Dusty, filthy combat armor, shotgun with forty shells, laser pistol with thirty energy cells, combat knife, slightly misshapen brass knuckles, and a few hundred caps from the last paycheck. That’s what I had way back when I was a merc. The name of the mercenary company that I had worked for eludes me at the moment, as does the town that we were paid to help defend from raiders and other wasteland baddies that plagued the area
I do remember, however, the name of a very good friend of mine, whom I saw a lot of during my life. His name is, or was (I’m not sure if he is alive anymore or not), Scab. He is or was a ghoul who, as much as a ghoul can be, was liked. People didn’t really like him, but he sold chems, so people liked him. I liked Scab for who he was and didn’t mess with chems. Scab had saved my ass more times than I could count in the rinky-dink town that we were being paid to defend.
I recall one time a group of raiders who thought they were indestructible strolled just outside of town and started shooting at us. They had their 10mm pistols, Desert Eagles, and hunting knives, with their leather armor. There were about 20 of them and only about 10 or so of us. Yet we killed all of them without losing a single guy. We went out to loot the dead men for weapons and ammo. I just had flipped open one side of a raider’s leather coat when his eyes opened and his arm, with a knife clenched tightly in his hand, twitched up toward me. I heard a gunshot and saw his hand explode. The raider screamed for less than a second, and I had no time to move, before a second gunshot rang out and the raiders head exploded all over mine. I looked wide-eyed, and covered in blood and bits of skull, in the direction the shot had come from and saw Scab grinning at me with a rifle in his hand.
When I had joined the Mercenary group I was 20 or so. After nine or ten years, I don’t remember, I withdrew the caps that I hadn’t spent on booze and women, from the local bank and left town. But not before saying farewell to Scab, who gave me some jet, even though I told him I didn’t want it. He said it’s all he had to give me to remember him and I could at least sell it if I needed caps down the road. I then gave him my old misshapen brass knuckles and we shook hands and I slung my pack over my shoulder and asked a man to point me towards the nearest town and left.
I walked for about two days, sleeping in well concealed places and ate whatever mutated animals scurried in front of me, before I reached the town. Nobody protected this town and thieves and lowlifes wandered the streets. I asked a man where I could get some water and he pointed me to a makeshift stand that had been set up by a three man caravan. I asked the man behind the stand for water and he said that they had been robbed by some raiders on the way into the town and had very little left to sell, and no water. He did have a few beers so I bought one and started to talk to the caravan driver. He told me that it was only him and his two twenty one and twenty five year old sons. They had pistols to defend themselves but they didn’t really know how to use them. They weren’t really a caravan but they went into abandoned cities to look for things to sell and bought water from a caravan they often crossed paths with.
I told the man I wanted to join them for protection. He said they didn’t have many caps they could pay me, but I told him that I didn’t want caps, just food and water. During my time with them I saw many of the towns in the area which is something I had wanted to do. Some of them were nice, and some not so nice. The presence of my shotgun and the now always visible pistols on the brothers, as they had not had them openly shown before, helped keep some of the raiders away. But on occasion we had to kill some raiders that tried to rob us. It was almost good when raiders attempted to rob us because then we would have more stuff to sell at the next town.
After about five whole years the father, whose name eludes me, got sick and ended up dying outside of an abandoned radiated vault we had just scoured through. I knew it was radiation poisoning. He had gotten out some rad-x for me and his two sons two take and when one of the boys asked if he had taken one he said that he had. But I recall now, but hadn’t then, that he had found only three capsules of rad-x. Funny how I remember this but not the man’s goddamn name. I helped his sons bury him and then went with them to the next town. The younger brother who was now twenty-six, seemed pretty heartbroken. The town that we wandered into was the town that I had left all those years ago. They told me they were going to set up their stand there, permanently. I wished them luck with their new store and went down to the bar, hoping Scab would be there, as he usually was. Sure enough, there he was, in the corner booth at the back of the bar.
We exchanged stories about the last five years and reminisced on old ones, and also got pretty drunk. He told me that I could crash at his shack in town. When we got to his shack, and he picked the lock to get in, I realized this wasn’t HIS shack, just a shack he slept in. Inside were a broken Mr. Handy and some tools, and a pile of blankets in the corner, which he had hidden behind an old sign. He tossed me one and I rolled it up and used it as a pillow. He had woken me up rather early and said that we had to get out of there. He stuck his head out the door and looked around before waving me to follow him out.
He asked me if I planned on staying in town. I told him that I was probably going to leave and see what other job I could get around the wasteland. He asked if he could go with me, and of course I said yes. We walked toward the gate and I stopped by the brothers stand. I saw only the older brother whose eyes were red and he had clean lines that ran through his dusty face where tears had obviously ran. He told me that his younger brother had walked out the gate about one hundred yards and shot himself. I told him how genuinely sorry I was and asked if he’d be ok. He said yes and that a man had agreed to help him get his store started. I tossed his the eighty caps that I had to my name and told him I hoped that helped. He smiled as much as he could, then we shook hands and Scab and I left town.
We walked in no particular direction, we just walked. When night came we set up a campfire, not thinking about being spotted and Scab took some jet. He said it would help him stay up. I grabbed my bag and pulled out the jet he had given me all those years ago. He laughed when he saw it, and so did I. I took it, I don’t know why I did, but I did. I tripped my ass off on it for a few hours before passing out.
I remember waking up, sprawled out on the ground. Scab was gone, as was everything except the combat armor that I had on. I stood up and wandered toward a town that I saw off in the distance. When I arrived in the town I asked around if anyone needed some work done for a few caps. That’s when I saw Scab walk into a bar. I rushed in after him and yelled out his name. He turned around, and I punched him in his nose, or nose cavity, well, the area his nose had once been. He drew his hand back and I saw the brass knuckles I had given him. His face went from anger to surprise as he punched me and realized it was me. Everything just went black after that.
I then awoke and saw a man who introduced himself as Doctor, well I don’t remember, but he was a doctor. I told him I had no money to pay for whatever he had done. He said he just iced my face and that a ghoul had given him some caps to pay for it anyway. I asked if he knew where the ghoul went and he said he didn’t know but he had run off pretty quick. I got up and went to a merchant and sold my combat armor for a 10mm pistol, ammo, and some caps. I walked quickly out of the town to try and see if I could find Scab.
I had walked all day when I saw him in the moonlight, trying to sweet-talk his way from being robbed by two raiders. I walked a bit closer and then shot both of the raiders. I then see Scab un-shoulder his, my, shotgun. I thought that he was going to shoot me. But as I lay here now, on the ground, with a bullet in my head, I realize he shot at the raider that had been behind me, and had shot me in the back of the head. I suppose now that that is why I can’t remember names of people and towns, on account of the shot to the head. As I lay there dying with Scab over me telling me I was a fool through sobs, I wonder why I hadn’t just let them raiders shoot the son-of-a-bitch. I mean I was going to kill him myself. Well, it doesn’t really matter now, because I’ll just be another bleach-white pile of bones, gnawed on by rats and cannibals, in this glorious wasteland that I once called home.
