Clifftop Shacks
Sep. 29th, 2009 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aaaaaaaagh_skySo far as Albert could tell, he and Roy were the only ones left alive.
He shifted uncomfortably, trying for the umpteenth time- and failing for the umpteenth time- to ease the ropes the damn mutants had bound him with. They'd tied his hands together behind his back, pushed him to his knees, tied his hands to his feet; it was all he could do not to fall over. The ropes had long since given off chafing and started rubbing him raw enough to bleed. What the filthy beasts wanted with him he didn't know, but it made them laugh, and that wasn't a good sign. He'd seen their amusements, back at the farm- what they'd done to the babies... He gulped, and tried not to think about it.
The stink on the wind teased at Albert's nostrils. He closed his eyes, turned his head, but it was still there. It came from those two centaur things that shuffled around after the mutants, arm-length tongues flailing every which way. The green freaks treated them like dogs, stepping around them like they weren't even there or setting them to watch over the two silently kneeling captives as they saw fit. Just another reason to keep his eyes closed, Albert figured. As if the... bags... that held everyone's remains from the farm weren't bad enough!
Funny, he'd never thought of himself as the kind to pray for death, but right now it was looking like a mighty fine option. The mutants had frogmarched him here from the farm, letting him bleed the whole time. Where they were he didn't know, but it was so far from home that he'd passed out twice along the way. Even if he slipped his bonds somehow (unlikely) and crept away unnoticed (impossible), he had no idea where to go or which way to turn. The only weapons for miles were in the hands of the mutants, and he'd heard Deathclaw growls along the way, he was sure of it. If he escaped now, he'd be torn apart by wildlife before he had time to starve to death, and if he didn't escape now, he'd be... whatever the mutants had in mind. And whatever that was, he was pretty sure death was better.
He turned his head a little further, trying to catch the sound of Roy's labored breathing. He didn't hear it- but he did hear the quick, light shuffle of footsteps too small to be mutant and too agile to be centaur. Someone else, alive? Here?
"Dogmeat," whispered the unfamiliar voice. It might have been a woman's. "The tongue monster. Now."
The sound of barking filled the air. Albert jerked his head up, eyes wide. A blur of black and grey leapt at the centaur nearest to Albert's shack. He flinched, toppled over-
After that it was all a blur, the images swimming as he tried like hell to blink away the pain. He could see the mutants running out, that much was certain. And there were muzzle-flashes and explosions and the horrible sick blap! noises of the thick brown radioactive bile the centaurs spat. There was something else, too, a tan blur darting from shack to shack, ducking in and out of sight. He thought he saw a streak of silver, a shimmer of fire-
No, he didn't think he saw it, he did see it. He stared in astonishment as his vision cleared. The tan blur was a woman, apparently wearing some kind of uniform, wielding a zap-gun straight out of the old Captain Cosmos posters. But it was a zap-gun that worked- there were two, maybe three, mutants down so far as he could tell. And the centaur nearest to Albert was dead, its throat apparently ripped out, by what agency he couldn't say. It didn't matter. The mutants were on the defensive- no, they were on fire; the woman's zap gun fired and fired and fired again until two of them burst into vile, greasy flame. The third fell back, fumbling as it reloaded its weapon. "Dogmeat!" the woman yelled, holstering the zap gun. "Fire in the hole!"
Albert closed his eyes, but he couldn't do anything about his ears.
Some time later, when the ringing had subsided a little, he became aware of a touch on his shoulder. Very carefully, he opened one eye a crack. Funny, he wouldn't have thought anyone in the Wasteland could look that young... "Sir?" the girl said quietly. "Are you hurt?"
Albert's mouth was too dry to muster the words.
"If you'll hold still a moment, I can cut you and your friend over there free," she continued. "I've got stimpaks and some rations if you need them. My name's Ellen. I'm from Vault 101. It's all right- you're safe now."
He shifted uncomfortably, trying for the umpteenth time- and failing for the umpteenth time- to ease the ropes the damn mutants had bound him with. They'd tied his hands together behind his back, pushed him to his knees, tied his hands to his feet; it was all he could do not to fall over. The ropes had long since given off chafing and started rubbing him raw enough to bleed. What the filthy beasts wanted with him he didn't know, but it made them laugh, and that wasn't a good sign. He'd seen their amusements, back at the farm- what they'd done to the babies... He gulped, and tried not to think about it.
The stink on the wind teased at Albert's nostrils. He closed his eyes, turned his head, but it was still there. It came from those two centaur things that shuffled around after the mutants, arm-length tongues flailing every which way. The green freaks treated them like dogs, stepping around them like they weren't even there or setting them to watch over the two silently kneeling captives as they saw fit. Just another reason to keep his eyes closed, Albert figured. As if the... bags... that held everyone's remains from the farm weren't bad enough!
Funny, he'd never thought of himself as the kind to pray for death, but right now it was looking like a mighty fine option. The mutants had frogmarched him here from the farm, letting him bleed the whole time. Where they were he didn't know, but it was so far from home that he'd passed out twice along the way. Even if he slipped his bonds somehow (unlikely) and crept away unnoticed (impossible), he had no idea where to go or which way to turn. The only weapons for miles were in the hands of the mutants, and he'd heard Deathclaw growls along the way, he was sure of it. If he escaped now, he'd be torn apart by wildlife before he had time to starve to death, and if he didn't escape now, he'd be... whatever the mutants had in mind. And whatever that was, he was pretty sure death was better.
He turned his head a little further, trying to catch the sound of Roy's labored breathing. He didn't hear it- but he did hear the quick, light shuffle of footsteps too small to be mutant and too agile to be centaur. Someone else, alive? Here?
"Dogmeat," whispered the unfamiliar voice. It might have been a woman's. "The tongue monster. Now."
The sound of barking filled the air. Albert jerked his head up, eyes wide. A blur of black and grey leapt at the centaur nearest to Albert's shack. He flinched, toppled over-
After that it was all a blur, the images swimming as he tried like hell to blink away the pain. He could see the mutants running out, that much was certain. And there were muzzle-flashes and explosions and the horrible sick blap! noises of the thick brown radioactive bile the centaurs spat. There was something else, too, a tan blur darting from shack to shack, ducking in and out of sight. He thought he saw a streak of silver, a shimmer of fire-
No, he didn't think he saw it, he did see it. He stared in astonishment as his vision cleared. The tan blur was a woman, apparently wearing some kind of uniform, wielding a zap-gun straight out of the old Captain Cosmos posters. But it was a zap-gun that worked- there were two, maybe three, mutants down so far as he could tell. And the centaur nearest to Albert was dead, its throat apparently ripped out, by what agency he couldn't say. It didn't matter. The mutants were on the defensive- no, they were on fire; the woman's zap gun fired and fired and fired again until two of them burst into vile, greasy flame. The third fell back, fumbling as it reloaded its weapon. "Dogmeat!" the woman yelled, holstering the zap gun. "Fire in the hole!"
Albert closed his eyes, but he couldn't do anything about his ears.
Some time later, when the ringing had subsided a little, he became aware of a touch on his shoulder. Very carefully, he opened one eye a crack. Funny, he wouldn't have thought anyone in the Wasteland could look that young... "Sir?" the girl said quietly. "Are you hurt?"
Albert's mouth was too dry to muster the words.
"If you'll hold still a moment, I can cut you and your friend over there free," she continued. "I've got stimpaks and some rations if you need them. My name's Ellen. I'm from Vault 101. It's all right- you're safe now."