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Blood, Dust, and Old World warmth...


Sepherose

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I make no claim of being an amazing writer, but I have always wanted to chronicle a survivor in the wasteland, so please, enjoy. This is a story that will eventually come full circle for this character though, so if you like it, check in from time to time.

 

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Sometime around noon, 2137, unknown location in California, south of The Boneyard.

 

Opening my eyes I am blinded by the wasteland sun. There is something heavy on me, can't see what it is though. My nose is filled with the smell of blood and dust, my skin tingles with that Old World warmth. My eyes finally adjust, I look down to see what the weight on me is, a body.

 

Try as I might, I can't push it off, and think to myself that this is it. I drift back to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

 

I dream of the Great Winter. I remember the cold, the ice. The bodies. I was wandering through The Boneyard after leaving the Hub, not being able to find any freelance work there I had wandered off in to survive off of the land a while. I don't remember how I ended up in The Boneyard though, too many bullets and too many foot falls ago.

 

I was twenty, but I knew how to live off the land. I hadn't seen snow before, but I had heard about it. I remember it got cold. It was late though, I was used to the drop when nightfall was coming, but this was different. The smell in the air, that's something I won't forget. Crisp, almost painful when you took a deep breath. As the temperature dropped, I started to get numb, so I climbed into a burnt out building. Built myself a fire after checking for rads with the geiger counter I had managed to scrounge for, it said there were rads, but it was safe. That thing saved my life, kept me from wandering into the more dangerous areas in The Boneyard.

 

I built a fire using some twigs and scraps of cloth I had. Pulled out the ratty old bedroll I had found a few weeks before and bundled up, watched out the busted windows, looking at the bones of the Old world under the starlight, and wondered what it had been like. I had heard stories, but at the time I longed to see it for myself. That changed, with time.

 

A few hours passed, my guess anyway. It was still dark, don't know exactly when I fell asleep. I was freezing. I could hear footsteps, and the fire had burned down to cinders. I tried to grab my gun, ten millimeter, if I remember right. My hands wouldn't listen, couldn't feel the texture of the grip, I dropped it, and I heard a voice. Rough, couldn't tell if it was a man or woman. I looked out the window and finally saw it: snow. At least as far as I could tell. There was a faint green glow to it, I had heard stories before, and that wasn't a part of them. Not sure how I managed, but I got the counter out and flipped it on, the needle jumped. Rads were lethal outside from my guess. I was as good as dead. I had used the last of my RadAway a few days before.

 

I decided to slip back to sleep. Rather freeze to death than find somewhere warm where I would rot from the inside, slow and painful. It wasn't going to go that way though. I woke up, barely, while I was being carried by someone. They weren't big, but they were strong enough. I remember that rough voice though, still to this day.

 

“Don't worry kid, I'll get you somewhere safe. You can't handle the rads like we can.”

 

The next few days were flashes of sight. I remember being terrified when I first saw their faces. Looked like someone that had been chewed on by molerats and left to rot in the sun of the wastes.

 

But they saved me. The rest of that story, well, is pretty simple. I did what I had to to survive. Not to say I'm proud of all of it.

Edited by Sepherose
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Late night, 2137, south of The Boneyard

 

It's cold, but the harsh Wasteland sun set a while ago. Looking at the stars now. Pain is coming, I can feel the bones grind together in my leg and shoulder. Can almost remember what happened, not quite though. Try to move the body again, but can't, too weak. I just stare at the stars and think of years gone by. Pain is too much, I'm passing out again.

 

I remember growing up in the remains of Las Vegas. My parents said they remember it from before the bombs, barely, they were both five when the bombs fell. They said something saved Vegas, they didn't know what though. I was 13 when I had to run away from that place, never looked back. I remember that last night there. My dad was telling me about the first few years after the bombs.

 

“Son, I remember, barely, but I remember when this place was lit up like the sky itself! All the colors you could imagine a light would be, it was there! But then, the bombs fell. Your grandparents couldn't afford a place in the vaults, so we hid in the basement. I remember we lived in the outskirts at the time, but I don't recall exactly where. So anyway, the day the bombs fell, we were in that basement, and the ground shook! It shook like the devil himself was wanting to come up from under the earth. BOOM!”

 

My dad had a way of telling stories, he always threw himself into it like an addict would throw himself at drugs.

 

“So anyway, we waited. Days it seemed like, but I was young, I don't really remember exactly how long we were down there. One day, your grandpa decided we had been hiding long enough, so he dug out his geiger and went outside to find out how bad it was. That was the last time I saw him son, he just never showed back up. My guess is some gang got him. Your grandma, she was always more careful, she dug out the guns your grandpa had hidden away, showed me how to aim it and load it and we left right after that. First time I had to kill a man was the next day. I won't upset you by telling you why.”

 

He always thought it better to try to hide the truth of the world from me, still don't understand why.

 

“Anyway, over the years, there were riots. People trying to get others to band together. Gangs. Murderers. Thieves. But one thing I learned boy, and take this to heart, if you stick your head up in the world now days, it's liable to get blown clean off.”

 

He hadn't ever told me what it was like right after the bombs. Maybe he was trying to forget. I'll never know. That night, our home was overrun by raiders. They started trying to kick the door in, mom and dad rushed me to a back room, and dad handed me his handgun and shoved a fist full of bullets in my pocket.

 

“Boy, you keep quiet, keep your head down, and get out of here when the noise stops. Don't you dare look back, you just run, far, as far as you can. And when you don't think you can run anymore, keep runnin'. Remember what you learned boy, it'll keep you alive. I love ya boy.”

 

My mom couldn't even talk. She was crying. She hugged me, and pushed me into the crawlspace under the house. I'll never forget what I heard that night. It went on forever. When it finally stopped, I slipped out through a grate in the foundation. And I ran.

 

Haven't gone back since.

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Early morning, 2137

 

Chilly, but not cold, something tugging at my leg. Wild dog, manage to grab my gun. Deep breath, fire.

Body on my legs has been moved, just manage to get it off my legs the rest of the way. Blood starts to flow into my legs again. Pain comes now, can feel it anyway. I scream, don't really know what I was trying to say there. Check the body, find some painkillers. No water, but take them anyway. Going to sleep now until they kick in.

 

I'm playing a guitar at a fire. A few years ago. Kids around with the caravan. I got hired a ways back to travel with them, said they were going to start a new town or something like that. They needed a gunman, and I needed the caps. Made some friends, was thinking about settling down. It was two weeks into traveling, we had a campfire roaring, and some fresh meat to cook. We were happy, hadn't had any major trouble yet.

 

Stupid. Should have been watching out.

 

A kid, ten years, was dancing in front of me. That's when the first shot came, everyone panicked and started running all over the place. Grabbing guns, getting cover. First thing I did was drop the guitar, and I grabbed the kid.

 

Stupid. Never get attached to anything in the Wasteland, it just figures a way to take it away in the worst way.

 

His name was Danny, smart kid, and somehow he was able to just be happy, even with the way the world worked. I carried him just behind a small rock grouping and told him to keep his head down, covered him with my leather since it was dark. Went to do my job.

 

It was already a mess by the time I turned around, I took a few shots. Useless, so I turned back to high tail it away with the kid. I saw him standing there and crying. I started screaming for him keep his head down, yelling that I'd come to him. He didn't listen, took off running to me.

 

My dad told me the way of it. Keep your head down.

 

Everything after that was a blur. There were five of them hiding around the camp.

 

I was the only one that walked away.

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