigail looked over the water filtration mechanics that the wires 
ran from. The machine's back was a mess of unlabeled switches, dials and 
valves, its circuit boards hidden away in their tight little access 
pipe.
    
    "Water pressure and overflow controls?"
    
    Next to her Marcus smiled. It was difficult to see his face, and not 
just because they were working by flash-light. She just couldn't seem to 
see it clearly. Maybe she needed glasses. But even so, it was a 
familiar, safe face that smiled at her.
    
    Or maybe she was starting to forget what he'd looked like.
    
    "Got it in one, Jinx. See how they're fused at the water chip 
contact? No wonder we're getting impure water coming through. This whole 
board needs checking every month at least. If we don't clean it up this 
kind of thing will burn out the chip. Maybe replace the overflow wire 
and connectors while we're at it. This is the third time it's gone this 
year."
    
    It was strange how clear his voice was, kind but authoritative, when 
his features seemed so vague. The pipe too, it was familiar in its 
confines, but surely it was too bare for being behind the water 
processing units.
    
    She could still find her way around the circuit board though, and 
soon enough they were done for the day.
    
    "So, what do you have planned tonight?" Marcus asked, sounding 
genuinely interested. "Not another vote down at the cinema, I assume."
    
    Abigail laughed. They had done that far too much recently, even if 
they had got their way as often as not. "No, Alice wants to go down to 
the library, and she's put up with our film-fest for long enough!"
    
    "Now there's a girl you should be emulating," Marcus said in 
approval. "That night owl Gillian is a bad influence on you."
    
    Abigail disagreed. Gillian was different. Special. Maybe one day she 
would tell her as much, but not today. Today was book day, though only 
two of them would have actual print and paper books in their hands.
    
    Much of Vault 42s library was electronic, with large chunky consoles 
lining the walls, and each isle dotted with electronic reading screens. 
Dee had a real book in her hands, her chubby face as bland and faded as 
Marcus', and her voice faint and nondescript, but her laugh... oh that 
laugh was clear, ringing like music through the library as she squealed 
over her romance novel. Jaqueline had read that book before, and smiled 
in knowing amusement. It was a clear smile. Abigail had always liked 
Jaqueline's lips. She was not really all that pretty, but she remembered 
those well shaped lips, and the gentle words that would come from them. 
"Oh, has the Count made his move then?"
    
    "Yes! Haha! It's *gorgeous*."
    
    Karen and Patricia were staring at the screen readers, making their 
own observations as they went. Abigail joined them. Those two weren't so 
keen on the library, but when they went they were their own little two-
girl book club. Or three girl, in this case.
    
    It was sad, but it seemed that Karen had nearly gone. She had always 
been the quietest of them, but Abigail couldn't make out what her voice 
sounded like now, or the colour of her eyes, or the shape of her simple 
hair. She just knew that she was there.
    
    Patricia was clearer, but was now something of a caricature; all 
outspoken views and long term plans, and gossip about the strong, 
masculine men on security team.
    
    Abigail joined them though, because they were friends, and it was a 
good book that they were reading. The other two in Abigail's tomboy sub 
division had more important - and as Dee put it, dull - things to read. 
Alice had been after a read of some old surface law drama for weeks, the 
hefty volume file still only half finished, while Gillian was studying. 
She had time before her own tech shift to swat up on her fusion 
conduction mechanics. She was going into the reactor rooms today.
    
    But God, the two of them; still so clear and vibrant in front of her 
dreaming mind. The clear, brilliant eyes that let slip Alice's 
intelligence behind her short hair and pleasant demeanour, and the 
knowing, crafty smirk that never quite left Gillian's lips. Abigail 
might no longer be able to find where the library kept its real print 
books, or just how many screens there were to an aisle, but Alice and 
Gillian were still there in every little detail and mannerism. 
    
    "Say, Abigail? Do you think Connor is really as evil as he's made 
out to be?"
    
    Abigail was brought back to her book, and for that one moment she 
could hear Karen's voice. That sweet, guileless, ever hopeful voice, and 
though she might have forgotten the girl's eyes, at least she still had 
this much left of her dear, missing friend. 

***
    
    Waking from that blissful dream to cold, bright reality made 
Abigail's head reel and her stomach turn. The tracks of happy, 
unconscious tears chilled her cheeks. She rubbed her eyes on the sleeve 
of her jumpsuit, and even that little movement was weak and painfully 
stiff. 
    
    But, she thought as she reached for her glasses, what did it matter 
now? She knew what awaited her if she tried to eat, and her wretched 
sickness seemed only to be getting worse before it got better. At least 
she could enjoy lying down, not having to move for a little longer.
    
    Her bitterness was not reserved just for her self-pity though. In 
the last few days she had not been the only one bartering away drugs, 
and observing them all exchanging stimpaks, pills or performance 
enhancing syringes, it made her past addiction seem all the more 
wasteful. Caps were a widely fluctuating currency she was still figuring 
out, even after months of using them, but thinking of the small fortune 
she had eaten in Buffout over those past weeks was horrifying. That one 
band of Hearts she had scavenged them from had provided her more money 
in drugs than any of the others had looted in arms and armour - they had 
probably doubled her already notable worth in bottle caps. She had not 
told any of the Mercs just how many she had found, but she got the 
impression that a haul like hers, almost two dozen tabs in one go, was a 
rich find indeed.
    
    Even the power and confidence they had given her hadn't been worth 
throwing away so much money. She might even have been able to buy Sharn 
that sniper's rifle she had asked about from the late Mayor Golway.
    
    Once again, did it matter now though? She couldn't undo her mistake. 
She just had to live with it, however unpleasant that might be. She 
needed to rise above her self-pity, or else what would her parents, 
Gillian and the rest of them think?
    
    She staggered to her feet with a groan and dressed herself as best 
she could. She was beginning to see how Sharn could venerate the ghosts 
of her ancestors. There was a certain emotional logic to it after a 
dream like that.

***
    
    If she was tired and drawn from the last week's trials, she was not 
the only one. She had managed to pack her things and make it to their 
cart, but that was all she was capable of before she collapsed in the 
back, and overhearing the driver talk it seemed their animals were not 
faring much better.
    
    "I know we need to get there quickly," the man told an anxious Erin, 
"but my brahmin have just made a five day caravan trip in little over 
two and a half. They are exhausted, and there wasn't much scrub for them 
to eat last night either."
    
    "They're brahmin," Erin argued. "They'll be fine."
    
    "Of course they will! But they'll only be able to take us a fast as 
they can. Ask Higgs," he said, pointing to Erin's own hired driver. 
"He'll tell you the same."
    
    Off to the side Kyle had cornered Chopper, and while Abigail's body 
had returned to its old, useless state, her ears were still good.
    
    "Chopper, come on, at least take a look at her. She can barely walk 
on her own."
    
    A pause, before the answer. A surprisingly plain answer.
    
    "Just make sure she drinks plenty. There's nothing else to do."
    
    By the time everyone was loaded up Erin had conceded defeat, and 
their packed two-cart convoy got underway at the best speed its beasts 
of burden to comfortably manage.
    
    "Abby-girl, you did have something to eat, right?"
    
    Abigail smiled up at Sharn from where she sat slumped beside her. As 
the morning was wearing on she was finding it harder to sit up against 
the rumbling of the cart, and her breathing was laboured because of it.
    
    "I did," she sighed, grateful for Sharn's concern but wishing the 
kind woman wouldn't worry quite so much. It made her far too attractive. 
"I had some water, and a bit of bread. Hopefully that will stay down."
    
    Opposite her Charles spoke to Sharn and Kyle, though not quietly 
enough to avoid her ears. "She's in no state to fight. You know that 
right?"
    
    Hickman agreed. "She won't be recovering before we get into the 
town."
    
    Abigail groaned, using what little energy she had to sit up again. 
She soon wished she hadn't, her limbs and back complaining almost 
instantly, but she put her hand into her jacket pocket to pull out one 
of her knives. She held it out in front of them, as if to throw it, but 
her hand was trembling far too much to steady on its own. 
    
    She let the hand drop, and slumped against Sharn's side, her 
breathing heavy again. "I guess you might be right. After all," she 
admitted, giving Kyle a tired, self-deprecating smile, "I can hardly 
walk on my own."
    
    Kyle shared the smile, but there was more pity than humour behind 
it. Pity for little fallen Abigail.
    
    "Sharn? Do you mind if I take a nap?" Abigail asked finally. "I'm so 
tired."
    
    It was only physical, but maybe she would be fit for something in 
Corva if she rested on the way there. Even if all she could manage was 
getting off the cart and finding a safe place to hide, that was better 
than being carried from it.
    
    Sharn hesitated, perhaps wondering along similar lines, before she 
agreed. "Sure, Abby-girl. I'll wake you before we get there."
    
    "Thanks, Sharn. I promise I won't slow you down."
    
    "Of course not. Just get some more rest."

***
    
    "Abby-girl. Abby-girl, time to get up."
    
    Sharn's every instinct wanted not to wake the sick, sleeping girl 
who lay curled up with her head in her lap. Abigail needed the rest, and 
not one of Sharn's long dead ancestors would have advised her otherwise.
    
    The problem was that time was not on their side, and this was one 
cart-drawn arrival that the girl could not afford to sleep through.
    
    "We're here," she soothed, as Abigail looked up at her with dull, 
bloodshot eyes. It was perhaps unkind to ask, but Sharn had to, if only 
to give voice to her painful concern. "Are you feeling any better?"
    
    Abigail swallowed, as if tasting something unpleasant. "Uh, a 
little, I think."
    
    Sharn looked over to her beloved, who offered Abigail their flask of 
water. "Here."
    
    Thankfully Abigail did not refuse and took a few gentle sips. Sharn 
thought Abigail had been looking very sheepish and timid since the whole 
Buffout ordeal had come to light - not her normal vibrant self at all, 
or even her more recent closed off but still capable self - and it was 
nice to see her accepting the help now.
    
    The voice that soon followed didn't sound like the Abigail that 
Sharn had been such fast friends with though. Not the brave, reckless, 
naive girl who had picked herself out of the irradiated dirt and become 
a wastelander.
    
    "Is that Corva?"
    
    Yes, it was. Not the wide caravan entrance, but the northern side, 
where the poorer homes and ghoul quarter lay. It looked as though 
nothing had happened there, but smoke rose from fires deeper in, 
hopefully small and isolated, and the guard tower furthest from them on 
the south side had been annihilated. Only the bare wooden supports of it 
remained.
    
    "Yes, that's my town," Erin said in a trembling voice from the front 
of the cart. "It looks better from this side."
    
    "They wrecked the south side?"
    
    Sharn started to pay attention as they conversation turned to 
matters that would be more useful to their insurgency.
    
    "Some of it. Half of them came through there. We knew they were 
coming, more than we could handle before they got inside, but they had 
explosives. They left the east tower intact, but destroyed most of Main 
Street once they were past it. Just for the fucking sake of it." The 
curse that flew from Erin's proper lips stung like Radscorpion venom. 
    
    "They destroyed the stalls, or the buildings too?" Sharn asked. It 
looked intact enough from where they were, but if they were to be 
fighting in wreckage then she would need to know. Being able to shoot 
from a building made for a different fight to skirmishing among ruins. 
She had already saved Erin from the Diamonds from the safety of a 
rooftop once, and being able to set up attacks such as that made for a 
quicker, cleaner fight.
    
    "Both," Erin rasped, the reasons behind the question evidently lost 
on her. "They beat the traders and shot the guards, and smiled as they 
wasted their bombs on the Main Line Inn."
    
    "What about the rest of the town?" asked Hickman, his mind obviously 
working the same way as Sharn's. "How much of it will they have razed?"
    
    Erin groaned, evidently not wanting to think in those terms. "I 
don't know. Not much. It can't have been much, beyond Main Street. That 
man, Jackhammer," she spat out his name like another piece of poisonous 
refuse, "he told me he was taking the town, so why destroy it? And how 
many explosives can they have? I don't know how they did it, but it 
would take more than one of Stephanie's grenades to level a building 
like the Main Line.
    
    "But they could," Vas noted, her interest in the raiders' methods 
seeming almost academic. "That can't be cheap."
    
    "And the mutants will have heavy weapons," Kyle added. He put the 
Heart's secret weapons into a wastelander's perspective. "Our one had 
Brotherhood level firepower, and could still use it after a rifle shot 
to the skull."
    
    Sharn was brought back to her more personal worries as Abigail 
straightened and coughed. "Abby?"
    
    "The Super Mutants," she volunteered, "maybe... They used explosives 
when they broke into my vault."
    
    "So maybe they supplied the raiders," Simon surmised, while his 
brother had slightly different theory.
    
    "Or they might be the only ones using them. The ones at your vault 
were carrying all their own supplies, right?"
    
    Kyle spoke up again, less concerned with the details and more the 
larger picture. "Either way, they have them. We'll find out soon enough 
whether these two Super Mutants could supply the Hearts' combined 
numbers."
    
    He elaborated, if only for Abigail's benefit, and those few who had 
not had to deal with the Hearts before. "They are *not* usually that 
well armed, so hopefully we can start dealing with them properly before 
they realise what's going on and get their act together. If they have 
been equipped by the Super Mutants, then we need to *see* how, before we 
can make proper plans."
    
    Indeed, there was not a raider in sight, and Sharn was impressed at 
the lack of raider reception as they moved in past the first houses. The 
two carts were taking separate routes in, to meet up with different 
groups Erin expect to have come together, and in known defensible 
positions in the town. It was not a situation that had been planned for 
in detail, but many major names and regular mercenaries in the town knew 
what they would do if it ever came to this, as did Erin. The raiders' 
inability or unwillingness to meet them with guns drawn now either meant 
that their high-noon plan had paid off, or that the Hearts had become 
complacent in these last two weeks. She had noticed that there had been 
no-one in the still standing watchtower at their north end of the town, 
only at the main entrance on the east side.
    
    A gunshot rang out from across the town, followed by three more in 
concert. Though it made them start, at least it proved that someone was 
still resisting, and Sharn hoped that whoever it was had been 
successful. 
    
    Either that or it was one of the Hearts having a bad Psycho trip. 
They were known for that sort of thing.
    
    "There is a private warehouse up ahead," Erin explained, when she 
was asked as to their cart's plan. "It's as big underground as it is 
above. The men that own it store building materials there, to shore up 
or expand this district. They could also hide fifty people down there, 
and supplies for them, if they didn't want to evacuate. If I already 
have a worker's army, this is where they will be."

***
    
    There was no living army to meet them. Abigail did not venture from 
the cart to see it, instead content to watch for trouble as best she 
could outside, but what they described upon their return was the same 
image that had been burned into Abigail's mind for over a month. The 
dreams had subsided, and the gory memories been replaced by their 
subsequent battles and hardships, but the carnage wrought by a minigun 
was still an image that leapt into her mind all too quickly.
    
    Many men *had* tried to make a stand, and organise themselves 
against the Hearts. It had just been done and discovered too soon for it 
to help Erin. The girl had come out in tears, but it was still her who 
the rest looked to for direction.
    
    "We... we try the pump house. And the rat sheds, and Marge's. Some 
of them must have survived, even if they had to surrender!"
    
    The pump house was better, thankfully, but only in being so barren. 
Being the only place to get water in the town besides the frequent water 
traders it had been wishful thinking that Erin's armed friends might 
have held it. It was too important in a crisis, and too close to the 
market street, but anyone who had died for it had been taken away 
already. Being high sun there was no-one there standing guard, and the 
Mercs could search the place without worry.
    
    "Should we stop here then, and hold this house?" Vas asked. "If 
they'll have to come down here anyway, we can pick them off as they 
arrive. Quietly."
    
    "A good plan," the merchant driver said, "until they cotton onto us. 
There's no way out if they do."
    
    "And there's nothing but machinery inside for cover," Charlie added. 
"We should definitely use it for an ambush, but unless we fortify it 
ourselves this is nowhere to make camp. Batter we find people than a 
place right now."
    
    However, while they debated inside Abigail sat hidden behind the low 
wall of the cart, in the fortunate position to see one lonely soul who 
had braved the midday sun for the sake of water for his bucket. And he 
did not walk well, but had the stiff stagger of a ghoul.
    
    "Nigel?" Abigail asked, slipping from the cart and staggering out 
herself to meet him, forgetting her danger for the moment. "Nigel, 
you're still here?"
    
    "Eh?" The old ghoul asked as she approached. "Here? Why wouldn'ts I 
be here? This is my home, girl. What're *you* doin' abouts here though?"
    
    Abigail blinked, her sudden wave of rare enthusiasm ebbing. He 
didn't seem to remember her. "Nigel? It's me, Abigail."
    
    "Abigail?" Then his unfocused eyes widened in recognition. "Oh! 
Abigail! Christian's old friend, eh? Yes, yes, I remembers you, girl. We 
went rat watchin' together. That was a good fight though, wasn't it? 
That grizzle grump Rathley still gots good moves."
    
    Then he peered closer at her, and his patchy, greenish eyebrows 
curled in a frown. "But say, you don't looks so pink skinned as I 
remember you, girl. Them Hearts ain't done you no harm, I hopes?"
    
    Abigail felt like crying again, and for the first time in a while it 
was in gratitude, that this absent minded old man had remembered her 
after all. She reached forward to grasp him in a hug, ignoring his 
pungent odour and probably putting more weight on him than his rotted 
bones needed, just glad to see a friendly face in the seemingly deserted 
town.
    
    "Easy now girl, careful there. Don't go gettin' tangled up in me 
bits and bobs. Bad enough those God awful raiders gone and put a bullet 
in me ribs last week. Never gettin' that bit back."
    
    "Oh God, Nigel! You were shot!?"
    
    Her appalled sympathy just seemed to amuse him. "Oh, it takes more'n 
a bullet to puts us down these days, girl. Don't you worry your head 
none. But hadn't you left? What's you doin' back already, and with all 
this trouble to boot."
    
    Now the rest of the Mercs had filtered back out of the pump station, 
and Sharn, Kyle and Erin had all come running over to see the wandering 
ghoul.
    
    "We came to help," Abigail explained. "Because of the raiders. But 
what about Christian, and Celia? Are they okay?"
    
    "And where are the survivors?" Erin asked, urgency thick in her 
voice, "Are there still people fighting the Hearts? What parts of town 
are still safe to hide in?"
    
    Nigel blinked at her, obviously recognising her. "Oh, well, here's 
as safe a any place, Miss Erin. Most of the peoples this side have gone, 
fled for the fightin', but them raiders don't bother us deaders. Gots 
better things to do, I'd guess."
    
    Then he bowed respectfully, a gesture unlike any Abigail had seen 
before in the wasteland. "I'm sorry about your Pa, Miss Erin. We heards 
what happened, and it weren't right. You wants me to takes you to the 
rest of us? We gots some more pink skins with us too, who didn't go."
    
    Erin nodded, finally looking a little more relieved. "Yes, please 
do."
    
    Abigail beamed through her fatigue. "Thank you, Nigel."
    
    Nigel just beamed back. "Think nothin' of it, girls. Now, just lets 
me fill this here bucket, and I'll be takin' you."

***
    
    "Habigail! What are yhou dhoing back soh soon?"
    
    Abigail felt Celia freeze as she ignored the question and staggered 
into another embrace so soon after she had hugged Christian. "Celia! I'm 
so sorry!"
    
    Celia's sudden tension seemed to lift when Abigail hadn't recoiled 
back, and she stroked at Abigail's hair with her single hand, torn lips 
twisting into a soft smile. "Sohrry? Habigail, why sohrry?"
    
    Abigail wept into Celia's shoulder at the memories. "I read your 
diaries."
    
    "Oh. Do not whorry, Habigail. Those mhemories hold no swhay over me 
nhow."
    
    Behind them Christian was greeting the others at the entrance of the 
Seven Feet Under clubhouse, friendly and affable as always, though 
mellowed by Erin's arrival. "Yeah, we've some people here," he told 
them. "They that didn' wan' to go into tha' desert. I's easy enough to 
hide 'em. I'd say we'd wan' to help an' all, but I don' know how much 
good a bunch of us ol' wrecks'd do to be helpin' ya'."
    
    Erin was obviously uncomfortable around the ghouls that by contrast 
Abigail felt so close to, but the girl remained composed. "That's okay, 
uh, Christian. If you could keep some of us in here, and the rest around 
the ghoul quarter. I don't know how many yet, but at least twenty five. 
We need a safe place to make our plans."
    
    "Surely, tha'd be no problem, Miss Erin. 'slong as you don' mind it 
bein' a few ol' ghoul houses, you can be usin' our club'ouse for your 
plannin'. The Hearts, the don' care so much where we go, so we can be 
tellin' you what you need to be knowin', iffn your frien's here can' be 
goin' about to look."
    
    "That... that's the first good news we've had today," Erin admitted 
with a sigh. "Please, put up those of us here, and I will bring the 
rest. I know the places they would go. If Mr Hickman and Mr Winters 
would accompany me?"
    
    Hickman and Charlie did so, glad that Erin had at least wanted a 
guard in case they came across their enemy, and they left the others to 
bring the ghouls and their human residents up to speed.
    
    Most of the ghouls Abigail actually didn't know by name, she had 
only socialised with Christian's small circle, and their human guests 
she likewise hadn't met, bar one.
    
    "Kirren?"
    
    Abigail remembered her all too clearly. Her green mohawk had half 
grown out, now trailing down her back instead of standing upright, and 
she did not wear her tough green armour, but Abigail could not forget 
that pierced face with its intelligent eyes, dulled by loss. Celia sat 
next to the Merc woman, and Abigail could see why Celia might have 
wanted to befriend her. Celia had made a great effort to be friends with 
Abigail when they had first met, going as far as to gift her with her 
past PipBoy diaries and maps so that she might cope better. For Kirren 
it was more simple; they both had lost an arm. Kirren her left, and 
Celia her right.
    
    "Abigail," Kirren greeted, evidently remembering her just as well. 
"You don't look like you've had it good since you left."
    
    Abigail shuddered, knowing how bad she must have seemed, because 
even despite this happy reunion she surely felt it. "Yeah. I made 
some... bad decisions. You're looking better though."
    
    Kirren might have been quiet and more taciturn still, but behind the 
resigned darkness in her eyes there was a new fire to her. Though she 
was not armoured, a new weapon sat at her hip, and Kirren noticed the 
look.
    
    "That Steph, she can make a good gun." Kirrn picked up the tall, 
squared pistol to show it off. "She had it when she came along with us, 
remember?"
    
    Abigail nodded. It was a rifle, cut down, re-balanced and re-fitted 
to be wielded as a pistol, while still retaining a surprising amount of 
its power and accuracy in the face of the dramatic modifications. "Her 
point 233 pistol, isn't it?" She allowed a small smile at Kirren's 
surprised expression. "Actually, I think it suits you."
    
    "Yeah. It does."
    
    "Ol' Kirr'n here been keepin' low, but she an' her frien's are what 
Miss Erin be wantin'," Christian said as he finally ambled over to join 
them. "She wen' and took on the Hearts when they first showe' up, and 
damn if she didn' throw a fit an' kill two of 'em on tha' first fightin' 
day. Shame there was so many of 'em or you'd've given 'em a secon' 
thinkin' about it, wouldn' ya girl? Still, better safe now than hasty 
an' dead back then, eh? Got a secon' chance to be showin' us, right?"
    
    Kirren nodded, deadly serious. "Damn right I have. Though you don't 
look fit to fight, Abigail."
    
    Abigail Sighed. It was the truth, but, "I'll be fine."
    
    "Come, Habigail, plhease tell us, what has happened?" Celia motioned 
for her to join them on the couch. For anyone else Abigail would have 
made her excuses, but for Celia, who had suffered so much herself and 
still been willing to share her life's closest thoughts for Abigail's 
sake, there was little way she could remain quiet.
    
    "Yeah, it don' feel good, Abby," Christian insisted, in her moment 
of hesitation. "Seein' ya' so pale and shakin', like the ol' hands."
    
    He raised his own slightly unsteady fingers, and cracked her a five-
toothed grin. "If ya' be willin' to tell."
    
    Though the thought of recounting the last month herself was 
daunting, baring her foolishness alongside their varied exploits, she 
could not refuse friends like them.

***
    
    Chopper looked about the small room that had once belonged to a 
ghoul, now two weeks in the grave. Properly dead this time. It was 
relatively normal, if spartan, as she had expected. For ones who had 
lived so long, and forgotten so much, they had few homely needs to make 
themselves comfortable. A single bed, an old wardrobe patterned with the 
legacy of some long forgotten fire, and dry, crumpled clothing that 
would never again be worn, and probably shouldn't have been for some 
years.
    
    It served their needs, and Chopper wouldn't complain. A real bed, 
even as it was, would be preferable to a wary night in the back of their 
hidden cart.
    
    She had to commend Erin for the arrangements the girl had made. Erin 
had no love for the ghouls of her town. Certainly not the open tolerance 
that her father had been gifted with in spite of the trouble they drew. 
However, she had seen the chance to make much needed allies and take 
hold of a base for themselves, and snatched both in one fell swoop. A 
show of good judgement on her side.
    
    That did not mean that she appreciated the girl now stepping into 
her room, and closing the door behind her. 
    
    "Erin." It was a neutral greeting, and as good as the girl would get 
from her. Chopper was tired, frustrated, and her patience for the girl's 
doomed obsession had long worn thin.
    
    "I hope you will forgive me," Erin said as she stepped inside, 
affecting an air of casual conversation in the small, intimate space. 
"There is limited room in the homes the ghouls have provided, and if I 
must sleep in close company with any one, I would have it be with you."
    
    "Erin, I am in no mood for you now."
    
    Erin obviously agreed. "No, you have not been in the mood for anyone 
recently. You have not joined me or your friends on our journey, and you 
did not entertain Rathley's comments, so I hear."
    
    "Checking up on me then?" It was disturbing, the way Erin would 
always be there, and always be informed. It spoke well of her burgeoning 
skill as a politico and town leader, but less well as a trustworthy 
human being. 
    
    "Has there ever been a time I have not?" An honest reply. Far more 
welcome than any excuse. "Believe it or not, Marie, I gave your Abigail 
ample chance to be put with you. Instead she took a bed to herself, her 
good friends sleeping in their bedding on her floor."
    
    Erin had always been a receptive girl, sensitive to the mood of the 
scene and behaving in kind as needed, but now she chose to play to her 
own tune, and lay down her pack and prepared for bed regardless of 
Chopper's inclinations.
    
    "I am surprised you still look her way," Erin said, her words 
intentionally sharp edged. "If I am not up to your standards, then she 
has long since fallen below them."
    
    Chopper's retort was ready without a moment's thought or 
preparation. "And you are pleased with your new ghoul friends, I see. 
They seem to have served you well, in place of most others."
    
    Chopper felt a guilty glimmer of satisfaction as Erin paused, 
clearly stung by the remark. It was true enough, fewer than twenty 
townsmen and mercenaries had been found in the town that day, and most 
by the group Chopper had searched with. It was a far cry from the 
numbers Erin had hoped for. Whether they were dead or long departed 
didn't matter, one was just as damaging to their objective as the other.
    
    "Is there any more I could have done?"
    
    No, but that was no excuse for the weak, helpless look that grew on 
Erin's face. Stand up for yourself, damn it girl. Spit back some support 
for these people. Some fire. Look at what you *do* have! She could no 
longer be the damsel and expect to be rescued from her distress.
    
    But no. Erin stood there, half out of her cloak, standing to be 
judged. There was nothing more that she could say to defend herself, so 
she did not bother. Instead she let the insult lie, and bared herself 
once again to the woman she loved, both in word and deed.
    
    Chopper looked away as Erin's clothes were discarded. "Bloody hell."
    
    "If the girl you dote on will not take you to bed, then I won't 
leave you to sleep alone, Marie. Tell me the truth. Do you really love 
her, even looking like that?"
    
    "No. But I would, if I thought she would welcome it once she has 
suffered for her idiocy."
    
    Erin, naked as she day she was born, stood still awaiting judgement. 
"So, you would take her even after the drugs, and the grief she caused 
you?"
    
    The answer was not simple. It defied Chopper's own self imposed 
criteria, but it would all depend on Abigail now. She had spirit, a will 
to carry on regardless, somewhere beneath the weakened mess that was the 
girl she had adored. She was willing to hold her gun, even now. "She 
will have to survive it first. But if not, then she was worth it."
    
    Erin was defeated. Her petit body sagged under the knowledge, and 
she raised her arms a little, hoping for some faint affirmation of the 
feelings that she hoped Chopper had once held for her. "Chopper? Was I 
worth it?"
    
    Chopper stared at her, vulnerable and insecure, even though she had 
an army of fifty men at her command. Could the bright young woman she 
had once seduced, who had been so willing to learn and to experiment 
with her, be the same one who let her confidence hang on one reply from 
a love that had long since left her?
    
    "No. I had expected more from you, Erin. It was a good time, I won't 
deny it. You were an amazing lover, but you were always content to be 
nothing more that you were, and you made your choices. I won't sit back 
and coddle you while you run your town. If you reclaim it." It was sad, 
that she had to repeat this again. The girl should have moved on a year 
ago.
    
    It was hard to watch her cry. Erin had a strength of her own; one 
that had gathered these men together, and that had been willing to be 
both dominant and submissive in private, as their moods chose. Those 
tears pull at Chopper's emotions, but they undermined the woman they 
flowed from.
    
    "Then... that is that. I was never enough."
    
    Bullshit. "You were enough for me. But not for yourself. You were 
too eager to be dependant on everyone else, even when you so wanted to 
stand up yourself in this town of yours."
    
    "That's enough." Erin didn't bother to cover herself, but she had 
let all pretence of desirability and seduction drop. She could not 
compete with Chopper at her own game. "I did mean something to you. 
Once."
    
    "Yes. You did. Something significant."
    
    "Then let me touch you, one last time. That's what you showed me. 
How to touch. I don't need anything in return, but you taught me how to 
enjoy that; touching someone else. Showing how you love them. I still 
love you, and your Abigail doesn't."
    
    Erin stepped over to her, her flat, bare stomach in line with 
Chopper's gaze from her seat on the bed. "If this is the last chance I 
get... We will be fighting tomorrow, and I will have other concerns to 
keep me away. And afterwards, I cannot see you staying. I don't think 
you or Rathley would be disposed to rebuilding work."
    
    Chopper looked up at Erin's pleading face, a face she had once 
adored like many others, but more than unique enough in it's own right. 
Adventurous, ambitious, and eager. It had taken a long time to see that 
those traits were acted upon only in their evenings together. 
    
    Abigail was gone, for good reason, and who knew if she would ever 
return? Chopper had felt herself deteriorate these last three days, and 
her desires were only making her more and more unsettled. Right now, 
with so much at stake in only one night's time, it was better that 
neither of them were miserable than both.
    
    She stood, and watched Erin's eyes soften as she pulled her shirt 
over her head. "You can have your night, and you won't be performing 
alone. But once the sun rises we will smile, put on our clothes, and 
that will be the end of it. We can still finish this on good terms."
    
    Chopper was glad when Erin nodded, stepping in to hold her tightly. 
The girl's arms were stronger that Chopper remembered, and she returned 
the embrace in kind. She did not know whether Erin's tears were born of 
grief or gratitude, but she was determined that whatever happened they 
would be the former before the night was out.
    
    And consequence be damned.
    
***

To be continued...

***

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