Vault Dweller
Chapter 74: Ch. 72 The Glowing Sea
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The Vault-Lad on the Pip-Boy screen was resting in bed, then woken from slumber by a clanging alarm-clock. The time read 5:00 A.M. The Vault-Lad animation shut off the alarm, threw off the covers to his makeshift bedding, stretched his arms, and stood up.
Coughing lightly, Nate cleared his throat and pulled the stretchy black long johns up to his waist. Grabbing a blue striped thermal shirt, it clung tightly to his body, and within minutes, warmth spreads through friction as he moves around. Hancock rolled up, and immediately went for a cigarette. Time to start the day.
Next came the hazmat suit, holding out the arm sleeves in both hands, he crawled in feet first, then arms, and pulled the hood over his head last. Zipping up the side, the hose valve connected to Nate's re-breather extending to his power armor helmet's air filtration system.
Sucking in a lungful of air, then exhaling, blowing the carbon stale air out through his mouth, he switched on the X-01 power armor and entered the suit. The hydraulic hiss of air sealing off locked Nate inside the power armor, then the holographic display on the inside lit up.
The world around Nate was now only the hard lines and rigid features, two-dimensional lines on a three-dimensional plane, with scanners constantly sending out wavelengths and representing distance through the internal radar and range finder.
Without being able to see through the eye-holes on the suit, he relied solely on the graphics display.
His Geiger counter ticked slowly, and he sunk a small wooden stick into the ground. Beyond the stick to the south, the Geiger counter picked up more radioactive particles, while to the north, it drastically dropped off.
The vision featured within the helmet reminded Nate of the early arcade games of the 1960s, where the player was a 3D tank, moving around blocks.
A feature that belonged to the X-01 technology was the Internal Transmission Locator, it could detect and show the direction of other transmissions being broadcast.
Every twentieth of a second for distances less than five meters and then every eighth second for distances up to three miles, the display would update as another wave pinged inside his helmet, and Nate grew comfortable learning to pilot this night-vision like display. Everything looked cartoonish, blocky, and lacked color.
The technology was based on no-vision displays meant for firefighters to use in smoke-filled corridors where the black smoke was so thick and dense, that you couldn't see the tip of your finger even if it was less than a centimeter away from your eyeball.
Looking down at Meathead, he waved his hand at him, moving his arm, the thermal-suit, the radiation suit, then the power armor protecting everything on top. Clapping his hands together, he couldn't feel the shockwave of pressure as his hands touched.
This was the edge of the Glowing Sea, where a visible line of decay meets organic life trying to push against the radioactive wasteland.
A spiral of green flame went from Meathead's forehead, down to his paws, casting off the illusion of a German Shephard to be in his true form.
"<No use hiding here.>" He said.
\111/
Walking forward, kicking up radioactive dust along the way. The ground was grey, the life leached from it.
Less than a quarter-mile into their expedition into the Glowing Sea, there were pools of stagnant water with illuminating flowers growing in the center.
"What type of plants are those?" Hancock asked, observing the blossoms.
"Couldn't tell you, but they're worth studying. See how they're glowing? Even in the light? Dollars to donuts, they're terraforming the Glowing Sea. Slowly eating up the radiation. If we cultivate a few million of them, the radiation zone will dry up in thirty to fifty years. Maybe even less."
Reaching down into the pool, Nate plucked three and put them away into his bag.
Following the path of water, dried remains of creeks, and runoff formed during rainfall, Meathead alerted them to the first signs of life. A large collection pool of water was plagued with a small gathering of feral ghouls, drinking from the water, or standing in it.
"All the rads a ghoul could want," Hancock said, "More of your flowers growing around the edge." He pointed out.
"Yeah. That's a good sign."
With the landscape sloping upwards towards Roxbury, West Roxbury, and Franklin, these towns were higher in elevation than Boston down at sea level.
"We'll need to follow the water to the source. This scientist must've found a spring to drink from."
Observing them from afar, they skirted the ghouls' detection, intent on saving ammo for bigger predators.
\111/
Following the remains of a riverbed, they came across more pools of stagnant water, bloatflies, and oversized mosquitos. The bugs were incessant, attacking the trio on sight. They shot them down when they came close, Meathead ripped their wings off with his magic, making it easier for Nate and Hancock to smash the insects under their power-armored boots.
The higher they went along the riverbed, they came to sets of footprints, feet dragged across the ground, from a pool of water, and then back.
"Meathead?"
"<Ghouls.>" He said, sensing them nearby. "<Pack of them, close by. It's getting harder to sense, it's like...I can't sense living things as far as I'm able to.>"
"Can you tell where the Windigo is?"
"<South of us.>"
"Then, we kill this thing, and get your vision back."
"Any chance this guy is a ghoul?" Hancock asked.
"<Maybe, could be. I wouldn't put it past the Institute to come up with a solution like that. But, I can tell you the ghouls I'm sensing, are less than a football field away and are all...dim. Feral.>"
\111/
The radio signal was scrambled, so no music could be heard. If anything, all Nate wanted was something to keep the silence at bay between himself and Meathead, and even he picked up on that. But, with nothing to talk about, and no interesting landmarks to find, the conversation was limited, but with the threat of radioactive monsters, whenever they spoke it was quickly and quietly.
Navigating was a challenge itself, Meathead knew from the roaming energies beneath their feet that there were scorpions, active predators that sensed changes in the surface above, then spring out of the earth to surprise their victim.
The Glowing Sea was one of the harshest environments in the world, yet life struggled to continue. There was very little water here, and what was to be found was expected to be immensely irradiated. The wildlife adapted long ago, being able to digest the radioactive water without adverse side effects. The long-term effects of living in this desert environment made the predators of this land grow large to defend themselves from larger predators or prey in a massive arms race.
As the ground continued to slope upwards, they came to cliffs surrounding the riverbed, and a bridge above their heads.
"<There's a lot of movement. We need to get out of the river, now.>"
Scrambling up the embankments, they came around the hill to be on a level with the road and felt the ground shake as a plethora of Rad-Scorpions, ranging from the size of a small car to a semi-truck crawled down the channel.
"<Take cover.>" Their options were limited, from the rubble to downed trees, the trio could only stay low, stop moving, and hope to remain undetected. Meathead's horn brightened, a green aura emitting from it.
"What are you casting?"
"<Stay quiet, it's something I came up with.>"
The ground shook, and Nate shuddered at feeling the vibration up through his suits. There was a deathclaw fast approaching, sprinting towards them.
Meathead, Nate, and Hancock stayed motionless as two deathclaws dove at the horde of scorpions, swinging their massive claws, aiming for the stingers first.
The radscorpions tails were like wrecking-balls moving as fast as whips, the echo of their stingers slamming into the deathclaws' hides, the ground crunching under their feet. Ripping one scorpion apart, another lashed out with its claws, grabbing one of the deathclaws legs, slamming its stinger over and over again into its captive.
Gobs of venom poured down, splashing onto the ground like water-balloons. Giant welts the size of bowling balls appeared all over the deathclaw, but the captured deathclaw cleaved back at the scorpion, bashing through the exoskeleton, dropping down to use its teeth to bite through the faceplates surrounding the eyes.
"<We need to move...now.>"
Two scorpions took notice of them, peeling away from the fighting deathclaws to chase them. Meathead's horn glowed brighter, heaving a dead tree into the air, and slamming the trunk down onto its body. Nate and Hancock shot, bullets chewing up the tough exoskeleton of the second as the first dug down through the ground.
"<More coming.>" A third scorpion, and a fourth following after were drawn by the gunshots. In the distance, the deathclaws roared. Overwhelmed by their size, and quick speed, the trio moved further down the road, away from the river and bridge towards buildings that were nearly completely buried in dirt and rubble.
When the first scorpion attacked them, it struck at Meathead. Using telekinetic magic, the scorpions' claws were immobilized. Keeping the giant claws from crushing him, Nate and Hancock shot buckshot into the body as its tail thrashed and whipped around.
The second and third radscorpions charged against Nate and Hancock, bulldozing Nate down. Meathead cast another spell, a blast of fire lasting ten seconds erupted from his horn, setting the first scorpion on fire. Hancock was close enough to the second scorpion to fire directly down into its body, shooting twenty rounds from his machine gun into the scorpion's body.
Nate pushed himself off the ground, lifted by Meathead as well to quickly get him back in the fight. A radscorpion tail lashed out, striking Hancock in the chest. With the force of a sledgehammer, Hancock was knocked back a few steps. Caught empty of bullets, Hancock was struck again and again as he reloaded. Meathead jumped at the second scorpion, landing on its back to bite off the tail. Snapping his head back and forth, the exoskeleton and tendons gave, using his telekinesis, he heaved upwards, rippling the radscorpions tail away.
Nate's shotgun blew off chunks of radscorpion, finishing off the first burning scorpion, as the third and fourth circled, trying to grab hold of him. Struck in the shoulder with a scorpion's stinger, he stumbled and then moved backward, trying to gain distance. Hancock fired another full clip of ammo into the third, drawing its attention as Meathead dug his hooves down through the second radscorpion's spine, boring straight through to its innards and stomping them. Pinching at Hancock's legs, he felt the force of its massive claws squeeze the armor, compressing it tighter against his legs. The tail stinger lanced out, striking his frame three times. Meathead lashed out, ripping the claws out of the scorpion's body at the joint, twisting and breaking them off, freeing Hancock. Firing off another twenty rounds, the third scorpion stopped moving. Nate and Meathead dealt with the last radscorpion by. With his handheld Ripper, Nate dove onto its back, Ripper roaring, and cut directly at its face, jerking the mini-chainsaw through its eye sockets as Meathead came around the backside, holding its tail in place, keeping it from striking Nate. The radscorpion thrashed, Hancock rushed up to them and stomped on the radscorpion's right legs until they were broken off or crippled. Rolling off the left side, Nate dropped the Ripper and fired his 10mm a dozen times into its back. A ball of energy grew from Meathead's horn, a bolt fired from his horn, striking the radscorpion and blasting it ten feet away. The insect rolled to its side in its death throws and stopped twitching.
With the last insect dealt with, they were recovering, panting, out of breath, but saw it necessary to reload and make sure nothing else was coming for them. "We need to get out of the area." Nate said, "That was a lot of noise."
"<Agreed.>" "Agreed." Meathead and Hancock replied.
\111/
The ultimate alpha-predator of the Glowing Sea was the deathclaw. Rarely seen in packs outside of concentrated areas where food is abundant, most deathclaws act independent of each other, staying within their territory and avoiding other packs.
Meathead guided Nate to a bus that was melted into the highway, telling him to get in and not move. Pointing west, there was a herd of twelve deathclaws trudging to the northwest. All of them had their claws out in front of them, their bodies were camouflaged into the dark brown and green environment around them. But when they moved past stumps of trees, or a bit of wind picked up, they were visible in their march. There was the Broodmother, a black devil of a deathclaw flanked by two baby deathclaws, and a young deathclaw taller than Nate by a few inches. Its claws weren't as large, but they could still crush their victims with the force of a sledgehammer.
They were on the hunt for giant rad-scorpions, and when they came upon a pack, they used their massive claws to rend the exoskeleton on the scorpions to pieces, before tearing apart at the exposed flesh with their powerful jaws
\111/
Moving on through the Glowing Sea, he felt like he was in a submarine, but seeing Meathead trot alongside him without a disguise made the experience a little less surreal, which is what he needed. Still, the air felt cold, and the deeper he went into this ocean of radiation, the colder he felt, even though he was inside two suits. It wasn't a physical chill, but one from knowing you were a tiny little tin-man walking through a desert, where anything could kill them.
Meathead cocked his head towards an off-ramp, and they followed a road that constantly shifted under their feet.
"<Deathclaw.>"
The off-ramp was in shambles, broken off and impossible to use, the only way off the highway was forward. Nate looked down through a hole in the road, there at the bottom of the culvert
Humming inside the suits that protected him, it was completely nonsensical. He settled on a bass line from a song, but after a few moments, he changed tune. After three minutes, he realized he'd started humming the tune to 'Winter Wonderland.'
'In the meadow, we can build a snowman.'
But Nate was biting his lip, he couldn't remember the rest of the song! Those same words replayed themselves over and over in his head on repeat until his annoyance could be felt by Meathead.
"<Something up?>"
"Song stuck in my head."
"<Which one?>"
"Winter Wonderland."
"<Sleighbells Ring...are you listening?>"
"<In the lane...snow is glistening...
"<A beautiful sight, we're happy tonight,>
"Walking in a winter wonderland." They sang together.
"<Gone away is a bluebird...here to stay, is a new bird...>
"<He's singing his song, as we go along...>
\111/
Most Bostonians driving south passed the large imposing black pyramid with vents and two covered missile silo openings on top of it on their way to Pawtucket and Providence, Rhode Island during their morning and evening commute.
The last time Nate and Nora drove down interstate 95, with Meathead in the backseat, was when they visited Nora’s cousins in Newport. They were in their red Corvega, top up with their windows cracked open. A nice day, partly cloudy, but still plenty of warmth. To their right, a semi loaded with military crates.
The 114/114-A Exit was marked
114 O’Neil Rd. First Right
114-A Military Site: Sentinel
Next Exit
Auth. Veh. Only.
Bold white letters with a red background. This black pyramid was a local landmark for West Roxbury, Massachusetts, in the same way, a giant statue of Paul Bunyan was an attraction for the town of Derry, Maine. Whenever a section is surrounded with high walls and the sounds of banging hammers, and power grinders smoothing out the metal can be heard, the hovel of West Roxbury. It was a small town within the greater southwest Boston area that was dug up, paved, and built on with the spread of the megalopolis.
Everyone in the local area knew about it, and what they did too. Of course, locals will have told you, 'it’s a military base’, For the quick and easy story, the nitty-gritty story is that it’s a nuclear deterrent site for small, suburban areas. Any missiles launched towards this location, if it were to fall into a certain range, would be met with retaliatory force. Missiles with nuclear tips, meant to intercept and destroy any incoming missiles before reaching ground zero are launched from one of four blast bays. Two were built directly into the pyramid, one disguised as a cooling tower, which it was. Lastly, the fourth launch tube was 90 meters behind the Sentinel site, unmarked in a field of tall grass and wheat except for a tiny wooden stick with a pink plastic ribbon tied around it shoved into the ground.
Interstate 95 ran almost parallel to Sentinel site for a mile before veering back towards the coast, and then south until you reach the sea. Surrounded by a ten-foot-tall chain link fence, this place was the local ‘area 51’, a place people driving by wouldn’t have the slightest clue what went on inside, while kids and teenagers would say, aliens, ghosts, communists ships, and a Chinese Alien pinko-commie ghost!
Of course, anyone driving by taking a second glance would notice the silo covers and then think to themselves, ‘looks like the one over in Springfield County’, and remember that this isn’t the only sentinel site in Massachusetts. There’s one over in Springfield, Massachusettes. A third in Camden, New Jersey, one deep in White Mountain National Forest past the Lincoln turnoff in New Hampshire. Gravel road, no sign, and it’ll cut straight back for forty minutes over flat ground with high trees looming over with the sun barely cutting through the gaps in the branches. Another long wall of ten-foot-high chain-link fence with a sign at the front gate reading ‘Military Sentinal Site, Authorized Vehicles and Personnel Only. All Other Personnel are Considered TRESPASSERS. NH-142-I3.’
Just south of Natick to Roxbury, Roxbury was the epicenter of Ground Zero for the nuclear detonation that destroyed Massachusetts during the Great War. From this suburb that housed one of the United State’s largest eastern seaboard nuclear deterrent systems. All the soldiers there under Captain Dunleavy of the 132nd Engineering Corps were waiting for their communications to be fixed while nuclear missiles left their launch pads and sailed through the sky. Multiple launches were detected and every soldier there stood rigid and at attention when sirens wailed, reporting to their station, drill or not, but no one could get a line to the General to find out if it was the real thing.
\111/
The Charles river would be irradiated longer than humankind will still be around if left as is. All the seeping radiation dust and dirt, blowing high up into the clouds, agitating the clouds for crackling lightning during storms that will carry the radioactive dust out over Massachusetts Bay where it rains, or is blown right back west at New York. Like putting out a fire by spraying water mixed with oil on it, radiation is washed over everything. Like most things dug up by humans, Uranium, Oil, and Coal, it’s best if the waste product goes back down deep underground to the bowels of Hell and beyond, where it can never hurt anyone ever again. At least, that was the best they could do with radioactive waste, there was always so much of it growing up as a kid. Every month, Nate’s dad would take a pair of special brown, oiled gloves from the drawer, and a pair of metal pliers, like one a blacksmith would use to carry a small cup of molten gold and go out behind the house to a small energy waste box.
Nate told him “Son! You see this here energy waste box? All these biohazard and radiation signs everywhere?” Every question was always answered with “Yes, sir.”
“You see how I’m wearing these special gloves? These are my special brown gloves, Nate, they’re lined with lead. I use them to open this box. I never use my fingers to open this box here on the back of the house, it’s hot and’ll burn yer fingers. So if you ever come back here, you’ll see a pair of gloves hanging up real close. I want you to put your hand up real close son, and then jerk it away and say ‘Wait! I don’t have the gloves on!’”
Nate looked up at his dad and the grey painted box with a radioactive sticker on it, warning residents not to tamper or attempt to modify the device in any way. Reaching one hand up close, his dad smacks his left hand and Nate shouts “Wait. I don’t have the gloves on.” Rather listlessly and awkward, his Dad doesn't care. He smiles and gives thanks to Nate for doing the silly task.
“Good, man.” Nate’s dad says, smiling at him. He takes off the gloves and passes them to Nate. “Here you go.” Nate takes them and puts them on, his father holds up the pair of pliers.
“Go ahead and open it.” Nate reaches out with his left hand at the little knob, pulling lightly as the door swung open, revealing a glass tube encased in stainless steel and more metal attached to a pipe in the house.
“Alright son, now, take the pliers and grab the tube. You’ll grab it and twist to the left. Lefty Loosey, righty-tighty Then we’re going to take it around the front and put it in the yellow bin out front on the curb.”
Nate pulled the tube out under the supervision of his father, then walked around to the front of the house again, carrying the tube in the pliers grip the entire time, down the driveway.
Walking with extreme precision, his father opened the yellow waste bin, unscrewing the top and letting Nate drop the container inside. “Alright, with that taken care of, the city will come to pick up the waste today, clean it out, and give it back to us cold, so that way we can put it back in the house.”
“What is that stuff, dad?”
“Nuclear waste, all the energy we use to power cars and the house also create waste too, just like humans. Instead of CO2 from burning coal or wood, after the nuclear material is burned by the house, it creates this little bit of tar and collects in the containment tube instead of going up into the atmosphere. There's a lot more back at the plant where me and the boys work.”
He was referring to his army buddies and how they all got jobs working for the electric company after the war, Mass Energy was hiring production line work, along with installation work out in the city and across Massachusetts. A project that would keep the soldier boys busy with busy-work until the next generation of vibrant workers ascended to the right age and began working.
The tube design Nate’s father had in their house was an example of outdated technology going in with better designs already coming. By the time Nate and Nora would pick up the Boston Bugle and turn to the Property For Sale section, entire regions would be serviced by large power substations that accumulated the waste there, rather than people living at home. This house chore disappeared with the advancement of technology. The need to have a singular centralized location that accumulated waste was that people were apt to forget about garbage and collection day. Or, worse, they forgot to change it out after a year and now it backed up and overflowed with nuclear waste.
Now that person gets a fine and a hospital bill for the radaway they need after scaring the neighborhood like that.
That of course is all gone now just empty lots that look like bigger gravestone sites. The old foundations sticking up through the dirt make it look like places where they bury massive giants, with the foundation marking off the gravesite. Nate wanders between broken trees, stepping over a few to get to a higher view, but otherwise not disturbing the graveyard.
All he could hear was his breath, in and out, in and out.
\111/
Nate's fourth grade class was the first time he remembered learned about anything Nuclear. His teacher had blonde hair, and wore this type of redshirt like old ladies would wear, with all the plastic beads sewn into the front to make a design of a flower or a bird on their front. It was a red shirt, with the red and black beads catching the white glare of the overhead lights or a thin stretch of yellow light coming in from the sun. It made her shirt look like she was on fire that day. Orange and red, black and red, yellow and red. She held up a book that was red too, as we all gathered around her as she read to us. "Today we are learning about Ray--dee--ayy---shun." Everyone in class spent a few moments trying the new word out for themselves. "Oooh, Radiadiadiadtional!" Sammy Jones shouted, "Raideeation." Larry Hemsworth tried, "Radiation." Sally Wentrow, said perfectly. "Radiation, Radiation." Lee Zacher repeated. "LIMITATION," Gene Lorren botched. "Radiation."
And then she opened the book, held open to a certain page by her thumb, and there were three red triangles, pointing down with two triangles on top, touching corners with the one below it. A yellow ink cloud, and a few electrons and protons swirling around it, and boom, Mrs. Cunningham's fourth grade class suddenly knew what radiation looked like for the first time in their lives.
\111/
"<We have a solution for cleaning the land like this.>"
"What's yours? How do Changelings deal with land this bad?"
"We have a few ways. If there were more of me, we'd terraform the land, every square inch of dirt overturned and buried deep. Every tree dragged out and burned. We don't have to worry about breathing irradiated dust thanks to our two sets of jaws. The inner one is for chewing and digesting, the outer is a thicker jaw acts as an air filter, its meant for bashing, crushing, digging, and grinding."
"So you could potentially clean all this mess up?" Nate asked, Meathead nodded.
"<Since it's just me, it'd take the better half of the rest of my life to clean from here to ground zero. It's the ponies who can do it better. They accumulate steam of clean water and condense it into a cloud, then take it high over a polluted area and make it rain. The water here of course would need to run through filters, scrubbed, and boiled a few times. Nothing like washing your car with a dirty rag, and brown water, right?>
Nate took a step sideways and nearly fell. "Are you kidding me? Gooh," The dirt underneath Nate's boots cracked and crumbled. No bacteria to fester and grow, no dogs to dig through the scraps, nor cats to happily eat up any leftovers hanging around. This certainly wasn't the American Southwest, so no Vulture birds either to go after the skeletons burned into the ground.
A woman hiding behind a thick gnarled tree that's still standing, only her arm is melted into the wood and her mouth is thrown back in wild agony as she tries to tear herself away.
"Hot stuff," Hancock said, referring to the atomic blast.
It's hard not to notice which way the epicenter is, everything is blown in the direction away from the blast.
Trees, powerlines, cars, pylons, all knocked around. Like some kid picked up a blanket all their toys were laid put on, grabbed one end, and then tried to snap it. Buildings that were still standing, or visible above the ten feet of detritus were more often half-blown open in the blast facing side, while the front looks sandblasted and worn like a beach house that no one's ever taken care of.
Trying to find any semblance of reality, any calls to action that there is still a little bit of normalcy is jeopardized by Radscopions bursting free from the dried ground, forcing them to walk on the buried highway overpass, or the remains of roads, which prevented vibrations from passing as easily into the dirt. He honestly couldn't tell if the dirt path he was on now, was any different from the dirt two feet to his left or right. It was all that dull, emotionless grey-brown with green hanging in the air. Like the air was sick.
\111/
“<Nate, I'm sensing a group.>”
“Of what?”
“<Deathclaws.>”
Down in the fields below them were twelve deathclaws, all guided by an Alpha Deathclaw, trailed by the Broodmother and her babies, then flanked on both sides of this pack were regular Deathclaws, but away from the main pack were two hunters, the protectors of the group. Their claws were longer, and skin was darker, the spines on their back were longer. They looked more hunched over than the others, but that was to accommodate the weight for their size.
“Jesus. We should get the hell out of here, Meathead.” As armored and prepared as they were, Nate easily recalled his first experience with one single Deathclaw, let alone a whole pack. It was not a fight Nate ever wanted to envision, but when it came to the forefront of his mind after looking down on the twelve Deathclaws, his mind went there.
It was a fight he wouldn't win, easily.
Retreating away from the ridgeline, Nate relaxed his breath and exhaled.
“We're lucky they're way down there, and we're way up here,” Hancock said.
Nate was still tense, not wanting to attract remotely any attention to themselves, he didn't say anything for another two minutes until they were far from the pack of Deathclaws and out of range.
“Interesting group dynamic,” he said, given plenty of time to replay the image of twelve death bringers walking across the fields like a herd.
“<Yeah, we'll write National Geographic afterward, give them the scoop.>” Meathead said,
\111/
“Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Right down Santa Claus Lane.”
The jingle of bells through a speaker spitting static to a burning wasteland under a green hazy sun was like hearing a beacon.
After the promise of mutually assured destruction and losing the safety net of a society reformed over dozens of generations, to hear a Christmas tune in the Glowing Sea made Nate extremely lorn for a semblance of normality in the Post-Great War era.
The trade-off between breathing and not breathing was death. As annoying as the filter in Nate's helmet was, at some point after finding a haven, if at all possible, in the Glowing Sea, or hiking back to civilization, he could take it off.
Pushing the sound of his breath out of his head, tuning it out to listen carefully to the echo of a Christmas tune emanating from seemingly everywhere made Nate jostle and look around warily.
The first instincts told him it was a trap, but after quieting his breath, fanning out his fingers to signal Meathead and Hancock to slow down. They come to a stop and waited.
Meathead's ears perked up to the noise now that they stopped moving, “Christmas music.”
“<But how?>”
“Can you tell which direction it's coming from?”
Meathead nodded, head pointing to the southwest.
“<The Darkness is coming from this way, do you know what could be playing the music?>”
Nate shook his head.
As 'Here comes Santa Clause' came to a wrap, there was a discerning quiet as they both slowed down again, waiting for another song to begin playing, but then, 'I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas' by Bing Crosby starts up and they both are on the move again.
The difficult thing to understand about radiation and fallout is the irradiated dust and how it settles.
Fallout is everything to do with the world after a nuclear bomb goes off.
With more destructive force than a wildfire in a single instant, the smoke and ash choke the air until it settles, but even then, coming in contact with the fallout absorbs into your skin, where it affects your body on a microscopic level.
It's like standing inside of an oven after the fire was put out.
After being exposed to sunlight all day, a rock can stay warm into the night, it retains heat. But, when a nuclear detonation occurs, everything in the surrounding area is exposed to radiation so intensely blinding and hot, ten times brighter than the sun, produced directly on the surface of the earth, everything stays hot for years.
That massive release of radiation directly on the surface sends up clouds of dust into the winds, these charged molecules enter the atmosphere, where wind currents react adversely to the energy.
The day was November 7th, but Nate wouldn't realize what day it was until after seeing the corroded, rust-red speakers cackling out 'White Christmas'.
The only part of the building still visible from the outside was the billboard sign mounted on top with the roof coming out of the ground enough to make Nate realize the actual pavement road was fifteen feet below the dirt, and he was only looking at the topmost level.
Super-Duper Mart.
"Meathead..." He said very quietly. "Hear that?"
In the meadow we can build a snowman," the echo came.
Meathead heard it too, not too far off, but distinct.
"And pretend that he's a circus clown."
"Who's playing that?" Hancock asked.
"Shush." Nate looked around, seeing the scant remains of the tops of buildings, and trying to piece together where they were.
"We'll have lots of fun with Mr. Snowman until some other kids come' knock him down!
They went towards the music, following it through the roads as it grew louder and louder.
Nate picked up on the noise and hastened towards it, the song was scratchy, playing through speakers that were long past the end of their shelf-life.
"What the hell is going on here?" Hancock asked.
"What's here?" Nate thought out loud, trying to draw up mental images of what could be playing the Christmas music. He wasn't going insane, he thought, they were hearing things.
"When it snows, ain't it thrilling? Though your nose, get's a chillin'
The frame of a blasted-away billboard on top of the roof of a two-story building made Nate stare as he tried to make out the colors and shape of the building like an archaeologist coming across a discovery.
"We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way..."
It took a moment to realize what the trio was looking at, and the source of the noise itself. They were at the foot of a Super-Duper Mart with speakers mounted on lampposts around the parking garage, and inside the store.
"Walking in a winter wonderland. Wonderland. Wonderland."
Hearing music for the first time that wasn't Diamond City Radio, nor the Nuka-Cola Family jingle, Nate's mind reeled for explanations as to why music was coming out of the speakers, and the most logical one came to mind.
As Frank Sinatra reminded Nate, Hancock, and Meathead to have a 'Merry Little Christmas', the music playing on the speakers must be set to an automatic playlist within the store that's set to play in November and December. The unlikeliness of this happening, made it feel like discovering a shipwreck, with the radio still playing at the bottom of the ocean.
The pleasantness of the Christmas music in the Glowing Sea made Nate want to search for the source.
"Is there anything inside this building, Meathead?"
"<Yes...It's emotionally dead though. Unlike any other creature, I've felt in the wasteland before.>"
"Windigo?"
"<I can't see it, but I know it's there.>"
Nate noticed it too, the dip in temperature, the chill in the air, and the increase in wind. There was a cold front moving through, and the vortex of this storm was coming from the Super-Duper Mart's parking garage.
\111/
It was the end of days, as far as they knew, hope had been lost. They were depressed, starving, and angry. War brought different types of scavengers, flies, maggots, vultures, wolves, wild dogs, mosquitoes, but those all fed on the physical realm, on physical things like flesh and bone.
Windigos were like mosquitoes sucking away at the soul, and like mosquitoes, there were thousands of them, all drawn to the hatred and fury of the Chinese soldiers entrenched on the other side of the pass.
Like changelings, the Windigos fed on emotion, but that is where the similarities ended. The Windigos were dark spirits born from hunger in frozen wastelands where food was scarce and hope was lost. They possessed the soldiers and turned them into cannibals, the first raiders of their kind. Those that were transformed and gave up their humanity to survive became the Wendigos.
They turned on each other and froze even more soldiers along the way, all the while Nate and the 108th were singing Christmas carols, while the Chinese were possessed by Windigos into eating each other.
\111/
The Windigo's voice was in their head, but the Christmas music playing over the loudspeakers was fighting for Nate and Meathead's attention.
The voice was like a hungry-ghost, “Surrounded by fear, all I see are dead men.”
“<Don't listen to him,>”
“Feliz Navidad, Meathead. Feliz Navidad.”
"Nate, how do we plan on killing this thing?"
"Shoot it till it's down, then tear' it limb from limb. Tactically, we're taking this thing head-on, and it knows we're coming. Lure it outside. Meathead, go do your thing, and I'll pump the Windigo full of as many copper ties as I can. Then, after we draw him outside, you light him up like a Christmas tree."
Always the beacon of positivity for those around him, it was that sure-headed clarity in the face of imminent danger.
Meathead's ears flattened down as he heard Nate humming the tune to the Christmas jingle 'Feliz Navidad.'
“I want to wish you a Merry Christmas, from the bottom of my heart.' Nate sung.
The Windigo kept droning on, but Meathead recalled Nate telling him about False Pass,
'There we were, all tucked in, singing Christmas songs, then so-and-so busted in with 'Driedal, Driedal, Driedal' while the Chinese were freezing to death across the Pass.'
Meathead saw Nate's confidence for what it was, and even though they were walking straight at the Changeling's most feared enemy, one that was dreaded for millennia, Meathead couldn't help but be carried by the shared emotion and find the air rising out of his chest in the sound of laughter.
Meathead was laughing and Nate was crying because it was all so funny to them.
“Nora cussed after I forgot to get her a gift for Valentine's day.” Nate said, the only thought that came to mind in light of the christmas music. It reminded him of holidays, both successful and failed ones.
Meathead tripped, stumbling down onto his two front knees as he doubled over with laughter. The entire memory came flooding back in vivid detail. Despite the numerous decorations, the reminders, the alarms, and Lovey-Dovey emotions in the air, Nate still managed to somehow forget that February 14th comes after February 13th. Even after priming their emotions to be more in sync with each other, back when Meathead was still a German Shepard for Nate and Nora, and nothing more.
Nora flipped, she bought Nate a ticket for skydiving and gave it to him during breakfast, Nate didn't have anything to give her and asked “What's the special occasion?” meaning he came up empty.
Taking to the air, Meathead went to go coalesce and gather clouds.
\111/
The only way into the Super-Duper Mart was through the parking garage, still accessible from the roof. Before descending, Nate and Hancock took one last look at the horizon.
They went around the building, crawling over cement barriers to reach a door to a stairwell leading down. Pressing the door in, they were plunged into blackness, but Hancock turned on the headlamp, while Nate's sonar made clear outlines of the dark interior.
"The walls are damp. See this?" Nate said, pointing to the concrete walls, rubbing his hand across, they came back coated in wet grime. Descending the stairwell into the parking garage, Nate needed to force the door open with his shoulder before it came unstuck.
His first step out was onto a sheet of ice that cracked and splintered under the weight of the power armor and immediately retreated. Water splashed up around his boot, but looking down, the water was only twelve inches deep.
Fighting in the Super-Duper Mart, the entire store is shrouded in darkness. Only light from Nate's headlamp illuminates the dark, dusty interior. The air was cold and it took a few moments for the smell of mold to reach through Nate's air filters.
As effective as gas masks were, they still couldn't stop the smell.
The aisles were knocked over, but surrounding the Windigo was dead Deathclaw Broodmothers, around them were shattered eggs and stomped-on fetuses. Along the back wall, near the freezer section was pillars of ice with trails of water leading across the floor and straight to the parking garage where it was pooling up. They'd walked into a Deathclaw massacre, and this was the aftermath. They wouldn't even be fighting this Windigo at its full strength.
The Windigo itself was an apparition, glowing white eyes and a mouth that reached down farther than a normal mouth should reach. Its jaws were filled with sharp serrated teeth that were blue, like icicles that were jutting out in all directions. The tongue was black, hanging behind the teeth like a snake, combing over the backside of the teeth, licking out the blood and bits of meat stuck in between the teeth.
“They killed them,” The jaw moved, but not enough to close completely. It was always open, “Just to spite me.” His head swung around to the dead Broodmothers, but the lower jaw was like a hanging weight and it bobbed and dangled free. The white eyes laid to rest on the stomped baby Deathclaws, some barely free of their eggs.
What they noticed before the fighting was the long deep gashes on the Windigo's body, made only by a Deathclaw's hand.
“Chew on this,” Nate said, raising the rail-gun and firing all eight spikes.
The Railway ties each weighed half a pound, fired at 1000 feet per second, traveling less than fifty feet, six of them struck the Windigo's body. The neck gushed blood, the body was like something from the book of Revelation, a horse of the Apocalypse.
Famine.
The spikes sunk in up to the tooth, causing black blood to come pouring down, but this was a demon, it would take more than severely fatal wounds to kill it.
Hancock lobbed incendiary canisters, making them burst around the Windigo as it charged at them. The fire bursts stuck to the skin of the Windigo, burning off chunks of flesh, not that this thing needed its skin anyway.
It screeched, but this deafening boom of a yell ripped a swath of destruction across the store floor, tearing tiles off the ground, scattering rubble and shelves, slamming into Nate as he tried to move, and making Nate himself clench at his head as his eardrums whined a high-pitch buzzing tone. Knocked backward, the Windigo was on Nate in a heartbeat, but Hancock fired four shotgun shells out of his pump-action shotgun before baiting the Windigo to come closer.
All four shells peppered the body, spraying gore and bone as the Windigo turned its head and charged.
BLA-BLAM! A roar of fire came from the two incendiary shells directly into the Windigo's face, momentarily blinding it. Like a charging bull, the Windigo slammed into Hancock, knocking him back through several shelves and knocking old grocery store products everywhere.
The Windigo's horn sucked whatever available light there was out of the air, making Nate's headlamp flicker, as the temperature in the store dropped twenty degrees. The ground rumbled and ice spears burst out from pools of water.
The roof shook as Meathead landed on top, punching his way down through the ceiling, the clouds were in place and the fight was already well underway. Landing in front of Hancock, he threw a shield around himself as three ice spears shoved Meathead back off the floor and pinned him to the ceiling as the Windigo dove on Nate, throwing him to the ground. The Windigo reared back, its jaws clamping down on his left arm.
Crushing his arm, he felt the metal pinch around his bicep and elbow, but Nate raised his freshly reloaded rail-gun and fired directly into the skull of the Windigo six more times, pinning the jaw shut to the roof of the mouth and ripping more of the Windigo's face away in large gashes.
Muscle and bone were exposed, there shouldn't be any mortal thing that could live with this much trauma to the head, but after two of the spikes pierced through the left eye and tapped into the skull, the Windigo thrashed and flung Nate back.
Meathead responded by breaking the ice spears away and lofting them overhead in his magic. Flinging them at the Windigo's backside, he speared one icicle in the right flank of the Windigo as the other two broke and shattered across the Windigo's backside, leaving more long bloody gashes.
The Windigo dug the spike pinning its jaw shut by digging a hoof underneath the lip and driving it out. Charging Meathead, the Windigo dashed across the store, its hooves spreading swaths of ice in its wake.
Extending its jaws, he went for Meathead's neck, but Meathead turned his body, and for seven long seconds, he felt the Windigo's teeth sink into his right shoulder. Screaming as a chitin plate was pulled from his body. It didn't pull or stretch, the moment the Windigo's teeth touched his skin, it felt like liquid nitrogen was being pumped into his veins, it burned because of how cold it was. His exoskeleton turned white, then shattered like glass.
The scream of agony ripped out of Meathead's lungs wasn't anything Nate or Hancock ever heard before.
It wasn't his dog whimpering in pain, it wasn't a human voice that Meathead copied and was playing back for him to understand, it was a Changeling's voice, and never in the three years, Meathead was living with them as their family pet did such a horrific noise come from him.
It never occurred to Nate before now that he never heard anything in Changeling aside of a few clicks of the tongue from Meathead, nothing forthcoming in dialect. But to hear the choking scream of a family member made Nate furious.
Hancock fired an entire clip of ammo from his assault rifle, reloaded, and fired another twenty more before a blast of ice washed over him, freezing him to the spot. He struggled and jerked his body left and right, hearing the ice around his crack. The ice was growing thicker around his body, spurred on by the Windigo's magic.
Ejecting himself from the suit of power armor, Hancock was mobile and free of the creeping ice. The ice around his suit locked up all the joints and crawled inside the open frame, forming a solid block that would've encapsulated him completely.
Drawing the .44 magnum revolver, Nate lunged at the Windigo, wrapping an arm around its neck from behind and yanking back, with his gun hand he held the barrel straight over the Windigo's chest where a heart should be and unloaded all six rounds point-blank into its chest. The Windigo bucked, screeching at the wounds inflicted upon it.
The Windigo whipped Nate off, sending him flying thirty feet back.
A ball of energy grew from Meathead's horn, a hot orange fire that grew to be baseball-sized. Leaning forward and pressing the incinerating magic directly onto the Windigo's skin, the ball exploded with fire, burning away the Windigo's flesh and setting its mane on fire.
The face was burned away, skin turning black and crispy. Its eyes were melting out of its skull, its ever-hanging jaw was hanging on by sinew and cartilage until it too finally was scorched away. The jawbone landed on the floor with a wet squelch.
But this thing roared, then retreated towards the freezer section in the back of the store. Hancock came to Nate and Meathead's side.
“Don't let it get away! It's not dead yet!” Nate yelled, running towards the freezer section in the back.
“<How much fucking more can that thing take!?>” Meathead focused on his enemy in front of him, gathering energy, but he didn't know what shape the spell was going to take. All he knew was that this thing needed to burn. Launching the fireball, it exploded against the Windigo and consumed the walls and ceiling of the Super-Duper mart.
Conserving his ammo, Hancock fired his laser pistol at the dark mass of the Windigo, Nate reloaded the rail gun, but the store was filling with smoke, and the ground shook as Meathead blasted bolts of raw energy at the Windigo.
Meathead panted but was unrelenting in the assault. When flames threatened to draw back and hurt himself, he moved back.
“<I can't see it.>”
“It's not dead, till it pops. Then burn the heart for good measure. Take no chances.”
\111/
From the flames of the freezer section rose a massive creature, the Windigo gone, and in its place was a Possessed Deathclaw standing in the fire.
It spread its membrane wings and fanned the air.
"Oh for FUCK'S SAKE! GODDAMMIT!" Seeing the abomination step forward. It abandoned its old body for this one kept on ice.
Hancock was getting low on ammo for his machine gun and fired what he had left before dropping the gun. Next came his shotgun, loaded with slug rounds. Boring holes and blasting away chunks from the Possessed Deathclaw. Pieces of its thick hide were blasted all the way down to the bone, but this monster refused to show any signs of weakness or slowing down.
The Possessed Deathclaw roared, and Nate and Meathead started their second assault. Billows of cold mist smothered the fire, turning the smoke to steam. The Possessed Deathclaw flapped its wings to cross the fire line and dove with its claws extended toward the duo. Nate shoved Hancock back, as the claws rended part of his armor nearly breaking through.
The frosted claws made the entire length of his arm go cold. It seeped through and threatened the integrity of the power armor, something they were sure the Windigo knew how to exploit. Before Nate could fire his railgun again, the Possessed Deathclaw swung its arm back behind its head, then down like a club, smashing into Nate, flinging him across the market.
Nate was thrown through the concrete walls into the parking garage, the bottom floor is covered with two feet of irradiated water and scattered with rusted car husks.
"<Hancock, time to go!>"
Meathead grabbed the ceiling support beams with his magic and pulled the whole store down on top of the Possessed Deathclaw. Firing as he moved backwards, dust and rubble rained down on their heads as the ceiling foundations gave in. Diving through the double doors leading to the parking garage as the rubble threatened to crush them, twelve tons of metal, concrete, and the Super-Duper Mart sign rained down as the whole ceiling collapsed. A massive plume of dust rose as the Possessed Deathclaw was buried.
Nate was rising to his feet, a little winded from being thrown around, and eardrums were nearly blown out, but his confidence was unshaken.
“Did we-?” Hancock asked.
“<NOPE!>” Meathead yelled, galloping towards Nate, kicking up the water behind him.
“What's going on?”
“<He's alive. He's tunneling towards us, we don't have long.>”
“I lost the rail rifle.” Nate placed one hand to his head, wanting to wipe away sweat on his brow. Finding the tactical advantage of the space given to them, was more open, but also meant that the Windigo could attack directly at them.
They both heard the growls and felt the tons of rubble shifting. “You think that we're few, but there are thousands of us. These seas of the dead will feed for all eternity thanks to you, humans.”
The Windigo was feeding on feral ghouls, living hundreds of years longer than a human, and unable to move past the last primal emotion before that moment of losing the rest of their sanity.
Basic emotions, and all because there were very few ghouls who were happy, or filled with joy and love when a nuclear explosion stuck them into damnation.
“<Hancock, Nate, get outside, it's ready.” Meathead echoed back, stepping away from Nate. "<I'll distract him.>" A green trail of fire wrapped around Meathead from horn to hoof, then in a flash he transformed into a Deathclaw himself.
Fishing out more ammo from Nates bag, they ran and reloaded as they reached the surface. They both readied themselves as the Windigo's voice cut through the air like grating ice.
“Freeze you all.”
The words wormed their way into Meathead's brain, there was life all around them, ghouls were frozen underground, and this Windigo was grazing off them, never drawing too much to drain his supply.
Before now, Meathead never really needed to test his metal, he was able to improvise many things along the way, get the jump on any enemy by knowing their emotional state, and pre-emptively attacking the moment before they would strike.
Nate and Hancock rushed outside, as Meathead in his deathclaw form wrestled and heaved the Possessed Deathclaw up through the ceiling, bashing through concrete and iron. In a flash, Meathead took to the skies, racing for a large black thundercloud above their heads as the Possessed Deathclaw expanded its wings and took after him.
Hancock and Nate fired a hail of bullets at the Possessed Deathclaw. When their shotguns were out, they switched to their handguns, the magnum, and then his 10mm, shooting holes into the Possessed Deathclaw's hide.
Meathead bounced into the black thundercloud as the Possessed Deathclaw reached out to grab Meathead.
Lightning arced straight to them, in a blinding white flash, Nate and Hancock saw the teeth of the Possessed Deathclaw explode out of the mouth, the enamel was superheated to the point of boiling, turning to steam, then expanding. Meathead took a lesser brunt of the electricity shocking him, only because his shell was positively charged.
The Possessed Deathclaw's skeleton was visible for a moment as all the nerves were electrocuted, but this wasn't a normal Deathclaw, and the Windigo was riding its host for all it was worth. There was no emotion coming from the Deathclaw except sadistic intent.
Meathead's chitin was smoking from the daisy-chain electrocution, but only for a moment as he thrashed and fell free of the Possessed Deathclaw's grip. Pushing himself away as they both free fell, Meathead landed in a heap of Glowing Sea dirt.
The wings of the Possessed Deathclaw went rigid as both of them fell from the sky, hurtling towards the ground, crashing a small impact crater.
Nate sprinted across the open ground and pressing the Ripper right into the Possessed Deathclaw's neck before it could regain its senses.
“Die, Motherfucker, Die.” He shouted, the Ripper cutting through the throat and aiming for its heart. Nate could hear it, he could feel it pulsating against the armor's gloves.
Taking his time saying those words, the eyes of the Windigo locked onto him as the Possessed Deathclaw's body was shredded to pieces, but the monster still tried moving.
“Fucking die already!”
Meathead pulled his head up, sensing picking up on more life in the wasteland, all around them were Deathclaws.
Circling them, pack hunting, waiting for the moment to come in and strike them down. Only, it wasn't emotions driven by aggression, it was hope, boredom, and interest.
Unable to interpret the pack of Deathclaw's emotions that they were giving off, he pushed those thoughts aside and pulled from their energy, their life force, just enough to get him back on his hooves and charge at the Windigo.
Nate didn't even have time to react as the Possessed Deathclaw lashed out one frozen gauntlet and like a snake striking out, the claw pierced through Nate's left arm, one tip through in the bicep, one straight through his Pip-boy, and a third in his forearm.
The blood froze on contact, but Nate dropped the Ripper and screamed. The Windigo's voice echoing inside his head. Hancock blasted away with his handgun, diving for the Ripper and plunging it into the Possessed Deathclaw's chest. The mini chainsaw tore through rib bones and ripped out the Possessed Deathclaw's guts, but this thing wouldn't die.
Held above the Posessed Deathclaw's head, he shook Nate.
“She's next.”
The screams that were torn out of Nate's throat were practically strangling himself, screaming himself hoarse as Meathead threw himself up onto all fours and sprinted at the two of them. Dipping his head, Meathead pulled energy into his horn, feeling it grow hot and seeing the glare through his closed eyelids.
Rearing back to rip Nate away from his trapped arm, the Possessed Deathclaw's hands were freezing the blood, spreading up into his veins. Held up above the Deathclaw's head only by the arm, it would shatter or be ripped free from the shoulder.
Ramming his horn into the Possessed Deathclaw's chest, Meathead unleashed all his magic at once, one powerful blast of unchained energy that bubbled up, growing green and then turning white-hot as a burn mark appeared on the Possessed Deathclaw's backside, skin and spines expanding outwards as everything burned, blood boiled and turned to steam contained within the meat sack.
With a massive pop, the ribcage and spine blew out the backside of the Possessed Deathclaw, a shower of blood and gore spraying thirty feet back as the final blow incinerated the heart, throat, spine, and lungs of the monster, but the head, arms, and torso, minus a puncture wound in the sternum, were still together.
Everyone was thrown back, collapsing in their piles as the fight came to an end.
\111/
His Pip-Boy was speared right through the display, and he felt every part of his body clench and thrash in pain at the shock, but no other thoughts invaded his mind, he was completely present at the moment.
Holding his arm still, there was no other option but to lay there still, and rely on his friend to help him in this situation.
Around them, the Deathclaws observing the prey howled and roared, witnessing the conclusion to the battle in front of them, and now we're moving in to clean up the leftovers.
“MEATHEAD!” He screamed, the changeling was galloping and flying full speed at him, hooves barely touching the ground as his wings kept him aloft.
Hancock pulled himself up, groaning, he rushed to Nate's side.
The changeling skidded to a stop, worry stretched across his features.
“You gotta...” He gulped, trying to come up with rational thought. Grabbing at his chest with his right arm, then his hand landed on a blade.
“Take this, and get me the Deathclaw's arm."
“<But! I gotta get your arm off that!>”
“Meathead! I KNOW! I Know! Bandage arm!” Nate said, heart, pounding in his head, eyes bulging through his skull, face red and sweating as he was exposed to lethal radiation. Every second he bled out, was another moment at the end of his life gone.
Realizing what he needed to do, Meathead hacked through the Possessed Deathclaw's arm, wearing down the serrated teeth as he cut through the tough skin.
"Hang in there, buddy, you'll get through this," Hancock said, peeling off the power armor and radiation suit around Nate's arm. Putting his weight on the bleeding wounds to staunch the bleeding.
He was laying on his back and was crying and moaning. He accepted that his arm was pierced through his protective suits, exposed to the radioactive air around them.
His arm felt was shattered, nerves shouting at him that it was freezing, and then hot, and it took the effort to not suffer.
Nate was shaking, cold, and sweating at the same time. It was taking all his energy to stay warm. He couldn't tell if he was hot or cold.
Meathead came back carrying the Possessed Deathclaw's hand, Nate nodded once, “Do it.”
The pain made itself aware immediately away. The suffering was intense, enough to make Nate cry.
Meathead couldn't stop himself from crying either, feeling as though he could've done more, acted more aggressively, bringing the fight to its conclusion a moment earlier if only...
“You wanna know what my name was in the army?” Nate asked, pounding his right hand into the ground. adding to Nate's agony, but he panted hard and contained his pain, if only for now.
His arm was completely exposed, but radiation wasn't immediately at the forefront of his mind. It was still killing him, but stripping back his Vault-suit, Meathead's horn glowed, and Nate's entire arm was held in a vice.
Three stimpak shots, the small beads absorbed the blood like a sponge, expanding and filling the puncture wounds to get the vessels to dry out and scab over.
His arm was lumpy, swelling, and they both knew why. With the bones misalign, they were jabbing into the thousands of nerves that were still functioning, sending back pain signals to the brain.
“<Here it comes. I'm gonna shove those bones back into place.>” Meathead said, horn glowing brighter as his telepathic grip intensified. Meathead was using his magic to keep blood from flowing out. Laying Nate's arm out as best as they could, was the easiest way to see all the muscles and bones. It felt like Nate's entire arm was in a clamp, pressed down from every angle as Meathead pulled and pressed the bones and muscles back into place.
The pain was so strong that his teeth hurt, screaming like they were being ripped out by the root. He was in so much pain he couldn't even place what he was feeling or where, everything hurt. From the ringing in his ears to the numbness in his left arm, his vision was fading. White spots appeared, his suffering was immense.
Hancock took the Deathclaw's hand, and the knife, and deboned the hand. "God, it's still freezing cold," Hancock said, feeling the tips of his hands' frost up. Peeling back the arm, he laid it on the ground next to Nate.
Breathing deep to manage the pain, reigning in his scattered senses, and then Meathead slathered the arm in Changeling resin, the green ichor secreted from his hooves and mouth. Moving Nate's arm into the cover of the Possessed Deathclaw's hand, it was a makeshift cover to prevent Nate's arm from radiation exposure. Meathead slathered changeling resin up and down Nate's arm, all the way up to the shoulderblade, coating the suit as well.
“<Nate, we got movement everywhere. Killing that thing made a lot of things out here...>” He swallowed “<...active.>”
Out of the ground, feral ghouls that were once locked in purgatory by the Windigo draining them of their life force, were now aware and awake, crawling their way up to the surface.
Nate was stuck staring at the Possessed Deathclaw's hand, morbid thoughts about his demise at radiation exposure running through his mind. The hand was still cold and frozen, tainted from the Windigo's touch.
\111/
His fingers felt pins and needles with pain shooting up his arm, but it took a minute of concentrating and deep breathing to finally make it up to one knee, then onto both feet as he stood up. Hancock and Meathead helped him balance, but they all knew they couldn't stay in the Glowing Sea for much longer.
“Gah.” He exhaled when he stood up, shaky and nerves shot.
"Deep breaths," Hancock said, inhaling audibly through. "Just breathe in that crisp Glowing Sea air."
Nate took steps away from the dead Possessed Deathclaw, cradling his arm wrapped in the enemie's limb. Cautious to avoid the tips. Even now, after death, the claw tips were still bleeding coldness, like dry-ice creating fog, and the color of them was ashy-white with purple beneath, like frostbite.
“<Are you ready?>” His eyes went to the shotgun laying nearby, Nate dropped it after being struck in the arm. Floating it over to them, Meathead felt a migraine of shooting pain spike through his skull, telling him not to expend any more magic. The only thing he could do was ready an assault rifle for Nate, laying him onto his back.
The ammo they had left wouldn't be enough to take on an entire pack of Deathclaws, along with the fifty feral ghouls coming out of the woodwork. Dozens were finally moving onto their feet, looking around, sensing that there was something alive, and a target for their mindless impulses.
These ghouls were different, Meathead immediately noticed, their skin was shiny, like gemstones, but green in color.
\111/
What Meathead and Hancock didn't know he was looking at was feral ghouls covered in Moldavite, a gemstone that is created when asteroids hit the surface of the earth, causing the rock around it to be super-heated and liquefy. As it hardens the gemstone is created, however, these were created when the bomb struck one mile southwest of them, superheating the dust and rock in the air, scorching the humans, and burning the liquefied rock, the Moldavite, directly onto their skin.
These Mold Ghouls were under the spell of a Windigo for over two hundred years, and now they were free from its control. They were conscious, active, alert, and able to roam freely. Unfortunately, this would make Nate, Meathead, Hancock, and the rest of the Commonwealth's situation a whole lot worse.
More active ghouls with skin as tough as gemstones.
\111/
The first Deathclaw roared, howling, setting off all the other Deathclaws to respond and come charging in.
Meathead's ears perked up, and then, howling back in the Deathclaw's tone, Nate was soldiering through, aiming at one of the Mold ghouls that was approaching them with wide staring eyes and a mouth that looked twisted and warped, hanging open in a scream, with Moldavite coming out of its eyes, mouth, neck, chest, and arms.
"Hell, I don't think we got enough ammo for this," Hancock said, his arms were shaking, but he blamed that on not taking any drugs for the last day. He'd been too excited for the Glowing Sea expedition, that he didn't think to get high that morning. He checked his ammo reserves and frowned.
One-shot would've alerted the entire horde, but the Deathclaw's were there, and they immediately went for the closest ghoul. One swipe of their claws was enough brute force to shatter their spines, cutting their claws on the Mold, but they were heading directly for Hancock, Meathead, and Nate.
Meathead responded to the roar again, quickly grinding his teeth together, a Deathclaw's shout coming from his mouth.
“Wha's goin' on, Meat?” Nate whispered. “Can you teleport us the fuck out of here?”
Meathead shook his head, down his horn was a trail of Windigo blood. The magical blast was Meathead's end-all, everything worthwhile in one single blast that took far too much energy out of him.
A black Deathclaw threaded through a grouping of ghouls, killing three of them with a backhanded swing before he and seven other Deathclaws all closed in on the trio, stopping only a few meters away from them. They were twenty feet tall, and their towering presence was intimidating.
The Deathclaws shouted and roared, Meathead responded.
“<They wanted something to kill the Windigo. It took control of their alpha.>”
The Deathclaws were growling to Meathead, staring directly at them with their black encompassing eyes.
Standing next to Meathead, listening to the low growls, he likened it to dogs barking, hyena's yipping, ragged panting, and howls. Nate contemplated the dead creature in front of him like hunted game.
“<They like us.>”
“What do you mean?”
“<I think we just made some new friends.>”
"Oh thank God, thought I would'a had to bite the bullet there for a sec," Hancock said, easing his shaking hands off his weapon.
The Deathclaws looked to the Alpha, the black Deathclaw, and it made a gesture with its claws. The right pointer finger was placed at the knuckle of the left pointer finger, then sliding it down the length of the left finger, it reminded Meathead and Nate of different things. To Meathead, it looked like the Deathclaw was sharpening its claws.
\111/
Watching the pack of Deathclaws gather around him, Meathead asked if Nate was ready to move.
Nate shook his head, “That thing deflected a railroad spike directly to the skull, I saw it glance off. There was enough force behind one shot to shatter concrete and embed itself two inches into steel.”
Meathead took Nate's knife once again and cut through the neck of the Possessed Deathclaw to take as a trophy for hunting the Windigo.
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It was like the blindfold had been taken off and Meathead could finally see. The entire Glowing Sea came into his awareness, he knew where every living thing was, and what they were feeling.
But, with severe exposure to the Glow, Nate was doing less than well, feeding himself RadAway in an IV drip directly to his blood. He couldn't tell how fast he was absorbing radiation through the jury-rigged protective wrapping, but his mind was reeling and telling him now was the time to not hold back on the RadAway.
With the death of the Windigo, Meathead felt the energy in the air change. Like the ground itself was relaxing and breathing again after holding its breath for so long. Hancock helped support Nate, carrying the Possessed Deathclaw's skull on the back of his suit.
Seeing further than ever before there was life where before he could feel nothing.
Meathead felt that his improvement wasn't worth Nate's sacrifice. "<Nate, I can feel him. I know where the scientist is.>" Nate didn't respond.
"We'll get him, Nate. Don't you worry." Hancock said, hoping to spark some life into Nate.
Every moment they basked in the Glowing Sea, Meathead felt a little stronger, while Nate marched toward more suffering.
Overexposure, or most certainly cancer if they made it out of the depths, or ghoulification, which was a chance Nate wasn't holding his breath for.
Their time in the Glowing Sea was getting cut short, with 8 remaining RadAways, they allotted themselves nine hours left before exposure overwhelmed the amount of RadAway in Nate's system.
In that time, they walked in one direction, and one direction only, North.
The renegade scientist would have to wait for another day, another expedition, but for now, Nate's arm was barely hanging on by a thread, Meathead was missing a chunk of his shoulder exoskeleton and was using his resin to cover the wound.
Everything was feeling hot and itchy, uncomfortable and burning like a sunburn that kept being rubbed.
With the landscape leading downhill, the grey outline of the highway five miles in the distance became clear, still over an hour away.
Three miles away they tried moving faster, jogging even, but Nate was crying in agony and falling at every other step.
One mile away from the edge, Nate was leaning heavily onto Meathead, and Meathead was pushing back up to support Nate, when they finally crossed the threshold, past the marker Nate sunk into the ground before the expedition started, Nate used his good hand to rip off his helmet and throw it to the ground.
Sinking to his knees, he fell over and nearly died on the spot. Fighting the Windigo drained more out of the both of them than any other foe they came across since leaving the Vault. Walking away with its skull and arm, the rest of the body and organs were obliterated. Hancock helped Nate get out the remains of his power armor and it helped him breathe easier. He laid there gasping for air, chest heaving, exhaustion setting in.
"Meathead; my call-sign was Meathead."
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End of Act II
Next Chapter: Ch. 73 Publick Occurences Estimated time remaining: 12 Hours, 42 Minutes Return to Story Description