Post by Roger Stone on Mar 14, 2013 15:56:58 GMT -6
Dare You to Move
By Roger Stone
Chapter One:
But For a Moment's Pause
[4:02 PM, August 22nd 2077, Minefield House]
Gabe carefully pushed the door open, waiting for that abhorrent beeping click that would signal he needed to yank the entryway closed if he wanted to live. It was a sound to which he had been exposed only a few scant hours ago, yet one that he was already intimately familiar with. It was a sound that thankfully did not come.
“Thank the Overseer for small miracles,” Gabe muttered to himself, limping as quietly as he could into the dilapidated dwelling. After closing the door behind him quickly, he turned around to see that the house had greeted him with a strange sight. At the end of the short foyer, sitting at the foot of a small table rests a teddy bear. Gabe's eyes, however, were more immediately drawn to what its tiny stuffed arms were wrapped around- a precious, life saving stimpack. The pain radiating from the small piece of shrapnel embedded in the back of his left calf urged him to rush forward to pick it up. He had plenty of surgical supplies; all Gabe needed was that stimpack to get his leg back in working order. Well, not exactly, but enough to be able to at least walk at full speed again. He wanted to get out of here, but he couldn't risk crossing all that open terrain with a bum leg. He'd be easy pickings if there were any more snipers out there.
He had already taken a few painful steps forward before something stopped him- a gut feeling, something that people had once described as having the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He caught himself just before obliviously passing in front of the door-less doorway leading to the rest of the house. A chill ran down his spine as he envisioned the raider waiting in the other room, shotgun leveled at the entryway to give a warm welcome for whoever had so foolishly shut the front door in such a loud hurry. Or maybe another crazed survivor like that insane old sniper with the collar around his neck, waiting to kill Gabe to avenge his friend and take back that old timer's rifle. Or-
Get a hold of yourself! Amata and Bryan are waiting for you to get back, and if you get your stupid ass hurt or worse then she'll probably wind up coming into this death trap to find you. So be careful!
Forcing his shaking hands to steady, Gabriel Williams drew his silenced N99 10mm pistol. He ejected the clip as quietly as he could and checked to make certain it was adequately filled. Six shots should be enough. Reloading is too noisy- as if they didn't already know I was here. He sunk into a crouch against the left wall, unable to fully suppress the involuntary groan of pain as his shrapnel wound protested the strain.
So much for keeping quiet. God that little bastard hurts. One shot of morphine couldn't hurt, could it? He could practically hear Amata berating him for the thought- if he got started up on that again, there'd be no Doc Church out here to clean him up. But if the distraction of pain got him killed... No, even if it saved him now, the withdraws could cause them all to meet their end. Even once he turned into a drooling, twitchy wreck, Gabe knew they wouldn't leave him behind. They would allow themselves to be burdened with him and likely die because of it. So grit your teeth and power through it.
Gabe slid along the wall, acutely aware as the rogue shard of twisted metal dug and tore at the muscles in his leg. Maybe deciding to leave it in wasn't such a good idea. Bleeding all over the place is starting to sound like a good idea right now. Finally reaching the doorway, he steeled himself and poked his head around the corner as low as he could.
No shotgun was leveled at him, nor was there any revenge-seeking old-guy friend. But there was, however, a raider- Gabe could tell by the look of his thrown together armor. The bandit was lying on his side with his cheek against the filthy carpeting, staring towards the door with one empty eye. His other was about a foot away from the rest of him, along with the missing part of the left side of his face. The corpse was fresh- the flies hadn't even closed in yet. Maybe an hour at most. This man had died since Gabe had arrived here in Minefield. But whoever killed him was still here- Gabe could see that the Raider still had his ammo on him. In a way, this was worse than the raider having simply been alive. Now there was an unknown threat here in the house, and judging from the shape that the raider's head was in, they had a shotgun. And in these cramped quarters, one good hit would put Gabe down for the count. Gabe quickly scanned the rest of the room- it once seemed to have been a living area. There were some chairs in a nook to the left, a shelf filled with nick-naks against the far wall, and to the right were a narrow set of stairs leading to the second floor. But no shotgun killer.
Gabe pulled back around the corner, glancing back to the First-Aid Teddy set up, almost having forgotten it was there. He caught a glimpse of something that really caused a spike of adrenaline. From underneath one of the teddy bear's arms came a small, stolid red light. Gabe knew very well what this was by now, and knowing caused him to freeze. Someone had hidden a landmine behind the bear, using the stimpack as bait. This house was trapped...
….And if I hadn't stopped to check that doorway, I'd be an unrecognizable corpse right now. Gabe shook his head. Disarm it, grab the stim, and get back to Amata. Easy. You've done it at least twenty times on the way over here. He tried not to think of how he had only managed to get about a dozen or so of those in his pack. At least the weren't too accurate out in the open- so long as you weren't right on top of them of course. But in this enclosed space...
Gabe pushed those thoughts away. He had to. He needed his hands steady if he wanted any hope of disarming this last mine. His mind once more strayed to that last syringe he'd hidden in the bottom of his pack. Amata had sold the rest, and this would probably qualify as that emergency he was saving it for. He found himself reaching into his pack without thinking, when he heard something coming from upstairs. Something that sounded like a young girl crying. Upon realizing what he was holding, he quickly let the syringe drop back into its small pocket and moved just inside the living room, pistol at the ready. After giving the room a quick sweep, he leveled the gun towards the top of the stairs. It felt pitifully small and inadequate in his hands- a small pop gun verses a bloody shotgun.
It's probably just one of those devilish baby carriage bombs, like the one I almost lost Amata to. If she were here now, I've got no doubt she'd want to go investigate regardless. She's too kind to be out here- I never should have convinced her to leave the vault with me.. The small box he had picked up from the house across the street suddenly felt very heavy in his pocket.
With a frustrated sigh, he hurriedly put the pistol away and moved back to the hallway as quickly as he could manage. He deftly kicked the first-aid bear out of the way with his good leg and bent down to deal with the mine, disarming it with a few confident motions even as it gave off its deadly warning. He scooped up the stimpack and disarmed explosive without a second thought. It had suddenly become a simple chore- he now had more important things to do. Drawing his pistol, he limped back into the living room.
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[4:07 PM, August 22nd 2077, Billboard outside Minefield]
“He's got ten minutes and then I'm going in after him.”
“He said he'd be back...”
“I know, but.. I'm going to go check on him. I'm sure he's fine.”
“Don't you leave me here too, please?.. I don't want to be alone again..”
“You won't be for long- we'd both be right back. Besides, Dogmeat would keep you company.”
“Woof!”
“Please don't go.”
“Well, I won't have to if he'd just get back here. Don't worry, Bryan, everything's going to be fine.”
“That's what Dad said...”
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[4:04 PM, August 22nd 2077, Minefield Trapped House]
The raider had fallen victim to one of his own traps somehow. Tripped a tripwire and the shotgun hidden around the side of the stairs had blown half of his face off. Well, that takes care of that problem, but it would be stupid not to clear the rest of the house before checking upstairs. The crying didn't seem to be out of pain or urgency, so there was no need to just rush into things. At the back of the living room was a hallway leading under the stairs that opened to the kitchen and, beyond that, a bathroom. Gabe quickly checked the bathroom with his pistol out and at the ready. A tub, a toilet and a skeleton- nothing more. Seeing this as a good of place as any, he sat down, crossing his legs with some difficulty. Setting his back against the tub, he pulled out the stim and surgical equipment. Injecting the stimpack with a practiced motion, he waited a few seconds for the anesthetic and coagulation agents to take effect before pulling out the twisted hunk as carefully as he could. Even with the stimpack in his system, it was hardly a pleasant experience. Disinfection, stitching and bandaging quickly followed. After a few minutes of rest, Gabe got to his feet and tested his weight on it. He found the pain to be quite a bit more tolerable, enough to walk normally at the least.
He quickly pawed through the cabinets, looking for anything that was still good. A few bottles of dirty water and a tin of cram. Everything else was rotted beyond recognition. Moving on to the fridge, he opened it up to a familiar sound- one that signaled he should close the door and get away as soon as possible. As he slammed the icebox closed, his eyes caught upon some kind of lunchbox with an antenna sticking up out of it. He dove under the table, landing face down next to a decaying skeleton as the fridge exploded like the casing of a grenade, spraying the room with shrapnel and bits of shredded food. The crying from upstairs intensified into terrified screaming as the explosion went off, and didn't quiet back down. Gabe crawled from under the table, brushing off the bits of bone dust from his leather armor and setting his jaw against the pain emanating from his calf. He took one look at the interior of the fridge and decided that he may as well make his way back to the living room.
This had to have been the raider's house- Terry, if that was his name that was carved into the butt of the pipe rifle laying next to him. There were pictures sitting along the top of the shelf- framed bloody pictures- of some young girl in a dog cage, nude and tied up. She was battered and bruised, and could be no older than 15 or 16. Filled with disgust, Gabe turned the pictures face down. It was the least he could do. There were at least some more traditional “gentleman's magazines” on the bookshelf that might have some trading value. October's “Eyefull” and the swimsuit edition of “Titters”. Gabe shoveled them into his bag with a grimace, not wanting to think where they'd been. The rest of it seemed like tacky garbage, so Gabe moved on to the rigged shotgun.
The shotgun came off without much trouble- having already been triggered, there was no danger to it. Bash the rigging and fasteners until the shotty came loose. It looked to be one of the clip fed semi-auto models too- military grade. Why Terry didn't use it instead of his homemade rifle was lost upon Gabe, but it didn't really matter- it was his now. The corpse itself had a few nice things on it- a handful of 10mm rounds and even a couple of shotgun shells. Terry also seemed to have been enjoying a nice lungful of jet at the time- a half empty inhaler was still clutched tight in his hand, and he had a few more in his pocket, as well as a scant few caps. Gabe gathered it all up, but opted to leave the junk rifle. It would only bring in a few caps and wasn't worth the bulk or the weight. With nothing left for him downstairs, he turned his attention towards the second floor.
He made his ascent slowly and with care- for some reason putting frag mines on stairs was a favorite of aspiring trappers. In the short time since he had left the vault, he'd already come across the situation twice. The first time had been too close, and he took that particular near-death lesson to heart. As his eyes scanned every step for that telltale red glow, they almost skimmed over something else, but something that was none the less equally deadly. A tripwire, constructed across a step about halfway up. Gabe froze, his foot only a few scant inches above the rigged step. Settling back down onto the step below, he eyed the line, following it as it led up the wall from the staircase, up towards the darkened ceiling. Fiddling with his Pipboy for a moment, he turned on its light, and raised up his left arm.
Grenades- three of them, strung all along the roof above the staircase. No doubt placed so that anyone who triggered the afflicted step would be caught by the blast no matter where they ran- up or down. Gabe crouched down to clip the cable, but upon closer inspection, it was not one, but two wires intertwined. Most men would have shrugged it off and disabled the wire like all the rest, but Gabe was of a more inquisitive variety. He saw that the deviation had to serve a purpose- Why take the time and effort to twist together two and string them both up along the ceiling when one would do the job? He stood back up and raised his light to examine the wiring once again. He squinted against the darkness, trying to concentrate over the sounds of the sobbing coming from somewhere ahead. It took him a moment but it finally clicked: it had two triggers.
Most tripwires- the only kind a majority of raiders can figure out- are triggered by a pulling action on the line: Tripping over it and thus yanking the wire with your foot. Therefore, simply clipping the wire disables the trap it's attached to quite handily. This one, however, had another trigger: a removal of the tension on the line. Alone, it would be relatively useless, unless tripping over it managed to yank one of its posts free. Here, however, if it had been cut, it would have caused the grenades to drop. Together, whichever line is triggered causes them to drop and the other one pulls the pins. It seems Terry had been rather gifted. The only way to really disable this thing would be to disarm the explosives themselves- and they're well out of my reach. Not to mention that I know next to nothing about explosives. The only reason I can disarm these mines is because Moira showed me how before we set out. Best to avoid this one.
Gabe gingerly stepped over the device and continued up to the second floor without further problems. At the top of the staircase, a doorway to the left opened up to a long hallway with two doors to the left and one at the far end. The first door on the left seemed to be the source of what had drawn him up here. He started to reach for his pistol before remembering his new acquisition. Shotgun at the ready, he moved forward and opened the door to what was once a child's room.
Gabe already knew what was inside, but part of him wanted it to be the carriage bomb. The photos were, in a way, better- somehow they did not show just how small the cage was. The girl was on her side sobbing, her prison too cramped to even curl into a ball. As Gabe entered the room, she grew hysterical.
“NOT AGAIN GET AWAY”
“Hey! HEY! Calm down! I'm not like him!” Gabe had to shout to be heard. To prove his point, he put his shotgun on the ground and raised his hands, palms facing out. He did his best not to seem nervous, despite the fact that all her screaming would probably draw all the wrong kind of attention. After a few moments, she stopped screaming, but continued to whimper in fear. Her eyes were still wild, locked onto Gabe's every motion. Not that he noticed, however- Gabe was doing his best to look anywhere but at the young nude girl.
“Listen- my name is Gabe, and I'm going to get you out of there. You just have to calm down,” he said firmly, glancing around the room for a key to her padlock. He saw the girl nod out of the corner of his eye, but could not see a key anywhere. If Bryan were here, he'd probably be able to pop it open without a problem, but Gabe knew next to nothing about jimmying locks.
“..I-it's not in here.” Her voice was soft- to the point Gabe barely heard her.
“Where?” Gabe, again out of the corner of his eye, saw her shake her head slightly, starting to cry again.
“Alright, I'll be right back. Just stay calm.” Gabe turned and left the room, making it halfway down the hallway before realizing that he had forgotten his shotgun back on the floor. Instead of returning for it, he drew his old pistol and moved on to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. He didn't want to go back to her empty handed.
The bedroom was a wreck. Loose wires, jars of gunpowder, and other components Gabe couldn't identify littered the room- no doubt for the construction of explosives and other traps. Even the bed wasn't completely free of parts. On the bedside table were more pictures- most of them were of different girls. Above that, hanging on a hastily driven-in nail, was a small brass key. Gabe waded across the field of debris and snatched up the key. As he was about to leave, his eye caught on a dresser that had been shoved out of the way into the corner. Stopping to rifle through it, he came up with a moth-eaten dress that looked like it was made before the bombs fell. Still wearable though- it wasn't falling apart or anything. He slung it over his shoulder and returned back to the kid's room.
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[4:17 PM, August 22nd 2077, Minefield Trapped House, The Playroom]
“So what's your name?” Gabe crouched down and slid the key into the lock, focusing intently on his work.
“Sadie. My name's Sadie. Careful. Brass gets fragile...” Gabe gently twisted the small key, and the padlock popped open.
“Here, Sadie, I found this for you.” Gabe placed the dress on the ground and opened the door, backing away so she could crawl out.
“T-Thanks..” She picked up the outfit and wiggled into it. A few short weeks ago, Gabe would've turned his back to give her some privacy, but the wastes are an unforgiving place. As she finished dressing, it was clear the clothing was much too big for her- the edge of the skirt dragged along the ground. But at least she was decent.
“Alright, now follow me and we'll get out of here. Watch where I step. This entire town is sown with explosives.” Sadie nodded, looking nervously down to Gabe's feet.
“And hey, look at me.” Gabe waited for her to make eye contact before continuing, “You're going to be alright. We'll head back to my friends and get you somewhere safe.” Sadie nodded, and Gabe could have sworn he saw the tinges of a smile shine through the tears.
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[11:38 AM, August 23nd 2077, Megaton, Craterside Supply]
“Here are those landmines Moira: thirty-one of them. Just pay me and find yourself some new assistants- we're done with it.” Amata placed the sack on the counter and turned to look at the store owner.
“Awww, but whhyyy? The three of you make such a good research team! You're the first ones that actually came back! And more than once, even.” Despite the bad news, Moira remained her usual bubbly self.
“Yes- we come back battered, bruised, and, more often than not, half dead. So that's why we're quitting. There's just too much risk involved.”
“Oh, come on. Sure, the Super Duper Mart didn't go so well for you guys- but things have been getting better. He got a nifty new superpower from the last one, and I heard from that cute lil' Deputy Weld that Gabe only got a nick on his leg this time! That's pretty good, right?”
“It's a mutation, Moira, not a superpower. And your cure for all that radiation he picked up along the way in order to get it made him feel more run down than the sickness did!”
“He always seemed to be a remarkably good sport about things though- Why don't we just wait and see what he says about things when he gets that boo-boo healed up?” Moira replied, a bit taken aback by Amata's sudden outburst.
“That's just the thing- he hasn't said more than two words to anyone since. Not even me. And not only that, but he somehow managed to get himself hooked again. I've got no idea how we're going to get the money together to pay Church's dextox fee this time.”
“I could-”
“No, I'm not letting you use him as a guinea pig for another one of your homemade serums. Sure, it'd probably fix the morphine problem, but knowing you, it'd probably wind up getting him addicted to Jet and Psycho in the process!”
“I meant-”
“And another thing: Why are you always trying to sell us all these expensive schematics for ludicrous weapons? Why don't you just build them yourself and sell the weapons? Because they won't work- that's why. Like so many of the things you do. They're just ridiculous, inconvenient and not terribly well thought out. Who has time to read out there anyways? Hell, you'll probably just get distracted on some other hair brained project half way through writing this one. And even if by some miracle you did manage to finish the guide, it probably wouldn't really help anyone, judging by your previous failures. This is all just a big waste of time and suffering!” Amata breathed heavily, her blind rant finished. She was looking off into the corner, looking troubled and bitter. Moira was silent in the wake of the storm. She simply took out a single frag mine out of the sack and went behind the counter to begin to fill up a small bag with caps.
“Here's the payment. That should cover the detox. Wolfgang would be able to pay you more than I could for the rest of them- take them to him.” Amata looked up at the extended bag full of caps, and fully realized the effect of what she had said.
“Moira, I-”
But Moira simply shook her head. She wasn't really smiling anymore.
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[4:18 PM, August 22nd 2077, Minefield Trapped House]
Something slammed past Gabe from behind, knocking him against the railing. Sadie's feet had become tangled in that oversized dress he'd given her. She had tripped trying to follow him down the stairs, twisting around as she fell past him with her arms desperately trying to catch onto something. The fear in her eyes wasn't that of the prospect of a broken bone or two. Gabe'd warned her of the tripwire, and she knew what was waiting for her. She looked to Gabe, hands stretching towards him, silently pleading for him to save her.
If she pulls you off balance, you'll both be screwed.
And for one damnable second, Gabe hesitated.
It was all it took. She was out of his reach now- by no more than an inch, so he discovered as he lunged for her hand. Her back hit the corner of the rough wooden steps with a crack, and she screamed. But no amount of yelling could stop her tumble. She rolled head over heels down the steps, releasing the grenades from above with a click as she passed halfway down. Gabe didn't get to see her land in a bloody, screaming heap at the bottom of the stairs, one of her so very white bones jutting out of her leg while her back was bent at the wrong angle. No, because he didn't hesitate when it came to saving himself- of course not.
He had long since leapt over the railing and pressed himself against the staircase wall. The landing had ripped open the wound on his calf quite violently, and as his untrained stitches popped open, they caused even more damage. The pain was even worse than when he had first gotten the gash, and now he could feel blood running freely down his leg. Underneath Sadie's screaming, he could hear the grenades hit the ground, and then hit the ground again and again, as they began to roll partway down the stairs. It seems Terry had set the fuses a bit to long. At least he didn't have to hear her scream for very long. When the grenades finally went off, the screaming stopped. And so did every other sound, replaced by a high pitched ringing.
The shrapnel had all gone over his head. He sank to the ground against the wall, biting onto one of his arms and screaming against it. This was all his fault. And now his leg was worse than it was coming in, to boot. The pain was almost unbearable- he'd only been hurting this badly once before. And that was when... Well...
Just one shot couldn't hurt, could it?
~Welcome to the fallout