The Scrapyard
It was time for Ellen to admit it: she was lost. Utterly, totally, and completely lost.
The thought was galling. Hadn't she been on the surface several weeks now? Hadn't she found her way to Arefu without getting killed? . . . okay, so she'd wound up in Big Town by mistake, and even with Evan King's markings on the Pip-Boy map she'd only made it to the Northwest Seneca station ruins by sheer luck, but still! She'd been out here long enough to know how to navigate, right? Nevertheless, the vast, sprawling mess of burnt-out car hulks and who knew what other kinds of trash that lay downslope from her had most definitely not been part of her earlier journeys. Which meant that either she'd been spectacularly unobservant then, or she was completely lost now.
Or both. It could, she was uncomfortably aware, be both.
She sat down on the hillside with a huffed sigh. All right, she was off course. She was pretty sure she was at least headed south, but a quick check of her Pip-Boy map indicated she'd somehow managed to wander in an eastward direction instead. The fuzzy blip that represented her approximate position seemed to indicate she was a ways south of Minefield; the Pip-Boy, like Ellen, was far better at pinpointing its location when it had walls to orient by. She scowled at the screen for a while, then switched it off. This wasn't going to help.
Well, at least there weren't any more mole rats.
It occurred to her after a while that the scrapyard in front of her wasn't entirely filled with trash. The rotted, more-rust-than-metal fence that marked its boundaries included a couple of concrete lumps that might've been buildings once. Bunkers, maybe? The sort of thing one might conceal the entrance to a Vault beneath? Who knew. It was worth a try, so she pushed herself to her feet, pulled up the stealth suit's headpiece, and drew her laser pistol. This place was far too dangerous to explore unprepared. She'd seen what stray bullets could do to prewar cars in Minefield, and there were a lot of cars here. If even a handful of them still had unbreached power plants…
Thankfully, no one had seen her. The scurrying figures she spotted darting among the ancient wrecks passed right on by, tall and small alike heading east. Well, that was fine. She'd done plenty of east without meaning to, and right now she needed west. Let them have their-
The loud, angry chatter of an assault rifle rang out nearby. Ellen froze. It took her a moment to realize she couldn't see the shooter- and another moment to work out that someone was screaming. Not the mad, gleeful yell of a raider or a robber, but real screams, real terror.
She'd seen what the raiders did with their victims' bodies. What they did before then she didn't know, but she could guess. She might be lost, but whoever was screaming… well. With a sigh, Ellen holstered the pistol. She was going to need a serious gun for this.
She arrived too late. By the time Ellen drew her Gauss rifle and found the actual battle scene, the scavenger woman lay dead in a pool of her own blood. Not alone, though. Two raiders had fallen beside her, ragged and gore-streaked. There were three left standing, all of them trying to shoot at something on the ground Ellen couldn't quite make out. "You like that?" the tallest man snarled. "Huh? Huh? You want some more?"
"What's the matter?" his scarred, shaven-headed companion jeered. "Can't stand the sight of your own- URK!"
A black-and-grey blur had lunged up at him, teeth flashing. Ellen had no time to work out what the thing was; the other two raiders were turning her way. The stealth field was good, but she knew they'd see her distorted outline if they looked at her straight on. Her Gauss rifle barked once, and the man on the right went flying. The last one gaped numbly at the sight. Ellen fumbled with the reload mechanism, praying he was too addled to shoot, but it didn't matter. With an awful growl the black-and-grey creature leapt for the last man standing. There was a scream, short and high-pitched; then the man hit the ground limply, and didn't move any more.
The creature backed away from the corpse, and turned her way. Ellen stood very, very still.
It was, she realized, a dog. Better fed than the starveling, rib-sided things she'd seen roaming the Wasteland in packs, and better cared for, but still a dog. And by the look of things- and the amount of blood on its fur- it had just killed several people. Oh, God, she didn't know anything about dogs, they didn't have dogs in the Vault, they-
( " I've been around dogs before. They're not likely to attack us unless we present ourselves as a threat. So long as we don't approach them or their dinner they should leave us alone." )
"Easy," Ellen murmured, holding up both hands (well, one hand and the rifle) as best she could. "I'm not- no danger here, dog. I'm not going to hurt you."
It wasn't listening. It padded forward, head low, and nosed at the scavenger woman's corpse with a faint whine. Even to Ellen, who had no idea what the animal was doing, it sounded like a sorrowful noise.
"Are you okay?" she said, not knowing what else to do or whether it was safe to just walk away.
The dog lifted its head, still whimpering, and looked her way. Its eyes were odd, she saw; one blue, one brown. Its tail hung low, and its sides were heaving, as if breathing were a great effort. Ellen realized suddenly that not all the blood caking on its fur had come from the dead raiders. There was a trickle of something bright red and fresh dripping down its side. Did dogs get adrenaline bursts when there was danger? She didn't know.
It whimpered again, lifting one forepaw, and Ellen made up her mind. "Come here, dog," she said. "Maybe I can fix some of that for you."
The thought was galling. Hadn't she been on the surface several weeks now? Hadn't she found her way to Arefu without getting killed? . . . okay, so she'd wound up in Big Town by mistake, and even with Evan King's markings on the Pip-Boy map she'd only made it to the Northwest Seneca station ruins by sheer luck, but still! She'd been out here long enough to know how to navigate, right? Nevertheless, the vast, sprawling mess of burnt-out car hulks and who knew what other kinds of trash that lay downslope from her had most definitely not been part of her earlier journeys. Which meant that either she'd been spectacularly unobservant then, or she was completely lost now.
Or both. It could, she was uncomfortably aware, be both.
She sat down on the hillside with a huffed sigh. All right, she was off course. She was pretty sure she was at least headed south, but a quick check of her Pip-Boy map indicated she'd somehow managed to wander in an eastward direction instead. The fuzzy blip that represented her approximate position seemed to indicate she was a ways south of Minefield; the Pip-Boy, like Ellen, was far better at pinpointing its location when it had walls to orient by. She scowled at the screen for a while, then switched it off. This wasn't going to help.
Well, at least there weren't any more mole rats.
It occurred to her after a while that the scrapyard in front of her wasn't entirely filled with trash. The rotted, more-rust-than-metal fence that marked its boundaries included a couple of concrete lumps that might've been buildings once. Bunkers, maybe? The sort of thing one might conceal the entrance to a Vault beneath? Who knew. It was worth a try, so she pushed herself to her feet, pulled up the stealth suit's headpiece, and drew her laser pistol. This place was far too dangerous to explore unprepared. She'd seen what stray bullets could do to prewar cars in Minefield, and there were a lot of cars here. If even a handful of them still had unbreached power plants…
Thankfully, no one had seen her. The scurrying figures she spotted darting among the ancient wrecks passed right on by, tall and small alike heading east. Well, that was fine. She'd done plenty of east without meaning to, and right now she needed west. Let them have their-
The loud, angry chatter of an assault rifle rang out nearby. Ellen froze. It took her a moment to realize she couldn't see the shooter- and another moment to work out that someone was screaming. Not the mad, gleeful yell of a raider or a robber, but real screams, real terror.
She'd seen what the raiders did with their victims' bodies. What they did before then she didn't know, but she could guess. She might be lost, but whoever was screaming… well. With a sigh, Ellen holstered the pistol. She was going to need a serious gun for this.
She arrived too late. By the time Ellen drew her Gauss rifle and found the actual battle scene, the scavenger woman lay dead in a pool of her own blood. Not alone, though. Two raiders had fallen beside her, ragged and gore-streaked. There were three left standing, all of them trying to shoot at something on the ground Ellen couldn't quite make out. "You like that?" the tallest man snarled. "Huh? Huh? You want some more?"
"What's the matter?" his scarred, shaven-headed companion jeered. "Can't stand the sight of your own- URK!"
A black-and-grey blur had lunged up at him, teeth flashing. Ellen had no time to work out what the thing was; the other two raiders were turning her way. The stealth field was good, but she knew they'd see her distorted outline if they looked at her straight on. Her Gauss rifle barked once, and the man on the right went flying. The last one gaped numbly at the sight. Ellen fumbled with the reload mechanism, praying he was too addled to shoot, but it didn't matter. With an awful growl the black-and-grey creature leapt for the last man standing. There was a scream, short and high-pitched; then the man hit the ground limply, and didn't move any more.
The creature backed away from the corpse, and turned her way. Ellen stood very, very still.
It was, she realized, a dog. Better fed than the starveling, rib-sided things she'd seen roaming the Wasteland in packs, and better cared for, but still a dog. And by the look of things- and the amount of blood on its fur- it had just killed several people. Oh, God, she didn't know anything about dogs, they didn't have dogs in the Vault, they-
( " I've been around dogs before. They're not likely to attack us unless we present ourselves as a threat. So long as we don't approach them or their dinner they should leave us alone." )
"Easy," Ellen murmured, holding up both hands (well, one hand and the rifle) as best she could. "I'm not- no danger here, dog. I'm not going to hurt you."
It wasn't listening. It padded forward, head low, and nosed at the scavenger woman's corpse with a faint whine. Even to Ellen, who had no idea what the animal was doing, it sounded like a sorrowful noise.
"Are you okay?" she said, not knowing what else to do or whether it was safe to just walk away.
The dog lifted its head, still whimpering, and looked her way. Its eyes were odd, she saw; one blue, one brown. Its tail hung low, and its sides were heaving, as if breathing were a great effort. Ellen realized suddenly that not all the blood caking on its fur had come from the dead raiders. There was a trickle of something bright red and fresh dripping down its side. Did dogs get adrenaline bursts when there was danger? She didn't know.
It whimpered again, lifting one forepaw, and Ellen made up her mind. "Come here, dog," she said. "Maybe I can fix some of that for you."