Into the wasteland, A Fallout/Evil Dead Fanfiction.

[Shiozaki]

Pleaze leave comment to help make more ideals.

This is more or less takes place in a alternate universe so everything is not canon.

--------------

Disclaimer: I do not own Evil Dead, I simply have an unhealthy obsession with it.

Author:konig15

Into the Wasteland:

Chapter 1

Beauty and the Beast at the End of the World



So they finally went and did it. IT. The Big One. Kablooie. Boom. It was gone, all gone. And I missed the party completely. I once heard the guy who made Young Frankenstein say that sometimes there are things so terrible, that all you can do is laugh at them. And that’s what I did. Laugh. And Laugh, and fall and laugh, until my sides hurt. But I kept laughing anyway. Finally, I suppressed my guffaws to a chuckle, got to my feet and said the most appropriate thing I could think of:

“You Maniacs! You blew it up! You blew it up!”

I tried to pound the ground with my good fist. Instead I doubled over laughing again. I was a riot! I was on fire! I was the funniest man on earth! Hell, I might have been the only man on earth! Then I rolled over a jutting piece of scrap metal. That hurt. With the appropriate scream of pain, I leapt to my feet. And landed on another piece, putting a hole in my left foot. I grabbed my foot, and tried to balance myself. It didn’t work and I landed on my back like a fell tree, screaming all the way down. Somewhere, someone was laughing at me. I could feel it. I shook my fist at the sky.

“Oh, You heartless bastard! You think this is so funny, don’t you? Don’t you?!”

I didn’t know who I was screaming at. God, whatever sent me here, maybe both? Maybe they were the same. I didn’t care.

“You can’t kill me! Ha! That’s right, ah that’s right! You can’t kill me so you send me here, and hope I’ll shrivel and die. Well, I got news for you buddy! I’m like genital warts, baby! You can’t get rid of me! Ah ha ha…”

As much good as this little rant did to rebuild my shattered ego, it did not heal my blood soaked foot. I had to bandage it fast, or I’d likely bleed to death. I limped back to the cave. Morbid visions filled my head: visions of me with a foot black with advanced gangrene, visions of me howling in pain, visions of me cutting the offending appendage with a chainsaw with a chainsaw while laughing manically. Wouldn’t be the first time.

I saw what was left of my car, the only car I ever owned, and almost the only car I ever drove. Extensive retrofitting centuries before had made it a vehicle of unparalleled destruction. As I limped and hobbled over to the trunk, I couldn’t help but think how that car was like my soul. It was damaged at the cabin, smashed by the fall into the dark ages, rebuilt a fiercesome creature, yet it lacked…something. Ordinary. That was it. It lacked the ordinary beauty it once possessed. Yes, my car was beautiful once, if only because it was mine. Fiercesome, yes, but whole? Never again. Once an Oldsmobile Delta 88, now the Deathcoaster; I named it myself. Once, I was Ashley J. Williams, a man of simple dreams and simple means. Now I was Sir Ash, the Hero from the Sky, Slayer of the Deadites, honorary knight of the Kingdom of Candar. I was finally someone. Yippee.

‘Stop!’ I thought to myself, because, melancholy sucks. I popped the trunk. For once in my life, I was thankful I hadn’t cleaned it out since I was a freshman in college. Among all the crap I had in there, I found a box of cellophane before I left Candar, almost unused. I had wrapped all the stuff I could in it, hoping something would survive in case I needed it.

When I chose this cave I had in mind that Twilight Zone episode where the four guys rob a train then cryo-sleep in a cave for a hundred years to escape the heat and one of them is killed in the meantime by a fallen stalactite. I deeply wanted to avoid that fate, though that probably would have been a mercy killing. Short of the whole cave collapsing, there was nothing to fall on me or the trunk, so I hoped the packaging was still intact. It was. I found the standard first-aid kit mom bought for me the summer before college. The medicine was bound to be useless, but the bandage roll looked pretty sterile, so I bound my foot.

I thought to myself, as I often do, trying to make sense out what happened to me.



My name is Ash, and I’m in trouble with capital T. Wasn’t always like this. I had job, a future and a wonderful girlfriend….

Well you’ll get it all in due time. And Time is the particular problem I have. For now, suffice it to say I’ve had a really bad millennium. Or a really bad three-quarters of a millennium, whatever. Goddamned cabin, god-damned deadites, goddamned time portal, goddamned deadites…

Oops, I said that already. “Take six drops and awaken in thine own time” That’s what the Wiseman said. Goddamn Wiseman. More like Wiseass. Man, I’m hungry. Gotta get something to eat…



The last of my defenses was gone. Fear, bewilderment, anger, pride: these were my shields, one giving way to another, while more adrenaline flowed through my veins than beer at a frat party. It was enough to drive a guy crazy. Now that there was nothing to kill me for the time being, and all I could do was reflect. I wanted to die, or maybe just sleep for a really long time.

To say what I went through was traumatizing was like calling a hijacking a “little detour.” Wait a minute, now where…

Oh yeah. So there I was, too hungry to even bitch properly. See I kinda got myself trapped in the past, then I kinda got myself trapped in the future. I’m just special that way. At this point, I was so out of it I entertained fantasies of I killing myself, so I could go to Hell, and after kicking the shit out of some demons, I could rescue Linda, and get her out of there, while bearing my manly chest and laughing haughtily. That would be cool. But then again, why should I think she was in Hell? I was taught from Sunday School that the Devil was a liar, so why should demons be any different? It lied to me; it had to! It was sin that got people damned, not being killed while possessed, right? And I’ll be the first to admit Linda was a better person than me, so she definitely deserved to go to Heaven, right? Right, I told myself.

“So Linda isn’t suffering, so you gotta go on Ash. Gotta go on, gotta go on…”

I said this as I rummaged through the trunk, and found my little suitcase, the one I hadn’t unpacked at the cabin, hoping…

“Ah crap!” As it turns out, I did forget to bring extra boots with me. For all I knew, if I could somehow get back to Dearborn, my other two pairs would probably still be in what was left of my closet.

“Great Ash! Couldn’t think to ask the cobbler for a pair of boots could you? You’d have to be smart or something to do that!” For my all my many manly scars (ha ha!) I hate walking outside with bare feet. I don’t even like sandals too much.

I groaned, but I did what I did best: improvise. Though it is rather stuffy, it turns out six pairs of tube socks make a dandy substitute for shoes in a pinch. I didn’t change clothes though. Must aside, I clearly smelled like my high school’s varsity locker room, and just maybe I could wash a little before putting on clean clothes. First though, grub.

O boy o boy o boy! Gotta get food! Yeah! Then gonna eat food! Yeah…

My higher brain functions at work. I wished that I could use the shotgun, but I was kinda out of ammo. So I brought my sword: how in the name of Simon Kenton would I be able to hunt with it I hadn’t a clue, but I was confident I’d figure something out. So I made my way into the city, sword in hand, hoping and fearing that mutant rats would: be bigger, aggressive enough to fight me and not run away, and unpoisonous enough for me to eat them.

I walked through the city, that I thought could be London, but probably not: I saw what looked like Big Ben, but there was no Thames River. Hey, I’m not totally ignorant in Geography. But, I should have still been in Candar, but there had been no city then, or a hint of city. Then again, one of the greatest cities in the world, Las Vegas, almost didn’t exist until Bugsy Siegel opened up the Flamingo in 1946. Forty years later Vegas was edging up to one million. In any case, it was clear to me that this place had been destroyed long ago. The remains of the streets were surprisingly clean, though maybe not so surprising. When I was in high school and they made me take modern history, Mr. Hoffer showed us this World War II video, on like, first generation VCR, this huge honkin thing that just screamed ‘this is 1977.’ Anyway, when this video came to came to the nuking of Hiroshima, or as it’s known in my family, “Payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?,” all the streets were clear. I guess the blast wave picked up all the crap and deposited it far away, like in front of my cave.

Slowly, singing came to my attention. I was barely armed, but the thought of making contact with anything that could think, and wasn’t a deadite, filled me with joy. The singing, while not angelic, did not sound like it came from a mutant, and better yet, it sounded female. Maybe I’d get lucky.

So I followed it, and crouching behind what was left of a wall, I was this Siren in the desert. She was by this dark brown horse, which looked like it was hers, especially because she was taking something out of a pouch on the saddle. Peering doesn’t give the best view, but she looked like she might be pretty, maybe really pretty in the right conditions, not as good as Sheila, but you don’t get much better than Sheila. She was dressed very strangely: Her dark brown hair hid most of her shoulders, but it looked like she was wearing a blue jumpsuit with yellow trim. It looked like she was wearing jackboots, in any case, old European military boots, polished black leather going to just below the knee. To my dismay, they also had a flat heel: black stiletto boots make almost any woman doubly hot. The number ‘13’ was emblazoned in yellow on the back of her suit. Neither piece of clothing looked worn, but not even that was the strangest part. The strangest part was that the jumpsuit looked vaguely familiar. I hit the dirt as quietly as I could when she pivoted 180 degrees on one foot in military style. She began singing again, in a thick English accent:

“Call out the Navy! Call out the ranks!

Call up the air force! Call up the tanks!

From the cliffs of Dover, call up the gulls!

And don’t forget the loyal terry Oriels!

But who’s digging in here? Who will defend?

Every inch of England, no matter what they send?

Who’s standing firm in their own front yard?

The soldiers of the old Home Guard! That’s who!

The soldiers of the old Home Guard!”

I peered over again, and there she was, not fifteen feet away from me, leaning over this stairwell. Apparently, it used to be basement to a house, and I was peering in through a window frame like a peeping Tom. I could now see the woman had something that looked a heel of a lot like a wad of high explosive. She looked like she set a timer, then dropped it in. In a real high voice the woman said “Oops-adudal!” Then ran like hell back in the direction she came from.

I hit the dirt, but after fifteen seconds I thought it was a dud. So I peered up again, right as a tremendous blast rocked my world. I just fell over, I didn’t even scream, but I knew my eyes bulged in shock, and suspected my horribly long hair was stuck in a blown back style. Exactly two seconds later, there was this horrible scream.

Instantly back on my feet I peered over, expecting a deadite to emerge from the stairwell, which was still intact. It burst open, sending wood splinters everywhere. When I saw what did that, I almost (almost) wished it were a deadite. I was some kind of mutant lizard, but it was at least ten feet tall, standing half erect like a gorilla; it’s over muscled back made it look hunched over. Its huge arms ended in pincer claws the like of which could give God nightmares. And after a moment of sniffing the air, it started creeping towards me, like it was unsure of whether it was about to horribly dismember the right human. I felt like shouting to it that it had the wrong guy, but I suspected it wouldn’t help. I was weak, armed with essentially an overgrown eating utensil, and faced an enemy I knew nothing about, and yet somehow found familiar. I quietly whined as death approached.

Then out of nowhere, the jumpsuit chick whistles real loud, and steps out from behind this chunk of wall with a black pistol in hand. It looked big enough to be a cut down rifle, but I wasn’t sure. Even from that distance I could see she had this “I’m going to fuck you up,” look on her face. In her left hand, she held a clip. She jammed it into the gun, then cocked the top.

“Yo she-Bitch! Let’s go.” Again, strangely familiar. Any trace of an accent was gone, and for the first time in months I heard an American voice that wasn’t my own.

The beast riled up and roared in fury. Faster than anything that size had a right to, the thing turned around and ran towards her, well, like Jesse Owens from a mob of angry Klansmen. The chick calmly pointed the gun, and with two lighting quick ‘booms,’ the beast’s knees exploded into crimson puree. It fell face first into the dirt, then reared its head up and roared in defiance. A sneer filled the woman’s face. Boom! Boom! Boom! Three shots in quick succession destroyed the head. The beast went limp while I became aroused. This woman was a brunette with nice tits, tight clothes, and could kill a monster like that without bating an eyelash. How could I not be aroused?

‘Cause she was obviously dangerous for one thing. But when she said, “Who’s queen of the desert now, bitch? I am. Hail to the Queen baby,” I finally understood the concept of scary-hot. “Now, what the Hell were you going after?” She asked as she reloaded. I knew when I wasn’t wanted, and since I was wanted, I crawled out of there double time. I thought by keeping my head low, I could avoid her, but less than two minutes later, she stepped out from behind a piece of masonry, looking at this giant wristwatch on her left wrist and her right hand holding her gun at my head. She looked down at me quizzically.

“Well, hello mister fancy pants.”

It was going to be a long, long day again.

Authors Notes: (June 22, 2003) Hello! I hope you’ve enjoyed this chapter. The Evil Dead section seems a little slow, so I thought I’d give my fellow ED fans another story to chew on. I’m not sure if I got Ash’s vioce down right. All comments and reviews are greatly appreciated.

 

[Shiozaki]

hmm no coments yet, is that good or bad? or maybe you havn't seen anything you want to comment about, well here's chapter 2 hope you enjoy.

Chapter 2
Delusions and Hallucinations?



I knew this guy had to crazy. No one, and I mean no one, has a beard that long and isn’t crazy. Well…maybe the Orthodox priests in Little Antioch, but their breads are combed and clean. I wondered what this guy’s story was, what drove him to the brink then over the edge. What better way than to ask?

“You gotta name?”

“Who wants to know?” Now, one thing I hate is defiance. Hate it. And when I got a gun pointed at some jackoff’s head and he decides to be surly with me, I’ve been known to pop the motherfucker right then and there. But I was so astonished that someone didn’t know me around these parts, I didn’t even think to kick him in the head.

I answered back in my most sickly sweet southern accent “Why suge, I’m just the rootinest, tootenist, shootenist little lady this side of the Sierra Nevada…”

“Sierra Nevada…?” He parroted back.

“It’s a mountain range, dumbass.” Okay, I’d had enough games. “What’s pertinent to you is that I’m a woman with a loaded gun pointed at your head.” This is where my self-control began to slip, “And when someone has a loaded gun pointed at you, you do not ask questions! When I say jump, you jump! If I say roll over and bark like a dog, you’d damn well better roll over and bark like a dog! And if I decide that you should pleasure me orally, you will suck my clit until such time as I deem necessary! Do we understand each other!?” Two threats and a Freudian slip, not bad for a year in exile.

“Well, sugarplum, all you gotta do is ask.” He replied in his own sickly sweet southern accent.

“See, just keep that attitude up, and we’ll get along just fine. Now, name.”

“The name’s Ash.” He said through clenched teeth. A fitting name in such times. And that voice, I knew I’d heard it before.

“Got a last name with that?”

“Maybe you should ask me nicely.”

Boom! Boom! Two shots in his general direction caused “Ash” to roll on the ground, making noises somewhere between a shriek and groan. That would teach him not to snarl at me. The terrified look on Ash’s face was enough to convince me that I was still one scary bitch when angered. He held up his hands in surrender, and because he was on his back, he kind of looked like a dead insect.

“Ah, ah ah, ah Jesus, lady! Williams! My name’s Ashley J. Williams! Just don’t kill me! Please!”

I was amused to laughter. “Good boy. Now, lose the Power Fist.”

“What’da talking about? I’m serious, man, I don’t want any more trouble.”

“You’re wearing a “Big Frigger” Power Fist on your right hand. I’ve seen ‘em like that before, in Shi Town, been modified for increased strength. Where the left is, I haven’t a clue, but the Michael Jackson look went out of style about a hundred and eighty years ago, so lose it.”

“Lady, you gotta believe me! That is my right hand! I built it myself, well, some primates helped me out, but…”

I burst into laughing. All the pieces came into place. God, raiders were always trying to bait me into traps, but this was inspired.

“Ha ha ha! So there is culture in the Wasteland!” Sort of. I was going to kill some raiders today! Suddenly, I was in a very good mood. “Well, nice try boys, but while Charlotte Merriweather is losing her mind, she’s not that far gone. Now get up and shut up.” He tried to speak, “I said shut the fuck up!”

He slowly got to his feet, and I marched, or rather limped, him back to my horse. I tied Ash’s “hands” together. I told him I was going to slip into something more comfortable, then got ready. Oh, I was coming all right, but I would be prepared. Nothing puts the fear of God into bandits quite like T-51b Power Armor. The nice thing about Power Armor is that you don’t have to change clothes at all, cause it all slips in. And it makes you look like an evil killer robot, too.

Ash took one look at me and muttered, “What in the Hell…”

“You don’t like?” I said as I put on the helmet.

“It, it looks familiar.” He stammered confusedly.

“I should hope so, Brotherhood patrols often come to within a few miles of this place,” I said through the com in the air filter.

“Brotherhood?”

“You know what…Ashley, feigned ignorance bores me, so I’m going to gag you now.” And despite his protests, that’s what I did. The bastard kicked me in the shin, so I punched him in the head. His kick didn’t hurt me at all, but the augmented strength the suit gave me sure hurt him.

I got him up, dusted him off, and grabbed him by the throat. “Now, you are going to lead me to your companions, or I will blast you back to Castle Candar, understand?”

He nodded then mumbled something; it seemed like he was confused.

“Ok, then, take to the cave where you woke up.”

His eyes went wide shock.

I couldn’t help chuckling. “You’re a great actor, you that? You’re surly, cowardly, man; you got the character down flat. And the breastplate, that’s great, I didn’t even notice it till now. But, ah here’s a hint:” I leaned closer to his ear, “You’re supposed to be barefoot, not in tube socks.” I stood up straight again, “They look great though, what’d you do? Raid a shelter or something? Ah, it doesn’t matter. Now, move.” He didn’t, do I shoved him forward. “I said move numbnuts!” and he complied.

I as figured, we headed toward hills. We walked for a while, till we came to this cliff face. He led me along, limping and trying not to step on the debris until we came to an indention in the cliff face. There, I saw a small hole, obviously leading into a cave of some sort, just large enough to fit a man through. Either his buddies were hiding in there or…

I quickly turned around bringing my gun to bear. “Okay boys!” I shouted into the wind as scanned the horizon, “I don’t know where you’re hiding, but the gig’s up! You can fight me, and I can kill you and sell your shit in the Hub for a nice profit. On the other hand, you can come forward with your hands up, and no one has to die! I’ll even let you keep your weapons. This is the best practical joke anyone’s ever pulled on me, so kudos! You know I’m a woman of my word, so you come on down and we can all have a good chuckle over this!”

I was profoundly disturbed as several minutes went by without any surrenders or bullets fired in my general direction. Perhaps they were waiting in ambush inside the cave, or maybe they wanted me to check it out, then detonate some dynamite and crush me to death.

Ash just looked at me like I was some kind of idiot. So I wrapped my left arm around his neck in chummy way, which was awkward seeing as how the armor fits around the upper torso like a huge, oversized football shoulder pad. “Okay, gimpy, your friends are a no show. So we’re going check out that cave, all right? Nod your head.” He did so. “Is there anything you want to tell me, about ambushes or explosive charges perhaps?” He shook his head. “Well I hope you were forthright, because otherwise, I’ll make sure you die in good company. Now let’s hop to it.”

The hole definitely was an entrance, and could be made much bigger. I cautiously pulled out some rocks. That is to say I was making sure to keep out of any possible line of fire from the cave, not necessarily watching which rocks I was pulling at. Ash just stood nearby, doing nothing, so I decided to play with him as I worked.

“You know ‘Ash’, you’re not being very gentlemanly. You should help a woman in need, especially one who has all this heavy lifting to do. After all, you are a big, strong, man.” He mumbled something through the gag, probably not for polite conversation. “Didn’t your mother tell you never to talk with your mouth full? Tisk, tisk.” I continued pulling out rocks. I chuckled, “Of course, it might not be wise to give me a hand, seeing as how you only have one left. Ooh, I think that was a double pun. He, he, yes, you lost your right hand: it went bad so you cut it off at the wrist!” I finished with dramatic flair. His eyes widened. “Oh yes, and if your story is true, once I look inside, there should be terribly banged up Oldsmobile, a Delta 88, if I’m not mistaken. I believe this one’s called the ‘Deathcoaster’.” I laughed as I tugged on this one really stubborn rock. Finally, I yanked it free, and much to my horror, a little landslide followed.

It took me a few minutes to dig myself out of the dirt and rocks, and even then the dust hadn’t quite settled. I turned to where Ash had been, absolutely expecting him to be gone. But he was still there, and he was chuckling.

“Shut up.” I told him, and he laughed all the harder. I looked into the cave, and blanched. No bandits, but just as I had predicted, I saw the Deathcoaster. I ripped off my helmet, so I could see it with my own eyes. It was still there. I looked at Ash in utter horror and pointed at the thing, “What the fuck is that? What the fuck is that?!” I grabbed Ash by the scruff of the neck, and dragged him to the car. In my hysteria, I pounded his head into the hood, making several dents as I screamed the question to him over and over again. Finally, I let him go; he fell to the ground, groaning in pain, as I stumbled out into the junk. Finally, it had happened, I’d snapped and was now in the thraws of dementia.

I was so used to the VaulTec training films, I assessed the problem as such in my mind. The globe is spinning round, and the following words are super imposed: ‘A VaulTec Presentation…’ Next frame: in big, bold cursive: ‘So You’ve Lost Your Mind.’ Next frame: two VaulTec Buddies, little cartoons, run in a panic from right stage to left, followed by Walt, the VaulTec boy, the towheaded company mascot. He has a demonic look on his face, and an axe high above his head. He also exits stage left. Next frame: in print ‘Be sure to do the following.’ Next frame: ‘Stop!’ Next frame: Walt stops in front of the camera and looks straight at it. Next frame: ‘Think logically.’ Next frame: Walt drops his axe and scratches his head, while bearing a thinking look on his face. Next frame: ‘Use logic to solve the problem.’ Next frame: A little light bulb lightens over Walt’s head. The scene then changes: Walt is now on the left side of the screen, dressed like Mickey Mouse in ‘Fantasia.’ On the right side is another Vaultec Buddy; this one has many scars on his face, a torn shirt, a chainsaw where his right hand should be, and shotgun in his left hand. Walt wriggles his fingers as little mathematical symbols emit from his fingers towards the other. The other looks at the camera with shock and surprise as he shrinks and pops into nothingness. Next frame: ‘Logic makes the world better.’ Next frame: Walt and the other two buddies skip off into the sunset, arm in arm. Next frame: the globe spinning around again, this time with ‘The End’ imposed around it.

I look at the ruined cityscape and thought it looked one Hell of a lot like…

“No, no Charlotte, you’re superimposing upon memory.” I muttered to myself. So I looked towards Ash. I walked over to him, and ungaged him. The first thing that came out of his mouth: “How, in the HELL, did you know all that?”

“First, Ash let’s play a little game.”

“Listen, honey, I’m in no moo…” I grabbed him by the throat, or at least I seemed to grab him by the throat.

“I said, WE’RE GOING TO PLAY A LITTLE GAME! It’s called ‘Logical Fallacy.’ Now, I’m going to let go of you, and you’re going to tell me where and when you think you are, okay? Then I’ll tell you what you want to know. Nod your head if you understand.” He did so, and I let him go.

“Okay, you want to know where I am? I, I don’t know. But, I should be in Candar, and I, sorta, maybe, took one too many drops or something? So, I must be…in the 21st century?”

Now I could go to work, “Excellent use of reasoning Ash. But you’re wrong on both counts. Today is November 2nd, 2163.” His eyes went wide. “And you’re not in Candar anymore, Ash. What you’re looking at is the ruins Fresno, California.”

“That’s impossible!”

“Right again! It’s not possible, ergo you cannot be here! So go away! Shoo! Get out of my head!” I grabbed him and threw him onto the ground, my gun was now in my hands again, and pointed at him but this time I was shaking. “You know how I know all that shit?! Cause, I watched it all, that’s how! I watched you over and over again in the Vault 13 rec room, over…and over…‘Evil Dead’ 1982! ‘Evil Dead 2: Dead by Dawn’, 1987! ‘Evil Dead 3: Bruce Campbell versus the Army of Darkness’, 1993! All directed by Sam Raimi and starring Bruce Campbell, as one Ashley J. Williams! Ergo, you are a fictional character! Ergo, you do not exist! Ergo, you’re just a goddamn delusion! A manifestation of woman overstressed into mental breakdown! So get out of my head! Get out of my head!”

I should not have shaken my head violently at that point, because suddenly the right side of my face made contact with Ash’s left first. It was pretty obvious that he had somehow gotten himself loose, and that he was southpaw. I was very glad I didn’t get with the gauntlet. Without my helmet, it really hurt and I was knocked to the ground. No delusion had ever hit me that hard before. Then again, I’d never had delusions before. Nonetheless, I still had control of my senses, and reached for the gun that had been knocked out of my hand. I groaned in pain as Ash stepped on my outreached hand. Now, I imagined that I had probably punched myself, and to any sane observer, I was beating the crap out of myself, like Jack in ‘Fight Club.’ Love that movie. But how I could be stepping on my own hand I hadn’t a clue.

Ash picked up my gun with his left hand, and pointed in down at me. He smirked at me and said, “Yeah…Well, what’da know? My delusions get smarter. I’ve been laughed at by books, strangled by my own reflection, but no delusion has ever told me I was the delusion. That’s real clever.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he said, “Quiet down, honeybuns, I’m going to lay it down for you straight. It took me awhile to put it all together, but I know you. You’re the Femme Fatale.”

“What?!”

“I said be quiet. Geez, no one has manners anymore. Now, Interplay Comic’s ‘Fallout’, it’s considered one of the best sci-fi comics ever written. Ran for only one volume, 13 issues between 1951 and 1952, then Comics Code killed it like everything else. I used to read it in my dad’s old comic book collection. Now, in issue 13, they were going to introduce a new character to the series. I couldn’t put it together until you mentioned a Vault. Then it all came together. This chick was in exactly three panels on the last page. She had a…Vault suit, I think that’s what it was called, with the number ‘13’ on the back, like you, had a big black gun like this, had long dark hair, like you, and blew the head off of this huge green mutant with cool confidence, like you. She was never named, so in comic book lore, she’s referred to as the ‘Fallout’ Femme Fatale.” He leaned in close, keeping the gun pointed at me. He almost whispered as he spoke acidly, “Ergo, you are the fictional character, ergo you are not real. So get out of MY head, Harvey, I’ve got too much crap to worry about to deal with you.”

Seeing my chance, I lunged with my left and grabbed the gun out of out of his hand. He pulled the trigger, but the bullet went to my back, which remained unharmed because of the armor. It hurt like a bitch, though. So there we were, me on the ground with my gun pointed at Ash and Ash standing on my hand, ready to kick me savagely.

I spoke first, “Well, for delusions, we seem to be able to hurt each other pretty bad. Now, we can continue to fight, which will solve nothing, or we could…work together for the time being, and maybe…we can figure all this stuff out.” I was trying to negotiate with a hallucination of mine: I was sure I’d gone off the deep end.

Strangely enough, it worked. He Ash nodded his head and he considered. “Okay, you don’t try and hurt me, and I don’t try to hurt you. I can live with that. But, you double cross me, and I’ll knock you back into the 20th Century, you got it?”

“Honest injun!” I said earnestly. I put the gun away, and simultaneously, Ash got off my hand. We both pulled away, I rubbed my hand, Ash his head. Then we stood facing each other, waiting for the other to attack. After awhile, I broke the silence. “Hey, if you’re going to attack me, would you do it now? I’m getting real hungry.”

His stomach rumbled. “Baby, I’m starving, maybe literally. I’ll eat anything, I don’t care if its real, or edible or not.” He put his head in his hands for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m talking to something that ain’t even here, but you what, I don’t really give a shit anymore. Why I conjured up you and not Matilda is beyond me…”

“Who’s Matilda?”

“I’ll tell you later. Now what about this food?”

“Jerky, salted and rank, bread chucks, still pretty fresh, that’s about it. It’s in Nemo’s saddle. Besides, I have to get a fire built cause night’s coming and it’s going to be real cold.” In my fucked up life, this was only the third most fucked up thing that ever happened to me. I retrieved my helmet and before we walked back I said, “Oh by the way Ash, tomorrow you’re going with me to the monastery of St. Nicholas White.”

“Why are you going to a monastery?” he asked.

“Well, first, they’re the closest settlement from here. Secondly, they can confirm if I’m crazy or not. Thirdly, on the off chance you are real, I’m making it my business to lean everything I can about exorcism.”



Author’s Note: Now, this is fucked up. As you might surmise, this is a crossover of sorts. And (horror of horrors) it’s yet another ‘fangirl meets her favorite character’ story, but with a twist of which only my sick mind could conceive. ‘Fallout’ is not a comic, it’s actually a very cool RPG for the computer, but if you know anything about it, you’ll understand the comic book reference. I put this out on a limb, and I’m not sure if I should continue or not, maybe it’s too weird. Anyway, comments of all kinds are appreciated.

 

[Schuljunge]

hi there, sorry couldn´t read it yet.

well im just a little bit brainwashed and i have this kind of little guy in my ear, that tells me, dont read anything that propably is longer than your penis.

but if i have time Shiozaki, i will read it and post my opinion in a new post or edit this one.

and my english isnt sooo good. thats propably the reason. but in this week i will take a look at it.

 

[Shiozaki]

Hmm well at least people are looking at it to bad they don't got much to say.

Authors Note: 09-24-03. Well, it seems there are some people who like this story, and so I will continue, though I’m afraid I’m going to fuck it up. Sorry this took so long, but it’s huge. I’m very, very sorry, but under the circumstances I just described, I would do nothing less than sit down for a nice long chat, cause shit is fucked up I couldn’t sleep till it gets unfucked. And I think most people would do the same. Charlotte Merriweather is not the kind of person to put up with the ‘mysterious past that only gets fulfilled slowly’ convention. She’d viscously pistol-whip anyone who tried to pull it on her. For your convenience, this chapter is divided into three parts. I advise you to pay attention, as a lot of important information here. Everything in Fallout 2 is discounted, though I may introduce characters and places from it at my discretion. All reviews, comments and suggestions are greatly appreciated.



Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘Evil Dead’ nor do I own ‘Fallout,’ not any other copyrighted material herein. The future, especially this future, is not how we wish it to be. Charlotte was raised in the future; in a very different environment than you or I. Anything that spews from her mouth are most probably not my thoughts on the subject. She has a genocidal hatred of the Chinese, and if you are familiar with Fallout, you should understand why.


Chapter 3
Dinner Conversations

Part 1



For about three hours, me and the Femme Fatale didn’t talk, at least not properly. Mostly, we communicated through half asked questions and grunts, and that was only about four times. She tied up that horse of hers, then used an old Zippo and some half rotted cotton from a nearby mattress to light a fire. I was quickly learning that the refuse of civilization was all around, if you knew how to look for it.

My host and I then sat cross-legged across the little fire pit and shared a meal as the sun dipped blow the horizon. The bread I liked. It was homemade and unleavened, so it was wonderfully thick, though the crumbs kept sticking in my beard, which irritated me to no end. The jerky was the nastiest, saltiest looking piece of crap that I had ever seen, and I had just come from the Middle Ages, and they had some really nasty salted meat cause they didn’t have refrigerators back then. Poor sonsabitches. But I was hungry, and down the hatch it went. The jerky was funky, and not necessarily in a bad way, neither. I’d say the closest thing to it is eating Mexican food, and I don’t mean the Taco Bell crap. I mean real south of the border cooking, the kind that makes your colon scream ‘Noooooo!’ in slow motion as it slides down your throat. The kind that three hours later gives you Montezuma’s Revenge so bad you think you might have gotten Cholera.

And Cholera was on my mind, cause, see, back when I was eight and first heard of it, I thought that a disease where you literally shit yourself to death was the most fascinating thing I ever heard of. I said ‘cool’ then, but I meant fascinating. Cholera was probably the only reason I ended up acing the test on the Oregon Trail. Low and behold, eighteen years later, I found myself in an age where I was likely to get it. And so my greatest fear in Candar, after death by deadite, of course, was getting Cholera. And now that I’d slept too long, at least, I still wasn’t out of the woods…pun most definitely intended.

I finished my food while staring intently at this woman as she sat across the fire. She was staring back; both of us seemed wary more than anything, like we were both watching a dangerous animal that might attack at any time. Come to think of it, that metaphor might have more truth to it than I’d like to admit. But, if I was hallucinating her, I also had to be hallucinating the food, and that being the case, I was doing a bang up job of it. So, as much as I hated it, I had to consider that she was probably real. In that case two scenarios came to mind, both highly unlikely. The first was, that against all odds, this was a crazy lady who had somehow found some really old comics, or who knows, maybe a re-issue or re-make and followed the example. But I was doubting that: she was still in Power Armor, without the helmet. That was hard to fake, and I’d shot her at point blank range, then saw the bullet bounce right off her armor. It couldn’t have been a rubber bullet: I’m no expert, but I’m positive that rubber doesn’t make that kind of sound when it ricochets.

That and she knew, she knew my car was there. And she knew my monologue! I’d never said that to anyone! But in my head I always said it like that, mostly. I said ‘lopped’, not cut: lopped has more of a ‘thud’ effect. Ah, ottawannapeic connotations, one of the least useful things you could ever learn in college; I found out the hard way that Literature is even more useless than Philosophy. But you live, you learn, that’s my motto and it’s served me well.

Literature. If this woman was right, I was Literature, in a way. Now, I remember right after I stuck the cross over Linda’s grave. That was the worst moment of my entire life; losing my hand, being marched to the pit, those were nothing, because when I stuck that cross into the soft earth, it hit me that Linda was really, truly, dead. Lighting flashed the sky at the same time, and I thought this had to be a dream. It was like a horror movie come to life, I told myself. I kept thinking that over and over as I sat on the couch, staring at my hands and waiting for dawn. I knew that cops wouldn’t believe me, and they’d send me to prison, maybe an institution if I pled insanity. I didn’t care then; everything was numb. And now I had been told that I had been in not one, but three movies, two of which had been made in a year that hadn’t happened yet. And on top of this, I’d somehow ended up in, of all places, Fresno California. The bearer of this bad news was a woman with a big gun and bad attitude, walking around in a post-apocalyptic wasteland wearing blue and yellow tights that showed absolutely no signs of wear. Something was very wrong with this picture, and I was going to find out what it was.

Now, it is highly philosophical, and by extension, extremely boring, to question the nature of your own existence. Here, for a fraction of a second, I was forced to ask myself if I was, in fact, a real person. Then one side of my brain slapped the other, and that was the end of that. Cognito ego Summ… err, something like that

So I studied her. It was getting dark, but I could see her face properly. There was no mistake: it was like the Femme’s. It was pretty, very pretty, but it was hard and thoroughly aristocratic. It was Imperious, like she expected ready obedience, or hardly knew how to smile, or both. That’s how the Femme Fatale got the nickname. In three panels, she showed herself to be what every Femme Fatale ultimately is: a cold-blooded, domineering bitch. This chick’s behavior fit right in. On the other hand, her hair was long and dark, and that fit in, but it was frayed, and hung almost sloppily down the back of her head. Which I guess sort of made sense: if you’re just trying to survive out in the nuked countryside, you don’t think to doll yourself up.

She picked up the canteen beside her. Having the table manners of billy goat, she had long ago finished her food by stuffing as much in as possible and making these God-awful snorting sounds as she did it. The point is, she didn’t need it, so she jiggled the canteen in her hand. I nodded, and we reached over the fire to exchange it. It was small semi-rectangular thing, blue with an emblazoned yellow ‘13’ on it. Great ambiance. I emptied what was left of its contents down my throat. The water was stale, and my God how I wished for the old, wonderful, fluorinated tap water. With ice cubes, oh yeah.

Now, before I go on, I hafta to warn you: this first conversation is full of bullshit. Why? Well what the Hell would you do if you met a fictional character who told you that you, not her (or him) was the fictional character? You don’t know what you’d do, do ya? Thought so. Neither did we. Fact is, both of us had learned to trust our eyes, and not our brains, so we both all but accepted each other as actually there. To paraphrase Socrates, even Einstein can be a dumbass sometimes, or something like that. Point is, neither one of us wanted to fight again, and we both wanted to milk each other for as much information as we could get. Thus, there was lots and lots of bullshit. Now, with that in mind, on with the story…

After giving a hearty and satisfying belch, I twisted the cap back on the canteen handed back to the woman. “Finished?” She asked me.

“Yeah,” I said contentedly. Eating always puts me in a good mood. If could find something soft to sleep on, I’d be all set.

“Okay, that’s good.” She looked at the fire for a moment, then back at me “Uh, Ash?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh, oh, God, I can’t believe this, but, for the time being, I think we should, just, act like we’re both real, okay? It’ll, facilitate conversation…”

“…And we won’t argue over who’s whose hallucination?” I finished. Hey that rhymes! He, he, never noticed that before.

She seemed kinda startled. “Uh, yeah.” She seemed to trail off, like she was thinking. For a minute there, we were both dumbstruck and unable to break the awkward silence. Finally, she spoke, “So, now things get interesting, I guess.”

“What’dya mean?” I asked, matching her tone.

“Well, Ash, you’re such a…well, let me put it this way. You don’t seem to act so much as you react. And when you do react, you usually zip off a one liner or run for your life, whichever fits the situation.”

“I don’t ‘act’? What the hell does that mean?” I blurted out.

“Uh, well, it’s one of those things that make you an antihero, wait, you know what an anti-hero is, don’t you?”

I was offended, but I was mature about it, “Uh…Yu no wat? I not know that. Tell me, and also how I tie my shoes.” I stood up. “Of course I know what an antihero is, you moron! Antihero? Antihero!? Raskonikov was an antihero, all right, not me! Me, I’m God’s whipping boy!” I pointed at her and my finger shook with every word. “I did not do one Goddamn thing to deserve all the shit that has happened to me! Nothing!” And instantly, I knew what she was talking about. There were quite a few times which in hindsight…I wasn’t particularly proud of. “And you’re looking down on me cause I didn’t act like, like, a damn action hero?! You think I wasn’t supposed to be scared my mind?! Christ almighty!”

“I didn’t say that…” the woman interrupted me.

“Antiheroes are assholes,” I reminded her.

“You said that, not me. Me, I have a fucked up way of watching things, apparently, because I alone think that all your reactions were rational, reasonable, and understandable given the circumstances.”

This gave me pause. “Uh, thank you.” I sat down. I don’t know why, but those words made me feel better any others that had ever been spoken to me. Well, I guess I do: Sympathy. My God, it felt good to have some sympathy.

“The point is,” she continued, “I can’t imagine what a normal conversation would sound like with you. But since,” she looked down at that giant wristwatch of hers, then focused on me again, “nothing is coming out of the woodwork for the time being, it seems that I’m about to find out. So, um, you got something you want to ask me?”

At that moment, my brain suffered a meltdown. I knew I wanted to ask her a Hell of a lot of questions, but there were so many I didn’t know where to start. So when I didn’t speak for a few seconds, she said, “Okay, I’ll go first.” She cleared her throat then bowed her head and sighed, like she was about to do something she didn’t wanna. She took a deep breath and looked at me again, “In any case Ash, I feel I owe you an apology. I thought you were a raider and dealt with you accordingly. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

And I just kinda sneered at her, “You want a one liner, honey? Here’s one for ya: First you wanna kill me…” I stopped because I was again looking down the barrel of that gun of hers.

“If that sentence doesn’t end with ‘Thank you Charlotte. You didn’t havta share your food with me, but you did because you’re a kind and generous person. Thank you ever so much,’ I’m going to be very unhappy.”

“Yeah, what you said.” I muttered. She put away the gun. I looked straight up into the almost black sky. I looked back at her when she began to speak.

“It seems that perhaps we got off on the wrong foot,” she suggested.

I half smiled, “Baby, we didn’t just get off on the wrong foot, we swung right into the catering table, and now we’re wearing the h'ourdirves as accessories.”

I got the reaction I wanted; she laughed. “That’s…. colorful. Tell me, how do you come up with those clever little quips? You know, just between us action heroes.” She snorted and stifled a chuckle.

“You’re an action hero? Wait…yeah, I guess the stuff I did in Candar would qualify me as an action hero, I guess. So, uh…well, I just kinda say what I’m thinking. Anyway, what did you do? Something with…” I snapped my fingers, trying to remember, “…the…F.E.V. right?”

The woman was stunned, and her face more than showed it. Her fairly pale face blanched completely, and she went all slack jawed. “How the Hell do you know about F.E.V.?!”

“Told ya, they were going to add a new character to the series, this is, you, I’m guessing. It had something to do with a pre-war project, or something like that. And that was the…Forced Evolutionary Virus project, which is a name that just screams evil government project even the evil government people know better than to do. Had something about, super-soldiers gone wrong, I don’t remember exactly.”

Charlotte swallowed hard and raised her hands, “Okay man, this, this is freaky shit. Really, really, freaky shit. I thought this was fucked up before, but now…”

“Is there a point to this?” I asked her not-so-nicely.

Her eyes shifted into their right corners, “Uh, I guess not.”

“All right, then, let me ‘act,’ take initiative as it were…”

“You’re really touchy aren’t you?”

“Will you let me finish, okay, honey, please?” I said, very not-so-nicely. She made no objections, “Thank you. To answer your question; yes, I am touchy. Under normal circumstances, I’m usually nicer, but things haven’t been normal for me in a long, long time, and they keep getting worse, and just when they look like they have to get better, they get a whole lot worse. Ha, Ha! At this rate, next time I think things are going to get better, I’m going to wake up in a Picasso painting, and I HATE modern art.”

“Is there a point to this?” She asked me. She didn’t be so mean about it.

“Yeah: I’m ranting.”

She smiled at me, “Well, Ash, look at it this way. It might not be so bad, if you do wake up in a Picasso, you could awaken in one of his…pre-Blue period paintings?” We both chuckled at this. “Wow, you got that joke. Well, you might be happy to know that history has vindicated you. ‘Modern Art’ was shit back in the 20th century, and 200 years of time has not changed that one iota.”

I smiled, “You’re talking like it coulda gone any other way… ah, but this ain’t getting us anywhere. I think you were saying earlier that we should reintroduce ourselves, the right way. Right?” She nodded “Okay, I can do that.” I reached my left hand over the now very small fire, “I’m Ash, Ashley J. Williams. I’m also known as the ‘Hero from the Skies;’ but I’d rather be home drinking. I know its customary to shake with the right, but mine’s still got a few kinks in it, and I don’t want to crush your hand.”

“Like that cup you tested it on?”

My eyes bulged in shock and it was my turn to be slack jawed, “Uh! …Yeah, exactly,” I said meekly.

She nodded her head a little and grabbed my left with her right hand, gloved a green rubber-like material. She tried to crush my hand; big mistake. I never let Scotty get away with that shit, and I’m a proud equal opportunity pain in the ass. All the years of girlfriendless ‘strength training’ went into my shake. Her grip was like a vice, mine was worse; at least I like to think so. The grin of pain appeared on her face, complementing mine.

“And I’m Charlotte Merriweather…” she let go. Both of us pretended not to see the other wave their hands, as if that ever diffuses the pain. “…also known as ‘The Vault Dweller,’ ‘The Savior of Mankind’ and ‘The Bitch That Needs To Get Laid,’ and…” from the wry smile she gave, it looked like she was going say something, “eh, never mind. Those are my printable titles. At least one person has called me ‘Last Best Hope of Humanity’, but I think that might be taking it just a teensy bit too far…a teensy bit.” The shit-eating grin on her face spoke volumes to the contrary.

When the smile left her face, she asked me, “Ash, let’s see, ah, Ash, what year did leave? The cabin, I mean, when did you go to the cabin?”

“Ah, well let’s see, it was…it was Friday…yeah, uh, I got to the cabin on… Friiiday, October 3rd, 1986.” I said, becoming more confident as I locked down the date. “Why?”

Charlotte looked at me impassively, then spoke. “Wow, you missed out! But the reason I asked is because the Evil Dead movies were made over an 11 year period, and you look older in every movie.”

Like so many times that night, my face wore a look of total stupefaction. “Okay…I’ll take you at your word, for now. But, just for shits and giggles mind you, which movie does it look like I’m from?”

“You know, I really can’t tell with the beard.” She said honestly.

“Oh. Speaking of which, do you have a razor and some scissors that I could borrow? If the Michael Jackson look, whatever that means…” Then I was rudely interrupted.

“You, know, the one lacy glove…oh…did he release ‘Bad’ yet?”

“Due out next year, I’m getting the first one off the truck. Heh, one of yet another of the benefits of working at S-Mart I’m gettin screwed out of. So, one lacy glove? Christ that’s queer.”

She laughed, “Oh, Ash, just you wait. Soon, he started grabbing his crotch while he’s dancing, and by the end of the century, well, he looked more like white woman than a black man. And there’s unsubstantiated rumors that he was queer…a pedophilic homosexual to be exact. Still one hell of a singer though.”

I was appalled, “Please God, tell me you’re joking. You are joking aren’t you?”

She snorted, “I don’t have a very active imagination Ash, I couldn’t make that up if I tried. And here’s another mind fuck for you…”

“Hold on sweetcheeks! I don’t want an another mind fuck right now; besides, I got whole lot of other body parts waitlisted behind the mind if you know what I mean…”

Her eyebrows went up, and a small smile crept onto her face for a minute, “I think I’m getting hit on by Ash. Cool.”

Now, I am just a mortal man. And when the mortal man says something like what I just did and doesn’t offend the mortal woman, the mortal man is happy, because now he thinks he’s got a real chance of getting lucky. So I tried somewhat successfully to stifle the grin that was threatening to contort my whole face. I finally spoke, “I can’t believe I just got away with saying that.”

“Well, its not much worse than, ‘Give me some sugar baby,’” she said, lowering her voice and tone, doing a fair job of imitating me, back when I bagged Shelia at the stable door.

“Yeah, I still can’t believe that worked! That was so awesome!” We both laughed. And then it hit me. “You saw that?” I asked in surprise, but then I shouldn’t have been.

“I told you Ash, I saw you, your story, in the movies. I saw everything, or just about everything. For instance, I know that you own a 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88, because that’s Sam Raimi’s trademark. It appears in every movie Raimi ever made.”

“Kinda like Hitchcock making a cameo in his movies?”

“Yes, exactly. I also know you work in the Housewares department at S-Mart, a large-scale retail outlet that utilizes massive economics of scale to under price all its local competitors, often resulting in the total annihilation of the economic underpinnings of nearby small towns. I know your girlfriend’s name was Linda, and that she was a cashier in the same store. I’d wager you both worked the first shift, 9 to 5, or something like that. And, you put more grease in your hair than that found in a pound of uncooked bacon, and it’s not flattering in the slightest.”

So there I was, with a stranger who knew quite a bit about me that she shouldn’t have. It freaked me out, so I changed the conversation, “Uh, yeah, that’s…all true. But, hey man, I just get up, comb my hair a little bit and grease it back, it takes like two minutes and it holds for the rest of the day. I don’t give a shit if I don’t look my best for the customers and God help me if I try to pick up chicks at work. It won’t happen, and assuming it did, Linda would whoop my ass with one of those aluminum bats in sporting goods. Might even use two if they’re on sale. But getting back to the matter at hand, my point is that I don’t think the ZZ Top look has aged any better. Don’t get me wrong, I like their music, I just don’t want to look like them. Besides I got shit in my beard, and the thing itches.”

Charlotte thought it over, “Uh, scissors I can get, but I don’t have a razor. Regardless, I don’t trust you enough to give you a sharp pointy thing. You understand my caution, I hope. You can get a shave and a haircut at the monastery, assuming of course…”

“Ah, aught ah…” I said, wagging my left forefinger and shaking my head.

“Oh, yes, of course. But I haven’t a need to have a razor, for shaving purposes, at least. I took the bath when I was 14.” From my blank expression she correctly assumed I didn’t know what the Hell she was talking about. “Oh, well, you see, they put you in this tank, with just your head popping out, then they flood the thing with a chemical bath that dissolves and kills the hairs down to the root. It’s supposed to help maintenance by reducing the hair accumulation in the air vents and water pipes, but no guy I’ve ever known in the Vault will do it. I understand though, you know, body hair is, ‘manly,’ and manly’s a good thing in guys.”

“…So, you don’t grow anything, on your body, at all?” I asked a little nervously. I shouldn’t have been nervous, though.

“Uh? …Oah!” she said in realization. “No! I still have pubic hair. I really don’t know why, but the thought of having nothing down there, made me, vaguely uncomfortable. So Dr. McCoy gave me ‘the jockstrap’ which made the whole five fucking hours an even more pleasurable experience.” Then she kinda growled “That and Megan Farnsworth, was right before me, and she whispered in my ear on the way out that she’d peed in the jockstrap, the little lying BITCH! God I hate her!” She looked my expression, “Oh, my apologies. I’ve been reminiscing a lot today. Ah, so anyway, how old are you?”

“26. Well…I was 26…when I got to the cabin…and that’s the number I’m sticking with till my birthday rolls around, and you?”

“I’ll be 23 if I live to see December 28th.”

The woman was affable and forthcoming, and so the conversation was becoming fairly pleasurable. “All right, it seems were getting somewhere. Now I got some questions for you,” “Now, I wanna know about these movies. ‘Army of Darkness’ I get; that’s got be my, ahem, adventures in Candar, and I’m willing to bet ‘Evil Dead’ has to focus on Friday night, ‘Evil Dead 2’ has to be Saturday night, cause sometime very early Sunday morning, I was sucked into that damn time portal. Right?”

“Very astute, Ash,” she told me congratulatory.

“It’s not like there’s a whole lot of ways to slice the pizza. Now, some more questions.” I held up one finger, “One, what exactly did you do to get such high praise? Hell, it seems like you should be in College, not saving the world, or whatever the Hell you did.” I held up two fingers, “And second, you said it’s 2163?” She nodded “Then, if you’re telling the truth, why were you watching movies that are, what, 175 years old? If I remember, the world got nuked out in 2077, but that gives you what? At least 80 years of films in between, and you don’t strike me as the film buff type. So what’s the deal?”

Charlotte blinked. “Oh, the second question I can answer easy. Do you want the long version or the short version?”

“Short for now, long for later.”

“Okay, short version: here goes. Vault 13’s first Overseer was a rising little shit of a VaulTec executive named Arthur Anderson. Back then VaulTec, not Washington, assigned Overseers, so there was a lot of back scratching, patronage and whatnot. Anderson was by far the worst. He was Overseer for 10 years, form 2063 to 2073; he oversaw construction of the place, and the first couple of years thereafter. He turned our Vault into a national embarrassment: we had a 245 billion dollar overrun, of which he personally pocketed ten. He did a lot of unnecessary construction and detailing, that’s why every door in the Vault, including the main door, has a big old ’13’ emblazoned on it, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. He was one of the main reasons why Overseer jurisdiction was transferred to Homeland Security in the Vault Empowerment Act of 2071…”

“Get to the point….” I gently reminded her.

“I’m getting to that, jeez louise! Okay, VaulTec gave each Vault a budget for entertainment purposes, mostly contemporary holo-films: movies, documentaries, stand-up acts, etc. But Anderson figured out he could pocket a whole bunch of that money if sold the material on the open market and bought Time-Life ‘Classics’ collections as a replacement. That is, public domain multimedia, which by some of the less important acts of the Reconstruction Congress, meant anything released before the last half of 2010. Luckily, he couldn’t get enough for documentaries, and we still have them as a result, thank God for small favors. That’s why I’m familiar with 20th Century film; that’s all we had. I’m not complaining, mind you; I’d probably never seen ‘Dirty Harry’, or ‘Die Hard’, or ‘Tommy Boy’ otherwise. I was raised on Merry Melodies and Disney movies, the good ones mind you, and I really can’t imagine better stuff for a kid.”

“Hmmm, that’s interesting. Hey, what’s your favorite Disney movie?”

She made a face, “I was under the impression you wanted to stick to pertinent information.”

“Yeah, but I also haven’t had anyone to talk to but a bunch of primates, whose idea of a good time, when they’re not throwing people into the Pit to be ripped limb from limb mind you, is to get drunk and have a good ol’ time with the barnyard animals, if you catch my drift. So, could you just humor me on this one?”

She smirked. “Couldn’t you guess?” She asked. “‘Bedknobs and Broomsticks.’”

“How would I know that?”

“Right before I bumped into you, I was singing the ‘Home Guard Song’ so loud I was probably heard in Sacramento.”

“Oh, that’s what it was.” I said in realization.

“Uh-huh. What’s yours?”

“Uh, I dunno. It’s a tie between ‘Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’ and the ‘Love Bug’. I always wanted to drive Herbie…”

Upon hearing this, my companion almost died laughing. “Oh, God!” She laughed some more, “I’m probably the only human being alive who understands how ironic that is!” She laughed again.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing. It’s really not important. What is important is now I’m going to tell you what I did to help make the world safe for the return of America!” She said this to me in grandiose mockery. Still, it was a little too energetic.

I wasn’t amused. “I don’t like the sound of that. You seem a little too eager to tell me.”

Every trace of happiness left her face. “It’s not fair. I’ve got Ash here; I’m talking to him, it should be more fun than this,” she remarked, not quite to me.

“Well, aren’t you going to spit it out?” I asked flatly, “I mean, my God, if you’ve been touted as the savior of man, you’d damn well have done something to deserve it! So…go on, you seem to know my story, what’s yours? It’s only fair.”

“Okay,” she said, her confidence regaining, “I think I will. Here’s the short version: I used to run a little outfit called the Merrymakers, you know, ‘Merriweather’s Merrymakers.’ We were only together for about a year, but my God, what a year it was. We did a lot of shit, but mostly we fought and destroyed the Unity, that is, those super soldiers gone wrong…Now, before I finish, you said, I was in the last three panels of this, ‘Fallout’ comic?”

“Yes, well, you were in three panels, but the scene was a bit longer.”

“Okay. And I was only wearing my Vault suit?”

“Yep.”

She sighed. “Okay, then. Let me see if I can fill out the rest of the scene.” She pointed at me, “By the way, here’s some free advice from someone who’s been around the block before. Out here, there’s a drug called Psycho. Never, ever, take Psycho; it makes you do stupid shit. Can’t believe I did this, I was so fucking stupid.” She signed in obvious exaggeration.

“All right, I sneak inside this gated compound, guarded by these Incredible Hulk rejects: you know, big, green, sometimes gray, but so stupid they can only talk in sentence fragments. And they all have these huge fucking overbites, and Jesus Christ, they look like they all have Sebaceous Cysts. Anyway, I get behind this piece of shit, rusted over truck, and then big green and stupid with a Watts 2000, uh, by that I mean a big fucking laser rifle, he hears something and goes to check it out. I grin, and cock my gun, twist around the side, and BAM!” She clapped loudly. I winched as my ears rang for a few seconds, “He falls down sans most of his face, I sneer, and say…”

“Groovy.” I finished, “Yeah, exactly like that.”

“That was outside Fort Mariposa, F.E.V testing center, October 8th, 2162, just before 11 in the morning, I remember that because I bet Ian a 1000 bucks that with a Stealth Boy we could clean the place out by noon. I hate losing money. I’m willing to bet too, they didn’t show anyone else, because that makes it look more heroic. Am I right?”

“Yes,” I said, not quite understanding where this was going.

“Damn,” she said halfheartedly, “Gambling is clearly not my forte. I never bet when I’m right, and whenever I do I’m wrong. Shit.” Then she shrugged it off, “Well, it’s not true. I had a lot of help reclaiming Mariposa. I wasn’t just me and Adolph….”

“You and who?”

“Oh,” she smiled and brought out her gun, “I think you already know Adolph.”

“You named your gun Adolph?”

“Well, yes, great weapons deserve names. Like Excalibur.”

“Uh, that’s not what I’m asking. People name a lot of shit that don’t need names; I’ve learned to live with that. My question is why do you call, ‘him’, Adolph?”

“Oh,” she smiled inadvertently, “Well, you see, Adolph here is a cut down Steyr/Mannlicher rifle. That means he’s from Austria. And he’s a little guy, very loud, and when he loses his temper, people die in large numbers.” She chuckled at her own wit, and I cupped my head in my hands and groaned. My right arm was tingling for most of the day and it was fairly uncomfortable to put weight on. I shoulda taken notice of this.

Her voice was dejected, “Well, I thought it was clever.”

Then I began to laugh. It was clever, in sort of a smart-ass way. “No, it’s cheeky. I don’t know the American word, but that means it is clever, but I want to smack you for it.”

“You mean ‘impudent?’”

“That works,” I chuckled.

She smirked sorta and said, “I get that a lot.”

“I can believe that. So, anyway, who else was with you, besides your Austrian friend there?”

“Well, there were five of us in the Merrymakers. There was Ian Betterfield, Tycho Remington, Katja Summers, Tandi, who doesn’t have a last name, and myself. And on that particular job, we had an armed escort of Brotherhood ‘Knights,’ that is the guys who fight in Power Armor.” She smiled at me, “You know, you might find readjustment here too difficult. Sometimes, California’s the old west: you got gunslingers, bar fights, a total dearth of law and order. But once you get out of the major settlements, with all the mutants around, it’s like a grotesque Tolkien parody. With guns. Uh, did you read the ‘Lord of the Rings,’ trilogy or see the movies? I ask because otherwise you won’t have a clue what I’m talking about.”

I chuckled, “Honey, I’m getting used to that real quick, not that I’m blaming you or anything. Hell, if I were trying to talk to someone from, oh, the Missouri Compromise era, I’d probably confuse him worse. But, I don’t know anything about any ‘Lord of the Rings’ movies; those might’ve been made after I left. Never read ‘em, I’m not much into fantasy: I think life’s screwed up enough already without magic and other supernatural shit.” When I heard those words came outta my mouth, laughed half out of embarrassment. I covered my face with my left hand, “God, I hate it when I’m right!” I stopped and looked at her, “But I did read The Hobbit a long, looong, time ago, so I might be able to follow you.”

She looked unsure and sighed. “I don’t know Ash, it’s just something I keep noticing as I keep traveling around. It’s like, those supermutants are like the Orcs, they’re feared by everyone, and not without good reason, and they want to destroy everyone else not part of their corruption. That’s really the best word for what F.E.V. does to humans. Then the ghouls are like really ugly and sometimes utterly psychotic elves. They know a lot of shit and live for a long, long time: most of them are old enough to remember the Third World War. Apparently, you can trade most of your skin and your fertility for an extended lifespan. I personally don’t think it a particularly good tradeoff. Then you got the humans, just trying to get by, but some are in the Brotherhood of Steel, who are divided into, and I shit you not, Knights and Scribes. And as for we Vault Dwellers, well, living totally underground in the mountains with advanced technology, that makes us like Dwarves.”

“Which would make you the one character type Tolkien never included in his books: a female dwarf, and an adventuring female dwarf to boot,” I finished for her.

She was mildly surprised. “I thought you hadn’t read the series, and I don’t remember that stuff being in The Hobbit.”

I smiled, “I had nerdy friends in High School.”

“Oh.” She thought on this before continuing, “I mean, it might be nothing, but just keep noticing it again and again. It’s downright disturbing at times. It’s un-fucking-believable, that’s what it is.”

I smiled real big, “At last! I’ve found another who knows my pain!” I laughed, and mockingly holding out my arms as though I was going to get up and hug her. I put them down again, “On second though, I’d better not. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

She put the back of her hand to her forehead. “Alas! Oh poor me! I don’t get no nookie from a hairy cripple who smells only slightly better than the Brotherhood’s training room. How will I ever survive?” She exclaimed feigning distress. Then she faked an epiphany, “Oh that’s right! I’ve got a big gun and a crack shot. Silly me.” She then laughed.

“I deserved that,” I admitted. I quickly added, quite haughtily too, “But I think once I have a shower and a shave you’ll change that tune real fast.”

She blanched and looked straight at me, kinda like when I catch a kid shoplifting, and said, “Crap.”

This kind of startled me; “You don’t have a lot of experience in the romance department, do you?”

“Yeah,” she admitted after a moment. “It’s not exactly my strong point.” She looked away nervously.

This was awkward. There was this formerly scary-hot chick, and now she was well, timid. By the way she stiffened up, it was obvious this chick had no clue how to flirt. This chick could blow away monsters, and maybe mutants, with the greatest of ease, and suddenly she stats acting like the girl home alone on a Saturday night. It struck me as kinda pathetic. So I laughed it off and changed the subject.

“Ah, so, if you’ve done all that stuff, that means you’ve been around, right?” She nodded. “Well, I’m kinda looking for something…”

“…The Necronomicon Ex Mortis, roughly translated, the ‘Book of the Dead’, more precisely translated the ‘Book of the Dead, of the Dead.”

“Uh, yeah. But, you know, I figure the translation means ‘Book of the Dead,’ in parenthesis,” I made a parentheses with my hands that surrounded my face, “(Not the Living), you know, as, as a warning.”

She chuckled. “Ash, that’s really clever, you know that?”

My shoulders swayed, “Well, it doesn’t matter. After all, that can’t be the book’s real title, cause it’s a Latin title, and that book was written long before Aeneas set foot in Italy.”

She looked startled, “How do you know about Aeneas?”

“That’s a dumb question, how do you know about him?”

“I learned it in school, but you guys had a lousy education system. That is unless you went to private school.”

I laughed, “Oh no, no, no! Urban schools are lousy, the rest of us public schoolers get along just fine thank you. As it so happens, in 8th grade Lit, we spent an entire quarter on Greek and Roman mythology. I remember Aeneas’ story in particular because if true, it makes the Roman Empire’s conquest of Greece the greatest revenge story ever.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Well I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who’s thought that, maybe.”

“Besides,” I continued, “the Necronimcon is a Sumerian text, I do remember that from Professor Knowby’s tape. Ah, let me ask you something while we’re on the subject. Is it just me, or if you get a book that claims to be able to resurrect demons, shouldn’t you, I dunno, NOT SAY THE WORDS ALOUD?! You know, just in case?”

She looked at me, “You know, that’s precisely one of the reasons I was thinking ‘Evil Dead’ couldn’t possibly happen. But…in all fairness, I suppose Raymond Knowby could have been an intellectual halfwit.”

“I prefer the term dumb asshole,” I said unpleasantly.

“That woks too,” she said.

“Yeah, anyway, I’m looking for someway to get home. Is, is there any possibility you could help me out? You know anything?” I asked in desperation.

She laughed without humor, “Well Ash, if, and that’s a big if, you are here, you don’t go home. I’ve seen a lot of shit out here, but nothing magical. I mean the closest thing to it was in” she gulped, “…the Master’s Hallway…” Her eyes bulged, it was crystal clear out of fear, and they kind of glazed over. Her breath came shallow gasps and she started whimpering like I wasn’t even there. I’d seen it before.

“Hey, dumpling! Hey, snap out it already! Ms. Merriweather!” I clapped real loud, of course, my left hand clapped on my right forearm. Clapping the normal way hurts my good hand. ‘Course, hitting my forearm felt like hitting my funny bone, but it was an improvement. Anyway, she was startled back into reality, but her eyes were still filled with fear.

“Oh, I’m…” she was cut off as her right hand clamped down on her mouth. She gagged and made a couple of very disgusting sounding swallows. When this was done, she put her arm down and said, “I’m sorry Ash.”

“Oh, there’s no need to apologize. My uncle Roger fought in Hue during the Tet offensive. Uh, that was the big battle of the Vietnam War; it was 1968, and those Commie bastards broke the Tet cease-fire. The battle for Hue was right up there with the siege of Kei-san in tough. Uh, my point is, Uncle Roger, he gets flashbacks like that from time to time, and I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, and I totally understand.”

She looked grateful, “Oh, thank you Ash, thank you. I’m very sorry, but aside from some bad horror movies and some stories by a guy named H.P. Lovecraft, the Necronomicon doesn’t exist. I, I even looked it up in the Archives one day when I was bored because I wanted to know. And even if it did exist, I doubt it would have survived the war, much less be somewhere in the western United States. I don’t know anyone but tribal shits and charlatans who practice magic, and most of that wouldn’t deal with the kind of heavy shit you’d need. If…well, I’ll help you if I can, but…” She didn’t finish.

“Great,” I said. I sighed. Nothing was said for at least five minutes as she recovered and I wallowed. For a second time I looked straight up into the now totally black sky. God, there were so many other places I could be…

 

[Talisien]

I'm glad you took me seriously when I posted my idea on gamefaqs about moving this from gamefaqs to NMA. You'll probably get better feedback here. Any idea when you'll be posting the next part? Soon, I hope.

 

[Shiozaki]

"I'm glad you took me seriously when I posted my idea on gamefaqs about moving this from gamefaqs to NMA. You'll probably get better feedback here. Any idea when you'll be posting the next part? Soon, I hope."

Dude this place is great for fanfiction, I haven't had to edit at all witch was a bitch over on game spot. Oh and you want a new chapter well sure

Notes from me: I would like to take this time to point out how much of a rasest bitch Charlotte, maybe even more so that the first Bitchsizen, you will see what I mean in a few chapters, she is what ash isn't, so the question is will ruggedly handsome tame the heart of the bitch, hell even I don't no that lol

I am going to have to slow down on post chapters into I see some real reviwes so this will be the last one into I get oh I don't no...5 good reviwes hows that?

chapter 4
Dinner Conversations

Part 2



“Cap for your thoughts?” Instinctively, I caught the bottle cap she’d flicked at me. I looked at her, “It’s what people use for money round here. But maybe you already knew that?” Actually, I’d forgotten that.

I looked at the cap, and then I showed her the top, though she probably couldn’t see it very good. “Isn’t this supposed to say ‘Nuka-Cola?’”

Charlotte gagged. “Oh, God! Don’t mention that cheap Coke knock off! That vile liquid putrescence! Blaack!” She lifted her head from her gagging “Oh, please don’t tell me you don’t know about Coka-Cola.”

“Heh. No, I was raised on Coke, and Dr. Pepper, and a lot of other things not good for me. But Nuka-Cola was supposed to be Fallout’s parody of Coke.”

Charlotte smiled “Hah! A Leslie Nielson parody maybe! Flat, tasteless, and just not very good at all!” She laughed; I had no clue what she was taking about. “Well, ‘Repossessed’ was pretty good…ah, but, what were you thinking of, if it’s not too personal?”

I slouched, “Oh, I was just thinking of how I could be sitting on my crappy plether couch, in my crappy apartment, in my underwear, briefs, not those boxers Linda’s always trying to get me to change to, eating Chinese takeout, watching ‘Miami Vice’ on my 37 inch T.V., which by the way, is about the only perk I’ve gotten for working at S-Mart, and Hell, since it’s my fantasy, there’s new episodes of the ‘A-Team’ coming up cause the 11 O’clock news sucks, and those rat bastard executives at NBC got the good sense not to cancel my favorite show!” I took a deep breath. I neglected to mention Linda was coming out of the kitchen with a sandwich for me, and wearing nothing but whipped cream, but Charlotte didn’t need to know that.

“And I bet there’s a woman serving you food, and she’s wearing whipped cream, or nothing at all.”

“How the Hell did you know that?” I asked in surprise. Suddenly, the mental hallucination theory was back in play.

“Cause you strike me as a pig.”

“Hey! I don’t deserve that!” I said defensively.

“I’m not passing judgment!”

“Oh, I see, so it’s one of those ‘all men are pigs’ things?”

“No! See, I’m a pig. And whenever I get to thinking like that, I’m in one of the rec rooms alone with a guy who’s wearing nothing but a whipped cream bikini, and he’s serving me that ‘Paul Bunyan’ streak from ‘The Great Outdoors’. He’s built like Apollo, and he’s making his pecs dance…” At this point, she trailed off. Her eyes had glazed over, and she started mumbling the ‘Can Can.’ I was so shocked at this it took me a moment to recover my wits.

“Oh, God! I did not need to know that!”

Brought back into reality, she shook her head and looked at me bashfully. “Sorry, happy thoughts aren’t always for sharing.”

I shoulda said ‘You got that right sister,’ and I meant to, but what came out was, “You have a nice smile.” Where that came from I have no idea.

“What?!”

“You, were smiling with the ‘Can Can.’ It, it’s a pretty smile. You should do it more; you’re ugly when you snarl.”

She gave me a smile of supreme gratitude, “Thank you, Ash.” The smile left her face, “But, do you, happen to know anyone who isn’t ugly when they snarl?” she asked me knowingly.

I honestly about it for a moment, “Nope. Can’t say that I do.” She smiled and I smiled back. She got up, and went over to this little pile of wood, mostly former housing frames. I supposed, correctly as it turns out, that most wood used for housing had been pretreated to withstand wear and insects. And people must have really good fire suppression systems, ‘cause those babies lit up like they’d been soaked in gasoline. My dad never did take chances when he took us camping. Charlotte, however, went for the leather duffel bag. “Hey,” I called her, “put the wood on the fire, that horse shit stinks.”

She looked over her shoulder at me, “No it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does.”

“All right, all right.” She picked up a fairly long piece of timber, which should have been too thick for her to break with her thigh. She put a piece on the waning fire. The fire roared back to life, then settled back bigger than it been before. “Does this please you, your highness?”

“The king…is pleased.” I shot back. She gave me this weird look: she puckered her lips into half a smile. I get it a lot from women in my life, it roughly translates, ‘You’re a real ass, but I like you anyway.’

“So…” She sat, “you’ve read Crime and Punishment?” She looked surprised.

“Yep, all 680 some pages of it. I think it was 680…ah, but anyway, I almost copped out and got the Cliff’s Notes. Boy, am I glad I didn’t do that.”

“Wait, wait, stop there. I know the phrase ‘Cliff’s Notes version,’ but what are exactly are Cliff’s Notes?” This started a five-minute conversation on the depth, breadth, and length of those handy, yellow-bound helpers of modern students across the English-speaking world. It was informative, but boring, so I’ll skip it.

“Wow.” Charlotte said in amazement, the kind where you make a connection in your head, then space out think ‘cosssmic.’ “But, why would you, you know, not want to read the book yourself? I mean, if you gotta do a report on a novel, why not get some enjoyment out of it?”

I smiled. That sounded just like Linda. “Well, I guess some people are lazy jackasses. Some, like my Grandpa says, ‘They’re a buncha peckerheads who think if it’s really good, it oughta be on T.V.’” I said, trying to innotate the old man right. I couldn’t help laughing, cause Grandpa’s a hoot. “But mostly, people are lazy. What, you don’t got lazy people in the future?”

Charlotte balked at the question. “Of course, just with not with pleasurable stuff.”

“Trust me babe, if a Russian novel doesn’t get your interest in the first forty pages, it ain’t pleasurable. And Hell, since we’re on the subject, if you ever read something else by Doestoevsky, don’t bother with the one with the brothers, it’s good, but just not worth it…that long. Read Poor Folk. And above all else, stay away from Anna Korenina. Long does not mean good.” I never got that novel; I got no sympathy for a cheating bitch. Two wrongs do not make a right.

There I was dispensing valuable advice, and she just stared at me like she just dropped 150 I.Q. points. Finally, she kinda croaked out, “You’ve read Anna Korenina?”

“Well, sort of,” I admitted, “Books on Tape. I get ‘em from the library, and listen to ‘em when I’m alone in the car, mostly coming to and from work. But, I only get the unabridged tapes, so I don’t miss anything. So, so yeah…I did read it, basically.”

Charlotte shot up, well, shot up as fast as anyone sitting cross-legged, cause that’s how we were sitting. She held her hands up in exasperation, “Okay, okay, this is ri-goddamn-diculous!” Her right hand pointed at her chest “I thought I’d do a better job hallucinating you Ash, but you know what? The façade just doesn’t hold.”

“Hey! I thought we decided not to go down that road. I mean, who in their right mind would walk around the desert in blue and yellow tights, hmmm? But I’m not asking that am I?” Then she interrupted me.

“Oh, please! That was purely a convenience for me! I mean, honestly, if Ashley J. Williams were really sitting here in front of me, talking with me, do you have any idea of the ramifications that would entail?”

“Yeah, I do.” I said impassively. I counted them off on my left hand, “First, it proves the existence of the supernatural, namely the existence of the human soul, and that it goes on after death. Ah, ah ah! I’m not finished, yet. Then, it proves the possibility of time travel, and if you’re telling the truth and I’m telling the truth, which I am, it finally confirms the existence of alternate and parallel realities. That is what is necessary for me to be talking to a minor character of a 50s comic.”

For a second there I thought her eyes were gonna pop out of her head. Never tangle with the college boy; especially the one who takes Philosophy 101. But then she eyed me real dangerous like.

“You see! That! You’re too damn smart to be Ash!”

Now, imagine if you will, that you’re drinking in a bar, minding you own business, when someone out of the blue bitchslaps you with the business end of a beer bottle. Imagine then how angry you would be. That’s not even close to how angry I was. My pulse raced, my eyes bulged, but the chick had her right hand was near her left hip, right next to her holstered gun. If God was just, that gun would jam and then I’d beat this self-righteous bitch to within an inch of her life, like I should. But recent events had decisively convinced me that God was not just. Either that or He didn’t give a shit. So instead, I got up, I smiled real big and used my good hand to cup my ear.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right. Mind running that by me again?” I edged closer to her, circling around the fire.

She was unfazed, and if I had the gun, I’d be unfazed too. “You heard me. Ash works at S-Mart. Not the type of person who reads Russian novels, or much else for that matter.” She was so goddamn smug I wanted to knock her teeth out. Remember the gun.

“Oh, so it’s that way,” I growled, I sauntered backwards into the night, head bobbing. I was moving like I’d either had a stroke, or I was trying to dance. I needed calm; I needed to focus. I was like one of those guys who breaks five or six concrete slabs with his fist and doesn’t end up in the E.R. “Apparently, you think I’m one of these half literate jackasses who could barely pass high school.” I cocked my head, gave a little laugh, and sauntered back towards her, “Happens all the time. But let me ask ya this…” I stuck my new hand right in her face. “Could a half literate jackass build this?! Huh? HUH?! Well?! Yeah, that’s what I thought, dollface.”

I instantly knew I shouldn’t have done that. It felt like I knocked something loose, something that hurt real bad. Her green-gloved hand placed two fingers on the wrist guard, and pushed my arm down. I breathed in deep like I was enraged but really I was trying not to scream. Something was wrong; my wrist was in horrible pain. But I wasn’t about to let her know that.

“Army of Darkness isn’t exactly the most serious film I’ve ever seen, Ashley. That hand was just in keeping with the goofiness of the movie. And if you are so damn smart, what in name of God are you doing working in retail? By all means, please, do tell.”

I was trying to keep calm. God I wished she didn’t have that gun. “I work to pay the bills, sister.” Then it hit me, “Wait a sec…What’dya mean, goofiness?! What’s goofy about my hand?”

“S-Mart clerk loses hand, then decides to go on quest, and suddenly he gets inspired to build a new one. That’s pretty goofy, Ash, I think you have to admit that.”

“Whoa whoa, whoa! Wait a minute…you think, let’s see, I’m in the dinning hall, and I’ve just blown away the hag and…you! You stole my line!”

If it was possible, she looked at me like I was an even bigger idiot, “Of course I stole your line! ‘Army of Darkness’ is one of the single most quotable movies in the first 100 years of film, maybe in movie history all together; I can’t speak for anything made after 2010, though. And yes, in the dining hall, you realize you need a new hand. Am I wrong?” Smug; so damn smug. Remember the gun.

I blinked, and smiled, “I see. I gotta be in an alternate reality, cause it seems here they’ve got dumb brunettes instead of dumb blondes!”

“Sticks and stones…will break your bones…if you ever insult me like that again,” she sang sweetly, the last part coming in hard.

“Yeah know lady, you could really benefit from some Human Relations training.”

“Oh, but Ash! Why deal with people when you can just shoot them in the head?” A smile crept across her face, showing she wasn’t at least completely serious. Her smile gave way to a sick laugh, “But seriously, enlighten me as to why you think I’ve made a serious error in my judgment…” She turned her hand, “Well, go on.”

Oh…I was on. I gingerly lifted my right arm to chest level and pointed at my metal hand with my left, “Okay, you see this? This…is a piece of art! It’s a design that is so elegant it could come right out of Da Vinci’s notebooks. Except I didn’t just design the thing, I built it too. It combines the aesthetic qualities of the wooden hand, while improving on the functional capacity of the grasping claw, and represents nothing short of a quantum leap in prosthetic design. Utilizing muscle movement from throughout the whole arm, it allows a previously unheard of range of motion. With the exception of typing and writing, with the proper training, there is nothing that the wearer cannot do with this device he could not do with his natural hand.”

This woman in front of me, previously so charming and confident, was now a mannequin; her face frozen in shock and horror. I was beyond pleased. “You…sound like…you’ve been practicing.” She stuttered out.

“Why, yes, I have. You wanna know why?” She nodded nervously, “Because, you can’t simply make something like this. It takes time, and thought and study, and just a little bit of love. See, Edison said invention is 1% inspiration, and 99% perspiration, and God knows I’ve walked that road. This…is my magnus opus! It is my life’s work! Well, as much as a 26 year old can have a life’s work. Irregardless, this hand is going to make me very rich when I get back and patent it! This is America at its finest: I’m gonna get rich by helping people improve their lives, cause I saw an opportunity where no else did.” I stopped for a minute, reveling in my triumph,

“You look surprised, honey buns.” That was an understatement, “Movie didn’t tell you that? Well, you shoulda figured it out. After all, it takes time to build a masterpiece. I started toying with this idea back in the spring of ‘81, and since it was October 3rd, 1986 when I started this, this, bad acid trip; that means I’d been working on this thing for 5 and a half years! I admit…losing my hand did up the timetable for building the final working model, but that’s all. Look at what I can do with it, though! “I can pinky swear!” I did. “I can pull a trigger” I made the motion. “I can give you a thumbs up!” I smiled and gave her a hammy thumbs up. “I can tell you everything’s a-okay!” Again, a hammy hand sign. “I can flash the peace sign!” I gave the peace sign, turning the palm towards my face, “and I can even tell to you never to underestimate me again!” I stuck up one giant metal middle finger.

“And insult me with double entendre hand signs, it seems.” The woman was less shocked now, and more annoyed.

“Why, young lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I hammly feigned ignorance.

The Fatale was not pleased. “No American flashes the peace sign palm inward. Internationally, that reads as ‘Fuck you.’ The thumbs up means ‘go fuck yourself’ and the okay sign reads ‘You’re a fucking orifice’, which varies by country by country, usually the vagina, but sometimes the asshole.”

“Oooh, I’m dealing with a ejamacated woman! I’m glad to see the Vaults don’t turn out primates. You’re a smart cookie considering you were raised in a giant hole in the ground.”

“Don’t speak about my home like that.” Does nothing please this woman?

“Are you even listening to me?! Huh? Or are you just waiting to talk? See, I’m making a point here, cause I’m so damn tired of people looking at me like I’m a dumbass cause I wear a smock and nametag to work. But…on the other hand, it is good to see I’m still an effective communicator. Let me tell you something,” I stuck my metal forefinger in her chest. “I got so much damn sheepskin that…” Okay, this wasn’t going to work, “… ah, well, the point is, baby cakes, I’ve got a Masters in Engineering from Michigan State. One mechanical hand later, I’m going to have a PhD. That’s right; this thing is my doctorial thesis…after I file the patent, of course. And I work at S-Mart, so I have a home where I can do my real work. There should be no shame in that: Einstein did his best work when his day job was patent clerk. And let’s not forget, I took a car totaled by a…30-foot drop, give or take, and turned it into the Deathcoaster you saw up in the cave. And do you know how I did that? Cause I’m a goddamned genius, and don’t you dare forget it! So, in conclusion, I think it would BEHOOVE YOU, to apologize.” She just kept staring. “I’m still waiting.”

Finally, words came. “Klatu, Verata, Niktu.”

“What the Hell does that mean?”

“Klatu, Verata, Niktu. It’s a deviation of ‘Klatu, Berata, Nikto,’ the deactivation code for the robot Gort in the 1951 sci-fi classic ‘The Day the Earth Stood Still,’ a very good movie by the way…for sentimental, anti-war, proto-hippie crap.” She spit out the last few words. Big gun, bigger tits, bad attitude, hippie hater: I smiled a bit. My dad would love this chick.

“Hey thanks, my Trivial Pursuit game just got a whole lot better. Now, WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ME?!”

By this point, we had gotten pretty close. I was in her face; she was in mine. Her long, dark hair swayed a little in my scream. Her nose crinkled and she closed her eyes until I started to inhale. She looked right at me and gave me a faux smile, “BRUSH YOUR FUCKING TEETH!” My long, dark hair swayed a little in her scream. “Christ Almighty, I thought only ghouls could smell that bad! Augh!”

“You ain’t exactly kissably fresh yourself. That aside, get me a toothbrush, and I’ll be happy to. Till then, answer me.”

“Okie dokie, Ash,” she smiled mean and bowed out into the background. “Even ‘geniuses’ like yourself need to have stuff explained to you now and again. Does this sound familiar?” She spread her arms out wide, looked to the heavens sheepishly, and lowered her voice an octave, “Klatu…Verata…N(cough, cough, cough!)” Her hands came to shield her mouth. She looked around even more sheepishly, “There! I said it!” She made a pantomime of grabbing something. Then her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open in a gratingly exaggerated expression of shock or fear, “Wait! Everything’s cool!” She whined to the heavens “I said the words! I did!” She really tried not to laugh after that. Then she looked at me and smiled in her victory, her voice returned to normal, “I haven’t seen ‘Army of Darkness’ in two and a half years, and I can still remember those three whole big words. Genius my lily-white ass! Repeat after me: Ash…is…a…dumbass.” Her head bopped from right to left and right to left again as she spoke the words. “Now you try.”

For a second there, I thought I was gonna pass out. My whole body must have went livid. I could feel my eyes trying to escape my head. I had trouble breathing; I hadn’t been this utterly pissed in years. “Candara Forsoka Corvan Blutta Ecksetto Larfutta Candara Klatu Verata Niktu!” I realized what I had said, “FUCK!”

“What was that?!” She asked me.

“Great! Just perfect, Ash!” I screamed at my beautiful person, “Can’t remember the words when you need them, but it’s no problem when you’ve gotta show up Superbitch here!” Stupidly, I flicked out my right arm, which half a second later was in horrible, searing pain. This time, I yelped a bit, and pulled my arm back, cradling it in my left hand. “Listen up, cum catcher, you’d better get your facts straight before you go around pointing fingers, you got it?”

She looked kinda phased, “Okay…so, there were more than three words?” She held up three fingers timidly. I nodded. “And you know phrases like cum catcher?” Again, I nodded. “But, then, you didn’t write the words down?”

I was busted, and I knew it. “All right, all right, all right! I screwed up; I admit it! Okay? I…I shoulda written the words down, but I was in a hurry. It was stupid. And a lot of people died because of it.” I felt like shit and suddenly I very, very tired, “But! I did get Duke Henry and Lord Arthur to kiss and make up, so, that probably saved more lives, I think. I…I just don’t want to talk about it, cause there’s nothing I can do about it now.” I thought I didn’t, but from what I said next, I apparently did.

My head fell into my left hand, and I sighed, “Up until six weeks ago, the only time I’d ever seen a dead body was when Clover died. Clover was our cat, you know? She was, something like fourteen or fifteen, and all skin and bones. Oh, she was beautiful when I was a little kid: gray blue fur, bluest eyes I’d ever seen, and I yanked the Hell out of that cat’s tail. So did Cheryl, and Tom, and Ginger; I mean it was a right of passage for the Williams kids.” I laughed a little; it hurt cause it felt so far away. “Ah, what I mean is, that at least, I knew it was her time. I was eleven years old, and we all thought it was the worst thing that could ever happen.” I chuckled humorlessly, “How naïve. And then…” I held up both my hands “…people were dying all around me, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I freaked, I totally freaked out!

“I went down to the mountains to have a romantic weekend with my girlfriend, and then she ends up dead! WHAT IN THE OF JESUS H. CHRIST IS UP WITH THAT?! We didn’t do anything! Not to deserve that! The worst thing I’d ever done was drive drunk, and that was, twice, maybe, when I was going to college? And Linda, man, I don’t think Linda’s ever gotten so much as a speeding ticket.” I sighed in spite of my self. “Oh…Linda!” My body shook. I willed myself not to weep, not here, not in front of this woman. Somehow I found the strength.

I fell, on my butt. The dust and gravel easily penetrated the shreds of my clothing and ground into my flesh. I stretched out my feet, which now close to the fire, began to sweat profusely under all those socks. I only noticed both discomforts in the vaguest way. “She’s gone. She’s really gone,” I said mournfully. I was desperately trying to pull myself together, cause I was on the verge of tears. I cradled my head in my hands. Lots of beard hair found it’s way in. I heard something and looked towards the woman. Her face was in total, absolute horror. Her mouth was dropped open, her cheeks, already pretty pale, were flushed, her eyes were wide but they looked like they were about start crying too.

She pled desperately, “Don’t Ash. Don’t cry, please. Not today, oh please, God I can’t handle crying today!” she sighed violently. “You’re not supposed to cry! You’re not supposed cry, Ash! That’s not what you do!”

If it hadn’t sounded like I was torturing her, I would have been a lot nastier. But, as it was, her words just sucked out my will to fight, “You said your name was Charlotte, right?” She made a little affirming noise as she nodded, “Well, Charlotte, I don’t know who the Hell you think I am, but just, please, leave me to my pain.”

My head fell back into my hands before she could say anything. I felt like I was drowning in my sorrows, and that is a horrible feeling. I’m not sure how long I did that, but then I rolled my head a little, and an even worse feeling filled my arm. Pain supercedes sorrow. This time the pain wouldn’t subside, and so I roared in pain as I leapt to my feet and didn’t stop until I’d pulled back what was left of my shirt and began to detach the leather straps from my arm. The skin being exposed to air actually felt pretty good. Then I pulled on the arm anchor to get it loose. Big mistake. That almost hurt as bad as cutting off my hand, and the sound I made, and sorta I sounded like a Wookie, was pretty descriptive.

“What’s wrong, Ash? What’s happened?” I looked at the woman; she looked different, ‘cause now she looked like the Fatale’s good twin.

“My arm…oh Gaaaawd it hurts! I need to get it off, I need to get it off, now!” It was throbbing cause I’d disturbed it. Dying didn’t sound so bad at the moment.

She blinked, then suddenly came back to life. She was a true professional now. She came over to me and said, “Okay, Ash, listen to me. Doctor was one of my tags; I’m a certified combat medic. I can help you, but you have to listen to me. Do you understand?” I nodded and whined. “All right. On the count of three, I’m going to pull it, and you’re going to pull it, and don’t stop no matter how much it hurts. Fall backwards if you have to, just keep up the pressure. No…wait! Are all of those…things detached?”

As much as it hurt, I looked at my new hand, which was now frozen in the cradle position, the last one it had been in, just like it was supposed to. No connections; the anchor was ready to come off. “Yeah, aaah…grab…the wrist. The hand might come off otherwise.”

“All right.” She braced herself to pull. I braced for the pain. “On three! One…” …oh God! “Two…” …This was really gonna hurt! “Three!” We pulled and I screamed. Later, Charlotte would tell me I sounded just like I did when I lopped off my hand, only without the laughing. If it would have come off, that wouldn’t too bad. But, it didn’t. And she kept pulling. “The fucking thing’s gotta be swollen!” She cursed at me, like I could do anything about it. “Pull harder, you worthless shit!” This made me mad; after all, she was literally adding insult to injury. But it did get the desired effect. The anchor finally gave way, and Charlotte stumbled backwards with my hand, while my ass became one with dirt. I grabbed my wrist; somehow hoping the pain would go away. It did subside a bit, but I think that was exposure to air. I looked at it, and became fixated until Charlotte came over and snapped me out of it.

“Holy shit!” She exclaimed; I agreed with her sentiments. The bandages over my stump were stained with red splotches in a sea of yellow. The stink was easy to smell, and it made me my stomach weak. “Ash, how could you wear that thing with that?! Wait, tell me later. Unwrap that bandage, and I will be right back.” She backed away, dropped my hand, then turned around and ran towards the horse. I couldn’t see them except in silhouette, but a few moments later Charlotte told me all I needed to know.

“Goddamnit Nemo! Why now! It’s all over my boots! This is low, even for you! You’re a real piece of shit, you know that? You…I’m gonna get back to you, but I’ve got a patient right now. Argh! Shit factory!” I could see her shaking her legs. Had I not felt so shitty, I woulda laughed my ass off. I did smile a bit, though.

She marched back to me, carrying a first aid kit in her hand, and some shit on her boots, not a lot, but enough to make you realize it had been there. “Ash, bandage! And wipe that stupid looking grin off your face!” The smile faded, and I began to gingerly unwrap the bandage. Charlotte got on both knees and opened up the case, and brought out a brown bottle.

“Hey, Ash? Can you answer a quest…oh God, that reeks…did 20th Century women really like horses, like the in the movies?” She took out a cloth and squirted some of the bottle’s contents, then rubbed it around in the cloth, making sure to never touch it herself.

“What’s that?” I said looking at the bottle.

“Local Anesthesia.” She began to rub the thing on my lower forearm.

“He he he…that’s cold! Ugh!:” When she finished, I answered, “Well, near as I can figure, cause everyone’s different you know? But in my experience, I never knew any woman who outright hated ‘em, no. I mean they are majestic creatures.”

Charlotte’s face told me she just forced something down. “Majestic? What’s so majestic about….” She turned to the horse, “…UNPROSSESED DOGFOOD?!” It didn’t take am Indian guru to sense the bad vibes between them. She turned back to me. “Ash, would you excuse me, for a second please, there’s something I have to get off my chest?”

It seems that no one ever told her it’s not polite to ask something then do it anyway. She got up a pointed at Nemo. “You think I won’t kill you, you little shit? Well you’re wrong! You know what I’m gonna do one a these days? I’m going to go to Shi Town, and I’m gonna buy me a halo recorder, and if they don’t have one, a video recorder. Then I’m gonna drag your sorry ass across the mountains to Nevada, and I’m gonna feed you to a Graboid! And I’m going to tape it too, so I can enjoy it year after year after year! Don’t feel bad though! I’m going to strap some Cordex on you, so after the sonofabitch munches on you, he’s gonna go BAM! Straight to the Moon! Then it’s off the Carson City and 7.5 Gs, enough to replace you three times over. So you’d better watch yourself, punk, your days are numbered!” She turned around, and got back on her knees “Now where was I? Oh yeah, Ash, you might wanna brace yourself.”

“Wha….” She grabbed my arm, tilted it towards the ground and then squeezed it as hard as she could with both hands, and though my arm was tingly, I still felt most of it, and it hurt. I looked at my arm, and the crust laden scab that was sitting where my hand used to be came apart in a dozen pieces as pus and liquids seeped out under Charlotte’s grip. That was so disgusting. I had thought it was healing, and it turns out I was one step short of losing my whole forearm. The smell that came out of it was as bad as any deadite I’d ever turned into prime cuts. But a second later, I couldn’t think about the smell, cause Charlotte started squeezing the middle of my forearm like she wanted to crush the bone, and steadily moved up to the wrist. She coughed violently, though away from my wrist; after all infection stink isn’t exactly the best after dinner smell.

She tuned away and breathed through her mouth, then looked at me and said. “Okay, how in the world could you not notice that till now?” She thought about that for a second as she raised my arm over my head. “Oh wait, stupid me, you’re the guy who chopped off his own hand, then strapped a chainsaw to the stump and fought Henrietta Knowby later in the evening…Am I right in that?” I nodded, “Ash, did that hurt, lugging that chainsaw around on a fresh wound like that? I mean that’s one of the things that makes you such a swell hero and all, but…” She trailed, not knowing quite how to finish her sentence.

Now, that’s a word I hadn’t heard in long time. “Did you…did you…just say ‘swell?’” She nodded curiously, as if it was perfectly normal for her. “…Uh, well anyway, no, come to think of it, it just sorta stopped hurting somewhere down the line. Now, about an hour after I climbed out of the pit, it started hurting like Hell and didn’t subside until the next morning.”

“Did you wash the wound afterward?” She asked me, and her tone of voice made it clear she thought I hadn’t.

“Of course I did! Course they didn’t have Dial antibacterial of anything, but I did the best job. Unfortunately, they weren’t disposed to go out to get the first aid kit in my car. I know there was probably all kinds of parasitic shit in that water, and I think we’ve already established that I’m not stupid. About the hand,” I shrugged my shoulders, “Well, I guess there are times when you don’t have time to feel shit.”

“Yeah, that time’s called ‘going into shock.’”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? I was a Boy Scout, I know all about first aid. Yeah…you know, maybe I am in shock, and I’m passed out on the kitchen floor. Or…better yet, I’ve fallen asleep, and I’m having a bad dream! And I’m going to wake up, and I’m going to have my hand and my woman, and we’re getting the Hell out of that cabin; straight back to Dearborn. I don’t care how much she complains.”

“Okay…you keep telling yourself that. I’ve done it a lot myself, but I have yet to wake up…but go ahead, a little escapism never hurt anyone,” is what she told me. “Ash, this isn’t the most professional way to clean a wound like this, but we’re out in the field, and I don’t have a lot of options. I’m sorry, I needed to wait awhile for whatever infection is left to rise to the top, so I’m gonna havta give you another squeeze.” She chuckled, “I can guarantee if your sleeping, this is gonna wake you up, so I want you to brace yourself, okay?” And before I could even think to brace, she twisted my arm down and squeezed it even harder than last time. I groaned in pain. Not a lot came out, but the little pile of pus reeked to high heaven.

“Oh, yuck! That’s nasty! Ash, let’s move over a little, shall we?” We moved about a foot to the right, clear of all the festering junk that had been in my arm. “All right, I’m going to dress the wound now, but while I’m doing that I want you to answer some questions of mine, and they’re not medical questions either. This has been…one of the more interesting discussions I’ve ever been in, but I’m tired of the bull shit.”

“Fair enough, I guess. But first I want to know, why do you hate that horse so much, and what’s a grabiod? Was that the thing you killed?”

She beamed at me and began to yet another cleaning, this time with iodine. This stung, just a little bit. “Oh, no Ash, that’s a Deathclaw.” Makes sense, “Grabiods eat packs of Deathclaws for breakfast.” I had never seen a grabiod before, I had never heard of a grabiod before, but I now knew I was not going to like them. “And why do I hate Nemo? The little fucker throws me, and on top of that he doesn’t obey me. Free will is the price you pay for dealing with humans, I know that, but you shouldn’t have to put up with that shit from an animal. You don’t want your transportation to have a will of its own, trust me on that. You want something that obeys instantly, and without question; something that is wholly subservient to your will.” She said unpleasantly as she finished coating about a third of my arm.

“That was…charming,” I said scathingly, “but you didn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah, I did. You wanted to know what I killed.” She shifted onto one leg, and reached into the box, and got out a clear squirt bottle.

“No; I asked what a Grabiod was. Now look, I’m stuck for a while, and I want the low down on anything that could make my stay more unpleasant than it has to be. I don’t think that’s asking too much.”

She looked at me, “Okay…in short, Grabiods, also know as Caederus Americana, in case you’re interested in that kind of stuff, are 40 foot long, man-eating worms, about twelve feet in diameter. They got three mouthed tentacles that pull anything that moves into this tri-hinged mouth of theirs, that is of course if they don’t pop outta the ground and swallow the meal whole. Never seen one myself though, just archive pictures.”

The top of my eyes could feel air as they bulged in horror, “That’s a hell of war mutation!” Some of the bottle’s fluid flew into the air.

Charlotte looked surprised, but amused, and that look became increasing pleasant, until good-natured laughter erupted from her. “That is so cute! Man, you did miss out! Wow! Well…there are some people who think that all the radiation from the early atom bomb test made Grabiods, but that’s been pretty much discredited. No one knows exactly where they came from, but in one day in 1990, a pack of four of them showed up in this little hole called Perfection, Nevada. They ate a bunch of people, including the chink that gave’em that god awful name before the locals killed them, and they’ve been a pain in the ass ever since. Some think they were a government project that went wrong, but personally, I don’t think anyone had the technology to do that in 20th Century. A lot of people like to think they’re mollusks, kinda like octopuses, or is that octopi?”

“Octopodes, technically, but all three are acceptable.” I said instinctively. Charlotte gave me a look, “Oh, you see my ‘cashier girlfriend,’ was actually an English teacher by profession. We both went to Michigan State, and incidentally, we met move-in day freshman year in Armstrong Hall. Well, she was fresh out of grad school, and she was exploring exactly where and what grade she wanted to teach. She worked out a deal with Mr. Delrich, eh, that is, our store’s owner, so everyday she didn’t get a call a call to sub, she’d come to work with me. She was always telling me things like that. My playing fast and loose with the language always drove her crazy…heh.”

She looked at me knowingly, “As it should have. You really shouldn’t butcher our language like that. One facet of education is to slow and ultimately halt the so-called ‘evolution’ of language. But, getting back to the overgrown bait, I don’t buy the mollusk theory for a second. I think they’re extraterrestrial in origin, especially on the count of their intelligence; you see, they’re as smart as dogs, and they hunt in packs, and are fast learners. They’re tenacious as bloodhounds: they’ve been known to wait out prey for as long as four days, and can burrow faster than a man can run, and the kicker is: they’re damn near impossible to kill without explosives, or maybe an antitank weapon, and that’s only if you can get them to surface.”

She finally stopped her thinking out loud to see the look of utter horror, “Oh, but don’t worry. See the other reason I think they’re extraterrestrial is cause, for about the first 15 years or so, they had unnaturally complex breeding cycle. They’d spawn these little legged grabiods called shriekers, and those did get into California.” She snorted, “Then the governor Wilson called out the National Guard, and those little shitbags were taken out with extreme prejudice. I don’t want to get technical, but after that, their breeding cycle changed for some unknown reason. I’d say it simplified, but I’m no expert, and now only they only come in the worm variety.”

“They can’t burrow through rock, so they’re pretty much confined to the Great Basin: east of the Rockies, and west of the Sierra Nevada foothills. At least, that was their habitat before the war. They can find ways out, but not a lot of them do. They don’t like dense vegetation, because it makes burrowing to difficult to do properly, so they mostly stick to the deserts, and natural selection’s favored those who avoid human contact. Still, the Nevadans are afraid of them, probably the main reason they’ve got a somewhat functional state government at the moment. Carson City’s got a 75 hundred-dollar bounty on every confirmed kill, paid in caps, on the spot in the bounty office. With the right equipment, an enterprising woman could make a lotta dinari real fast. I’m thinking…a tan 1973 Oldsmobile would about cover it.”

This took a minute to settle in my brain; it was a lot of information, ‘Wait a sec, did I hear you right? First you say I can’t possibly be real, and now you want to go into business with me?” I asked confusedly.

“Let’s just say I’m hedging my bets. I mean, a car, a working car, would provide extraordinary financial opportunities to the interested and astute...Look Ash, everyone out here’s got to be a scrounger, or they die. Or sometimes they die anyway, but the point is, you always have to be on the lookout for opportunity.”

“Listen, Charlotte, this is all, very, new and scary and confusing to me. I don’t want to go hunting these worms of yours. All I wanna do is figure out why I’m here, if I’m here, and find a way back home.” I sighed, “I at least owe it to Linda’s folks to tell them why their daughter is dead. And besides, hunting giant, man-eating creature feature rejects? I haven’t heard an idea that harebrained since the Democrats nominated George McGovern in the ‘72 election. That was an ass-kicking, in case you didn’t know.” I sighed again. “And cripes! Will you please finish treating me before the infection sets in again?! I swear to God, you have the worst bedside manner I’ve ever seen,” I snapped.

“Fine! I’ll have you know, I was sent out here half way through my second year in ‘med school,’ and I’m sorry to say they didn’t yet address how not to kill the patients who make assholes of themselves. I’ll finish when you start letting me ask my questions!” She sounded a little hurt.

“Fine. Fire away, mon sherie.”

She thought for a minute, “Why did go to the cabin?”

“I told ya…”

“No, no, no! I want to know…how you found the place. There are some…minor inconsistencies…”

“Inconsistencies? Like what?!” Oh, ignorance can be bliss.

“Well…” she thought, “Oh, yeah! Um, in Evil Dead 2, you get sucked into the time portal, and a winged deadite tries to take your head off, you blow it away with the shotgun, very cool by the way, and the knights of the kingdom proclaim you to be the hero from the sky.”

I snorted, “Oh, babe, I wish….”

“But, at the beginning of Army of Darkness, Lord Arthur declares you a buffoon and one of Duke Henry’s men, and they march you off to the pit….”

“…That’s the right one.” I finished.

“And that brings up a lot of other questions, but let’s do this one at a time. Now, I’ve got a bottle of ethanol alcohol here, I’m going to clean…your arm one last time, then I’m going to bandage, and while I’m doing that, I want you to tell me the who, what when, where, why and how of the trip you took to the cabin, all right? I’ve got a lot of time on my hands cause I’m nothing if not thorough, so talk as much as you want.” I nodded and tried to ignore the sting of the alcohol as I talked. I sighed.

“Well…in that case, I guess this story really stars back seven years ago, that would be the fall of 1979.”

“’79?”

“Yeah ’79, what about it? Anyway, my friend Scott Delrich and I, well, we thought it might be a good idea to get away from the dorms for awhile; go someplace far off the beaten path, away from civilization, a time to relax and reflect. Or, as Scotty said, cause he has a real way with words…well, he put his arm around my shoulders and said, ‘Ash, we’re gonna find a place, a magical place, with no neighbors to complain about the noise, and no cops checking for underage drinking. And when we find this place, we will go there, and we will have a drunken party, which will be followed by drunken making out, which in turn will give way to drunken sex, and in the morning, we will have drunken hangovers. And all will be right with the universe, because we are college students, and that is what College is all about.’” I laughed: God, that’s still hilarious.

“Obnoxious? Yeah, that’s Scotty; ya love ‘em or ya leave ‘em. He did find a place, down in Tennessee, near Knoxville, and got it real cheap, too. At first, I balked, but after he offered to drive all the way down and back, I said okay. So we got everything together, and me, Linda, Scotty, Scotty’s girlfriend Shelly, and my sister Cheryl, who wanted to come, and I had to keep quiet for reasons that need not concern you…”

“Is this the same Linda?” Charlotte asked as she brought out the bandage roll, and began to wrap.

“No, I dated two girls named Linda in a ro…Of course, it’s the same Linda! Now let me tell the story okay? Well, other than Scotty almost ramming us head on into a pickup truck, it was, frankly, one of the best weekends of my life.” I smiled a bit. “We had a great time there. There wasn’t all that much drinking, but I lost my virginity in that cabin; I gave it Linda. She says she lost her virginity to me there too, but I’m a little skeptical, it doesn’t matter though. You want to know how cool Linda was? I bought her this little silver magnifying glass pendant. Now, honestly, this was a real piece of crap, something you give your girlfriend if you don’t like her…or if you’re flat broke, like I was. But, did she complain? No; she said it was sweet, she told me she’d never take it off…”

Now, if I had been paying attention, instead of pleasantly reminiscing, I would have heard Charlotte mutter, “Yeah, the thing with the eyes…” but I wasn’t.

“…and she didn’t, until a couple of months ago, when the chain got caught in that, hanging thingie, on the shower head, the one you keep shampoo on. The chain broke in the shower, and fell down the drain, and for all I know, it’s currently at the bottom of Lake Eire. Ah, damnit! Not too tight! It’s still tender.” She ignored me.

“Anesthesia not very good?” She asked flatly

“It took you that long to figure out?”

“No; anesthesia doesn’t always age well, but I had no choice,” She got up and flexed her legs. Her knees cracked “Well, I’m all done, here, expect, are you afraid of needles by any chance? Cause I don’t give a shit if you are, you’re getting a stim.”

I snorted, “Me? Afraid of needles? Don’t be silly.” She reached into the first aid kit, and brought out a very large needle with some orange-red fluid in a pliable plastic tube on the other end. I gulped, “What’s that?”

“A stim: Stimulation Delivery Package. It’s a cocktail of healing chems and nano-meds. Honestly, how could there be an action comic set in my world without stims?” She came over and grabbed my right arm, turned it over and began looking for the vein. “Ash, move towards the fire, I need more light. Now, stop struggling, the stim’s good for what ails you. Enough of them will cure everything but baldness and crabs,” she chuckled, “and we have topical creams for both of them.” She eyed my arm, almost hungrily.

“How’d you know it was an action comic?” I asked as she finally stuck the thing into me. Honestly, it didn’t hurt at all, which sorta surprised me.

“Cause, it’s a comic, I’m me, and frankly sci-fi comes in two types: action and social commentary. Only action ages well. That’s why no one reads Asimov, and Bradbury, and the rest anymore; they’re boring. We read stuff like Jules Verne and Wells, cause they’re exotic adventures. Honestly, no one gives a shit about a writer’s opinion of what the future will be like, because they know the motherfucker isn’t informed enough to merit an opinion.”

She saw my eyes glaze over as the meds went to work. The pain in my arm began to evaporate, and I discovered the wonders of the stim. Wanna know what a stim feels like? Three words my friend: Zen, -like, piss. Expect the little pump on the thing reminded me slightly of a bee’s stinger still pumping poison into you long after the little yellow bastard has been disembowel, but this sensation was a distant second. I sighed contentedly. “Feels like the Zen-like piss doesn’t it?” She clearly asked from experience. I nodded comfortably, “Nothing quite like the Zen-like piss. Now, one should do the trick, considering my other work…”

My tranquility vanished, “You mean you coulda stuck more than one in me and there woulda been no squeezing?!” She yanked the stim out of me.

“Yes. However stims have a going rate of 250 dollars, or caps if you prefer. That is, apiece. Stims are expensive and must therefore be conserved.” She told me sternly.

“You’re a real humanitarian, honey.”

In the same voice as before, she said, “Humanitarianism and its cousin Humanism, are dangerous flaws in Western civilization, flaws that were hopefully purged in the atomic fire. I know that conflicts with your sense of aesthetics, I simply don’t care. I speak the truth, and you may take it as you will. Now, please finish your story. You said that Linda had lost her pendant a few months ago, and…”

As I began to finish my story, she crawled around to the other side of the fire, taking my hand and the first-aid kit with her. “Well, I wanted to do something special for her. She was such a great girl, sticking with a would-be inventor loser like me, and so I thought, what better way to do something special than to go back to the cabin, but this time it’d be the two of us alone. Truth is, I wanted to propose, but I couldn’t even afford a ring. I did get another pendant for her; she really loved the old one, believe it or not.”

“But, as things would have it, the cabin was never supposed to be rented. That’s how we got it so cheap. I talked on the phone with the builder’s son, a guy named Reynolds. Turns out Knowby bought the cabin back in ’74, but when Scotty asked about it, he was three months in payments behind and the builder decided to rent it out like he still had a right to. Kinda supports the ‘Knowby was a nitwit theory’ when you think about it. But after explaining the situation, the younger Reynolds told me Knowby was on expedition in Candar, so if I promised to not mess the place up, he’d tell me where the key was. Of course I knew it was on top of the front door, which was good because he told me it was taped under the seat of the outhouse…”

“There was an outhouse?”

“Of course there wasn’t an outhouse! That’s why he told me it was there! I pointed it out to ‘im and he said, ‘I guess your story checks out then. In that case, have fun, friend.’” I sighed mournfully. If only I’d respected the laws of private property, Linda would be alive and I’d be home. Course, it doesn’t seem like the punishment fit the crime at all. “You seem to know the rest.” My hung low after that.

After a moment, she spoke. “I want to tell something, so please here me out. I know you might not want to believe me, but I am very sorry for your loss. I’ve never lost someone close to me, so I can only imagine what you’re going through. For what it’s worth from someone who’s seen her die many times, I’m sorry.” If she wasn’t sincere she was a very good liar.

I looked up at her, “Even if I wanted, I couldn’t be mad at you. I’ve got no right to be. Well, aren’t you going to say it?” She looked at me questionably, “Linda was dead three weeks, for me at least, and I fuck Shelia. Now that’s a real mourning. Nothing quite says ‘I love you’ like banging the next piece of tail that comes along.” I wanted to punch myself and my voice showed it.

“Ash, I’d never say that. My Dad once told me to never accuse a man of not loving a woman if there’s the slightest chance he does, cause if he does, he’s going make you dead or wish you were. Had I said something like that, I think you would have buried me in the desert, hallucination or no.”

“Your dad’s a real sharp tack,” I said flatly.

“He’d love to hear that.”

I smiled briefly and without humor, “You know, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stay there. They offered to make me king, to lead them, to teach them, but I couldn’t…because of Shelia. Most every time I looked at her after that night, I sorta felt like I was betraying Linda. Truth is, I didn’t give a shit about Shelia, I mean, I might have if we’d known each other longer, but that takes time to develop, at least it does for me. But when she was being taken, by that, winged jackoff, it felt like losing Linda all over again. Then after all the shit went down, I couldn’t help asking myself why I could save the maid I cared a little for, but couldn’t save the woman that I would have gladly spent the rest of my life with. And, frankly, I have no answer.”

“The universe is neither moral, nor kind, nor fair. It is one of the tragic lessons of life,” she said sadly.

I chewed on what she said, then replied, “Don’t’ take this the wrong way, kid, but what do you know about it? You’re the big Goddamn hero around here. I just don’t see what you have to cry about.”

She looked at me and her hallow laughter almost went o tears before she got control of herself. “Oh, yes I would, my dear Ashley. See, you shouldn’t go around pointing fingers, right?”

I balked at this, “Hey, I wasn’t pointing, I was just asking for an explanation.”

 

[Talisien]

I don't know if my review counts, seeing as I have been giving reviews since it was posted on gamefaqs, but I'm gonna give it anyway.

I love this story. I have an unhealthy interest in both Fallout and the Evil Dead series, and anything that can feed both cravings at once is good. It's sort of like the old Reese's Cup commercial, but twisted-

"You got your post-apocalyptic fun in my cheesy sci-fantasy!"

"No, you got your cheesy sci-fantasy in my post-apocalyptic fun!"

You know, I may just break out the old digital recorder and make a little spoof of that, LOL.

Anyway, an old saying is that the whole is greater than the sum of it's parts, and this story has some amazingly great parts to draw from. Keep up the excellent work. Oh, and, um... even if you don't get five good reviews, could you keep it going anyway? Please? As a favor to me?

 

[Shiozaki]

169 people have at the least glanced at this, and only 2 have managed to say anything, someone must have some type of comment, you seen a typo, anything lol.

Chapter 5
Dinner Conversations

Part 3



Her eyes went to the ground. She opened the first aid kit, reached in and brought out a pair of scissors. She handed them to me and looked into my eyes, “Then listen and learn.” I took the scissors with a measure of gratitude, and began to cut my beard down to size as I stared into those sad eyes.

“See this story goes back to Anderson too. He wasn’t just a crook, he was also gave a lot of jobs to his crooked friends, which might not have been so bad except they were all fuckheads. Now, all the water in Vault 13 goes through the big filtration center down on sublevel D, and it’s all controlled by one stinkin’ Water Purification Controller chip in the Command Center. We were supposed to get at least a dozen spare chips, but one of Anderson’s friends was in charge of getting the Vault supplied. And this guy had to be a total fuck up, cause the chips never came. Instead we got a second G.E.C.K. and if you don’t know what that is you don’t need to know. Now, we were supposed to get a second G.E.C.K. anyway, but after Anderson was removed, it was clear we were going to tussle with China, and soon, so most resources were going in that direction, so we never got the replacements or the second G.E.C.K. we supposed to get, which would have made or total count three. Doesn’t that just beat all?” She asked me rhetorically.

“Now, zip ahead 84 years. Our one and only water chip finally gives out after lasting six times its operational lifetime. So someone’s got to go and find us another Controller chip. Now, about 15 years ago, a friend of my father’s, a man named Talus Leline, was sent out to explore the wastes and try to find another, cause we knew it was going to give out sooner or later. I met him a few months before he was killed. Let’s just say, the Wastes were a lot kinder to me.”

“Alone? Am I understanding this? He was sent out alone?” I asked incredulously. I had cut my beard down to my face, so I twisted my hair in the back into one giant strand.

She smiled, “Yeah, alone. As was I. Apparently, Limpdick Charlie, oah, I mean our Overseer, Charles Fairbanks, believed that sending out one person by themselves would be ‘inconspicuous.’”

With one snip, give or take a few snags, I managed to cut most of the excess hair from my head. I honestly can’t remember how I did it one handed exactly, but I did it. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely an improvement. After I did this I spoke.

“That’s real stupid! There’s no other word for it. Does this Overseer of yours eat paint chips or something by any chance?”

Charlotte was shocked, “Ah, well, the Overseer has many, many responsibilities! I don’t really know, maybe half of them. I, I have no right to pass judgment on his decisions.”

“But you named him Limpdick Charlie…”

“Ah, no. I don’t know who invented that name, but it’s been around for over thirty years.”

“Well, no wonder. Even an idiot should know better than to send someone out into the wilderness alone. I’d say you’d need at least three or four.”

“Ah, be that as it may, I was chosen precisely because I was the most expendable personnel who had the best chance of surviving long enough to get another. So I get called up on Friday after work to Fairbanks’ office. He says to me I have to find this chip. And you’re right, at least on this one thing, he’s obviously an idiot or at least naïve, but what am I going do? He won’t even authorize a set of combat armor for me. Says he can’t risk it. So I’m to go out into a dangerous and hostile world with only the clothes on my back.” My mouth dropped. “But, I did what I’m supposed to: I give a smart salute, and said ‘yes sir!’ And they kicked me out at 7 AM sharp on Saturday morning. In the meantime, I had to beg and plead Peter; he was the armory officer on call that night, to get a shotgun. I swear, Fairbanks was going to send me out with a couple of stims and 10 millimeter Colt semi-auto pistol. You can’t even hunt animals with that, much less defend yourself from, say a radscorpion. Oh, by that I mean I a seven foot long scorpion.”

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah, don’t you just hate it when F.E.V. causes shit to get bigger. Cause it sure as hell wasn’t the radiation alone. When they the Chinks nuked us, they apparently hit an F.E.V storage center, probably on the edge of West Tec headquarters compound, or as people call it now…” she sighed disgustedly and rolled her eyes, “…The Glow. That ring any bells by any chance?” I shook my head.

“Well, to get on with my story, I found my companions one by one, and finally we found a chip in Bakersfield, but not the one north of Los Angeles, the other one, which I think used to be Baker, California. In any case, they can’t even call the fucking city by its real name. They the place ‘Necropolis’ because it’s the largest ghoul controlled community in southern California. What a bunch of horse shit; people shouldn’t change names all hidily pidily like that. But I digress.”

“Now we found that chip alright, but first we had to off these supermutants who were guarding the entrance to Vault 12. And my God, these were dumb motherfuckers! Can’t believe the Master could look at these putzfucks and say he was making the Master race. Their leader was Harry, and I actually managed to convince Harry I was a ghoul! I mean look at me! Do I look like a ghoul to you? Am I anywhere close?”

I looked her over like I wasn’t sure, much to her annoyance. “You don’t look like an extra from ‘Day of the Dead’ if that’s what you mean,” I said. Charlotte nodded her head in approval. “I should point out that the Romero did take a lot of visual cues in the ‘Dead’ series from the Fallout ghouls. Which sorta begs the question of why you and I both seem to know they same movie, when, if it was made here, should be different because of different influences…but I’m not going to violate our little agreement just now. So go on.”

“Well, I get back to the Vault, and Fairbanks reads my report, and tells me to get back out there and get rid of the supermutants, all of them. He says they’re a threat to the Vault, and for once, we’re in total agreement.” She sighed, “It wasn’t easy. There was a lot of traveling, a lot of killing, but in the end, I was given this gun,” she grabbed the gun from its holster, “and this Power Armor,” she pointed all around it with the barrel, “for our good deeds.” She smiled, “Then we taught those green sons of bitches who’s still the master race!” She caught my expression, “I mean Normals, of course. Now, when all the verities of mutants all die out, I’m sure we’ll all get back to killing each other over skin tone, such is the natural order of things, but in the meantime, we’ve got more fucked up fish to fry.”

“Well, anyway, we killed a good chunk of the Master’s Army, drained the Vats at Mariposa, kicked them out of Vault 3…the Los Angeles Vault, though it is technically in Anaheim. We took our enemy’s weapons from their cold, dead fingers, and sold their shit for a nice profit.”

She looked down, “Honestly though, I wouldn’t make a good comic book hero. Ian wanted us to blow up Mariposa, and the Master had a tactical nuke hidden in Vault 3, and if this were a comic, those places would be rubble. Instead I took painstaking care to avoid the destruction of valuable property. That means no senseless explosions that are usually the means of conflict resolution in the Action genre.”

“But when it was all over, we were rich and famous, filthy fucking rich and held up as idols. The five of us had stopped an army of nearly 10,000, and became very rich doing it. Then I went home, to tell them the good news: our Vault was safe.” She sighed, “Care to guess what happened?”

“Uh, the mutants overran your Vault, and everyone was dead?”

Her face brightened, “No, nothing of the kind. In fact, everyone was better than ever. You see, a few months before, I made arrangements for a water caravan from the Hub to make a run up north to keep the Vault supplied with water, just in case. Vault 13 was becoming part of a regional economy, and people were getting new luxury goods, new equipment, and new arms for the first time in over 80 years. Thanks to me, the Vault was safe and prospering. But Fairbanks was there, right in front of the door. He told me I was a heroine, and that he was proud of me…” she trailed off for a second, “…and that I had to leave and never come back.”

“What!? I mean, why the Hell would he kick you out for saving his ass?! Was this a joke or something?!” I asked far faster than I should have if I expected an answer.

Again she sighed sadly then ran her hand through her hair, “He didn’t say it outright, but essentially, my deeds made me so prominent that I would be a threat to his absolute control of the Vault.”

“And that’s a bad thing how?”

“You see, my ability to rally dissent threatened effective command and control within the Vault. And so, I had to go.” She began to choke up. We lost eye contact and she become frantic. “I, I begged, I pleaded, I even pulled der Fuehrer on him, but he turned his back on me while I was on my knees!” You see this woman is very expressive with the face and at this moment, her teeth bared, and her eyes…it’s very rare to see someone with that much pure, unadulterated hatred. Her hands trembled with rage; and honestly, I was watching the gun still in her right hand, lest she do something rash. That’s how angry she was.

“He turned a blind eye to my tears, and deaf to my promises, promises that’d I’ll never get involved in any of the factions! I’m an honorable woman! I swear it! Go to the monastery! Ask them! Ask them! Ask anyone out here! I always keep my word…” She trailed off and looked at me desperately. This was one of those times you want to say something, cause you see a human being in pain. But the words won’t come, so you sit there, and kinda just hope they can see in your eyes what your mouth’s too dumb to say.

She inhaled deeply to get a hold of herself. “That was a year ago today,” she laughed bitterly, “And it’s, it’s kind of fortunate you found me in the afternoon, cause, in the morning…” she struggled to laugh, “I kept doing this…” She put ‘Adolph’ to her head and pulled the trigger. Naturally, my eyes bulged in horror. But instead of hearing a bang, I saw the clip drop out and fall to the ground. She looked down “I honestly don’t know if I was hoping I was going to mess up the sequence or what.” She picked up the clip, reinserted it and holstered the piece. “You know, they say Hell isn’t flames or ice, Hell is loneliness, isolation. Hell is not belonging. Heh, so I guess was sent to Hell for saving my home. I was willing to give up everything, everything, for them, and they threw me out like garbage. Of course, there are times I wonder whether perhaps I am…”

“Whoa, whoa! Hold on there, kid! I believe you. Just, just hold on! Now, I just got here, but it seems to me you got screwed, big time. If you’re being totally honest, this guys a peckerhead of the first order. Don’t do nothing you’ll regret because of that jackass, okay? Here,” I handed her the scissors, “For what it’s worth, thanks for everything, I really appreciate it, you know. Except the hitting, that I don’t appreciate, but…”

She took them and smiled warmly, “You’re welcome.” I should mention, the fire was down to smolders at this point, “It could be the bad lighting out here, but you’re as handsome as I remember. Dashing really, with the beard.”

“Well take a good look, cause its comin off as soon as I get the chance.”

She shrugged. “Pity. You know, I needed that. In fact, that’s why I think I conjured you up today: You, you might be the only person who could possibly understand…Understand, what it’s like. Well, you and Odysseus, but Odysseus is too much of the strutting hero type to let anything really bother him. But, do you know that feeling? You wanna tell yourself it’s all a bad dream, or at least, everything’s going to be all right in the end, but you know that you might never be able to go home, and you’ll most likely die violently never seeing the people you love again. Did you ever feel like that in Candar?”

That question grazed the skin. I sighed and said, “Kid, here’s some advice from someone who’s been around the block. Don’t reflect; don’t ever reflect. It doesn’t do a thing except make you wanna save the last bullet for yourself. You can’t do the shit that has to be done thinking like that. You just got keep on truckin’ you know?”

“I thought you’d say something like that. See, you’re sort of my hero…”

“If you start belting out Bette Midler, I’m going to have to hit you.”

“Wha- oh! You don’t like that song? I don’t see why, it’s not one of my favorites either, but, no, I don’t sing in conversation. See, what I like about you, is that you don’t know shit.” I glowered “Oh, shit! No! What I mean is that, well, John McClane is a cop, and so is Dirty Harry, and so is Mad Max, at least in the first one. James Bond’s a super spy; Rambo’s a soldier, but you! You’re just some poor son a bitch who’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you kick ass and take names and look really good doing it. No matter what, you survive, and frankly Dr. No’s got nothing on the Deadites! Nothing!”

“So, whenever I was in trouble, like when I was going through West Tec, and I was soaking up rads so bad I was sure I was going to be a glow in the dark, I kept thinking, what Ash would do now? And when I was going through Mariposa with the Stealth Boy, killing groups of Supermutants before they could sound the alarm, like I was the fucking Predator, I was thinking that Ash would be proud. And when we blew The Master’s ass off the Vault 3 Overseer’s platform, and he was still breathing on the ground, and I came up to him and said, ‘You know, Dr. Grey’ cause that was his name, ‘they say Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Could you get back to me on that?’ And I blew his sick ass into the next world. So, uh, was it good, my one liner?”

“Uh…I woulda said, “Yo dickless! Strange thing about megomaniacal jackoffs who want to make the master race…they always seem to end up with a bullet in their head.’ Bang. But, yours is,” I held my hand parallel to the ground and tilted it back and forth, “pretty good.”

“Hmmm…that is good. So I did at least okay?”

“You won. That counts more than anything.”

“True. And by the way, I was quoting you when I blew away that Mutant guard.”

I shoulda seen it, but I didn’t, “Whoa! That’s trippy, cause I was quoting you when I cut through my Remington.”

She was surprised “Golly! But you mean Knowby’s Remington. You didn’t bring with you, you found it in the cabin.”

“It’s mine now,” I stuck out my tongue at her.

“Wonderful. Well tell me how you could cut through steel with a chainsaw? I thought you couldn’t do it except with a Vibroblade, and even then it takes time.”

“Uh, well, if you got a big engine, and you rev it up high enough, and you got a industrial-diamond-tipped chain, and the steel is not too think, and not too hard, like a shotgun barrel; you can’t do it with a rifle or a handgun on accounta the rifling, you can cut through it real quick. You also got to make a few, slightly illegal, and very unsafe, adjustments to the engine, which is hard to do one handed, by the way.”

“Oh. Cool. Do you still have that chainsaw with you, because I know some people who’d like to look it over?”

“It depends,” I said sternly.

We then sat in silence and then she said, “Hey, Ash? Where’s Candar?”

That hit where I wasn’t looking, “Say what?”

“Well, if you’re real, really Ash, that means Candar has to be a real place. And here it’s not. I checked. So, where is this magical kingdom where in the 14th century they were speaking modern English?”

Hearing this, I was caught between snorting and laughing for at least 90 seconds. The very thought of Arthur, or Henry, or Shelia…

“They spoke modern English in that movie of yours? Goddamn, I feel deprived! Oh, they spoke English all right, but it sure as Hell wasn’t modern. They were speaking MIDDLE English!”

“You certainly didn’t seem to have any trouble speaking to the locals…” She said incredulously.

“Yeah, cause see, when Linda was in grad school, she had to take this class on Chaucer, and they had to read the stuff in the original. So who had to be the good boyfriend and help her study when no one else was available, and that was usually very late at night?” I pointed to myself, “Mwa. That was a lousy job, but the perks were great…”

“What perks?” she asked innocently.

To which I sang, “Hoover…nobody does it like you!” Then I snickered evilly.

“What does that mean?”

“My friend, it means that no good deed goes unrewarded.”

You think that was bad? Maybe I should tell you about the time I drank too much and did that when we were eating with Scotty and Shelly. I learned something very fascinating that night: You can be strangled to death with your own necktie. Anyway…

She looked at me funny. “Riiiight…” my companion said, quoting a very clinched villain by the name of Doctor Evil, though I didn’t know that until later.

“Well, I learned some of the stuff, and after hearing it for a couple of hours while they’re marching you to your death, you pick it up real fast. As for where it is, I don’t know, except that it has to be somewhere in the British Isles, but I’m not sure…I’m thinking…west of Wales maybe? But I’m not a geographer, or a cartographer, or whatever.”

“Oh. Well, that was interesting.” She got up, picked up all the medical stuff and put it back in the first aid kit. I was still sitting, and I was craning my head around as she was doing this.

“What’cha doing?”

“Cleaning up; apparently you have been asleep…” then she yawned real big, “…damnit! Why is it whenever I think about sleep I have to yawn? Ah, fuck it, I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“Yeah, I’m kinda tired myself, it been a long day. You got a sleeping bag for one more? I really don’t want to go back to my car, not with those, ‘Deathclaws’ and radscorpions and grab…we’ll those worm things you were talking about. Please, Ms. Merriweather?”

Her head shook in realization, “Oh, no, Ash, I mean, Mr. Williams. I’m very sorry; I haven’t been observing proper protocol all evening. It’s just that, well, I don’t think they say your last name once in any of the movies…”

“Then how do you know my last name, cause you keep saying Ashley J. Williams, so if it’s not said, how do you know?”

“It’s on the menu screen…duh, you won’t understand that, Windows in about 10 years away…Let’s put it this way. When I want to watch a movie, I select it on an interactive television, and when I select one, a little paragraph shows up telling me what the movie’s about, akin to the back of a halo-film box, and if I remember it was the same for…” she trailed off not knowing the name.

“Video tapes?”

“Yes. Satisfied?” I grunted in the affirmative, “Good.” She picked up my hand and, well, handed it to me. “Now get up, cause as much as I would love to share my one, tight, stuffy sleeping bag with a stinky but good looking fellow like yourself, I’ve got one better.” She handed me my metal hand.

I started after her, “Wha-?”

“Oh, don’t worry about the fire, it’ll put itself out, and judging by the clouds today it’s going to rain real soon. We need it; there’s been a drought for the last four years, even the Styx is getting low. He heh, that’s what we call the underground river that keeps us supplied with water.”

I got up and began to follow here through the darkness, “No, I mean, don’t you want to know about the comic?”

“Not particularly.”

“But, why?”

“Because Mr. Williams, had you been paying attention, you would have noticed that my big scene was over a year ago, and in that time, no one has come looking for me, not even my folks. I know it’s dangerous out here and moreover they probably aren’t allowed to, but I really wish I could see them. Do you…” she began a question, and we both knew what it was. The short answer was yes. “…Ah never mind, I don’t want to drag you through it. But, back to the point, if what you say is true, then obviously, this comic of yours featured the exploits of…another Charlotte Merriweather, in a timeline running parallel to this.”

“Have you been up to San Francisco by any chance, Chinatown in particular?”

She hiccupped a laugh, “Let me put it this way: Kitty cats are surprisingly good eating. And besides most of Chinatown is Shi town.”

“Oh, gross!” I interjected about halfway through the second sentence.

She snorted as she lead on through the seamless twists and turns, “You’re going to have to expand your palate if you’re going to live here, young man. I know back in the day, food was plentiful beyond, all imagination, but not anymore. So you have to eat what presents itself. There’s lots of good things to eat around here you’d never think of: cats, dogs, worms if you fry them right, radscorpion, long pig, the list goes on really. But anyway, I don’t think I’ve met anyone at all out here named, ‘Matilda.’”

“Oh, Matilda Henderson’s the sidekick, the AK-47 toting, hot as Hell, glacial redhead sidekick. Ring any bells?” She said no “The hero of the series is a guy named Thomas Anderson…”

She stopped and turned around, “Thomas Anderson? Now that name I’ve heard before, but not out here. Where did I hear that? ‘Mr. Anderson!’” she said, and by her inflection, she was obviously quoting someone, “Mr. Anderson!” she said it again, “Where on earth did I hear that?” She shrugged, “Oh well.” And we continued on.

“Besides,” she said after a moment, “I’m not what you’d call hero material. I’m cynical, I’m vicious, and to be perfectly honest, don’t always treat people like I should.” I stopped and laughed. Then Charlotte stopped and came back to me, and asked, “What?”

I replied, “You’re trying to convince me you can’t be a hero, at a comic book one, then you tell me you’re Dirty Harry with tits...” I chuckled a little, “Strikes me as kind of funny, anyway.”

She seemed surprised. She asked me cautiously, “You think I’m like Dirty Harry, with tits?” I gave her a half grin and nodded. “Oh my God, thank you. Wow, Dirty Harry with tits! Cool. Now let’s keep moving,” she checked her watch, “I think got all the Deathclaws in the city but I’m not totally sure.” Hearing the word ‘Deathclaw,’ I damn near shoved her forward.

As we walked she said, though more quietly, “See, my rhetoric teacher, Albert Cole, now he’d make a good 50’s vanilla hero. Smart, tall, confident, handsome, charismatic, utterly opposed to McCarthyism. But make no mistake; McCarthy did our country a great service. The ruthless rooting out of Communist infiltrators and their leftist abettors, Lenin’s ‘useful idiots,’ is a useful and proper. Communists are by definition enemies of the United States, and therefore must be exposed and silenced. Now before you say anything, know that social responsibilities came far ahead of the First Amendment. Had the people of your time understood that, we would not have lost the Vietnam War, and your Uncle would not have flashbacks in vain.”

“Maybe; but thinking like that, you might get to thinking that it’s social responsible to neuter the Second Amendment. As of late, I’ve become very fond of my right to bear arms, for reasons that should be all to clear to you.

I swear, I was looking at the back of her head, and I could hear her smile, “True, but let’s hold that off that discussion for a while. If everything is as it seems, I’m very much looking forward to it. Back to Mr. Cole, he’s the best lawyer in the Vault. Well, the Vault doesn’t have a bar, as bars are the prerogative of the states, but he’s certified according to the regulations of the California State Bar as of 2074. He’s also the leader of one of the factions, this one wants to leave the Vault.” Then she stopped by large pile of debris, “We’re here.”

“What?” I asked as she put down the stuff she was carrying.

“We’re here. Now help me move this shit.” So I dropped my hand and helped her as best I could, which wasn’t much. And low and behold, there was a metal hatch sticking out of the ground with a twist handle. “Now, this is a shelter, a backyard shelter. It’s too dark now, but this property used to belong to my mother’s family, that’s how I know it’s here. And despite what you post 50s dumbfucks like to think, it works, as does ‘Duck and Cover,’ unless you’re in the red zone, in which case you’re dead anyway. Most deaths from nuclear attack occur from secondary fires and flying debris, and people only vaporize at the epicenter. Your people should have learned that from the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki…” she got kinda nasty here, “And Ash, I swear to God, if you say one word against either bombing, I will you shoot dead right here and now.”

I chuckled, “Believe it or not, I know the feeling. Despite what those idiot pacifists think now, those Jap bastards had it coming since Pearl Harbor.”

She smiled, “I like you, As…I mean Mr. Williams.”

“Oh, what the Hell? You can call me Ash, or Ashley. I prefer Ash, cause the womenfolk co-opted my goddamn name, and I don’t appreciate it at all. But it’s really no big deal. Can I call you Charlotte?”

“Why…yes. Fair’s fair after all.”

“Can I call you Charlie?”

I got a bad reaction out of that judging from her eyes, “Don’t ever call me Charlie. Or Lot, or Lottie, only Charlotte. But especially not Charlie. It makes me sound like a goddamn Snip…”

“What’s a Snip?”

She answered by putting left hand on her crotch, and then pantomimed pulling something from it. Then her right middle and forefingers made scissors. They came down to the crotch and they cut as she made a clicking sound with her teeth.

“Oah…Eww!” I said disgustedly, “I didn’t know we needed a derogatory term for people like that.”

“It’s not a 20th century term…tell you what, I’ll tell you more tomorrow if you want, but I don’t want to give nightmares now.”

I didn’t quite know how to take that. “Uh, that’s fine by me, I guess. So, ah, what were you saying about this Al Cole?” I then realized something and quickly added “or was that Al Cole-Hall?” I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Great. You’re a comedian, too,” said the unenthusiastic woman.

“Well, that’s where one liners come from. From a lifetime of bad puns and little cheeky jokes. Besides, ‘I love to laugh! Ha ha ha ha! Long and loud and clear! I love to laugh…’” her expression, even in the darkness killed my urge to sing, “I also love ‘Mary Poppins’. Dick Van Dyke’s the shit. Anyway, you have the floor.”

She sighed, “Well, the problem with Albert is that he’s an idiot egomaniac, which makes him an excellent hero candidate. I want to rebuild our civilization; Albert wants to found a new one. And when I was kicked out, he managed to convince almost a hundred people to leave with him to go find me. They found me last November, and I told them it was dangerous, so go home and obey the Overseer. They wouldn’t listen to me, because Albert wouldn’t listen to me, so I had to blow out his kneecap to get my point across. Those people should have known this was never about the injustice of my exile. This was about Albert Cole wanting to build his goddamn Arroyo!”

Seemingly frustrated by the memory, she got down on the ground and began to twist the hatch open. It gave grudgingly “I don’t want to found some goddamn town! Gah!”

She gave a mighty tug, and the thing gave way quickly, creaking at high speed. When it stopped, Charlotte easily lifted the hatch. She stood and stared at me, “I am a Vault Dweller! I was born to lead the vanguard in the reconstruction, and now, apparently, the total restoration of the United States of America! Our destiny is greater than to simply survive as my Overseer thinks, or to degenerate into the tribal fucks I kill every chance I get. That is Albert’s wayward dream. Our destiny is to regain what you had!” she pointed at me, “And I seem to be the only voice of the two thousand three hundred forty seven inhabitants who will dare challenge the stupidity and short sightedness of those who would rule. If we can carve from solid granite almost twice the living space the original Vault provided, then we can do anything! But we have to act, and act NOW! Before English romanticizes!”

“Wait, wait, what does this have to do with me?! And what do you mean romanticize? It’s coming out of left field!”

“Ash, listen and understand! There’s more going on in California than simply fighting mutants! This world is not an adventure story, it’s not a goddamn comic; it’s the shithole I have to live in. And I can bear that, if only I knew things were going to get better! There is no successor to the Republic, and if we are willing to act quickly, we can reunite the country before the seeds of the successor states germinate. Even then, we could still rebuild, but only if English survives intact! If it romanticizes as Latin romanticized into Italian, French, Spanish, Vandalene, then any hope for our Fourth Rome is gone! You took Rome as a template, and now we must take Byzantium as ours, except not fuck up like they did!” She sighed, “And now, it seems probable I won’t even be able to parley my status to help the next would be Justinian. No one sees what has to done, and those that do are powerless!”

She shook her head to clear it. “Come’on! Let’ go!” She threw the canteen, and the first aid kit carelessly down the hole and motioned for me to follow suit. Gingerly, I climbed down with my one hand, which was also holding my mechanical substitute. It was pitch dark down there, and upon hitting the floor I would have slipped on the canteen had I not still been holding the ladder. It smelled faintly a must. I stepped into the darkness to make way for my companion as she started to climb down. Much to my annoyance, she closed the hatch, cutting off all light. I heard her slide down the ladder and walk past me. A second later I heard a click, then a hum, then fairly bright white neon lights hurt my eyes. I blinked to readjust.

When I opened them, I saw a cramped room of bare concrete with a lot of empty shelves Dark non-slip flooring added some color, and the exposed rebar on the ceiling added character, especially when a broken piece daggled down in front of the neon lights mounted at the top of the walls. I saw Charlotte taking off her helmet and guessed, correctly, it had some sort of night version capacity. She was by some sort of generator.

“Weheel, one thing you can always say about the Watts Electrobox: It takes a lickin and keeps on tickin, and then some! Sorry about the smell, it’ll clean up in a bit.” She stiffed her armpit, then realizing she was still in armor, she pulled back the collar a bit and took a whiff, “Ah! I’m still good. You my friend on the other hand, had better get showering.” She pointed behind her, past the generator to a door, “Bathroom’s there. If I’m not insane, questionable, then I think you’ll be happy to know there is a working toilet in there. And toilet paper.” At that, I did smile. You don’t wanna know what I had to use in Candar, “I see I’m correct. Now, there’s two places for you to sleep: that couch behind you,” actually, it was directly to my left, but to charlotte it was behind me. It was molding in couple of places and I could see the spring poking up under the fabric, “and you’re welcome to sleep there, but I don’t you’ll find it too comfortable. The other place is the one bed there,” she pointed to the door a few feet in front of me.

“I’ll take the bed.”

“All right then, a couple of ground rules: one, you will shower before you get into bed. Two, when I sleep in a bed, I sleep naked, and I make exceptions for no one.”

“Well, I sleep naked in bed too, no exceptions.”

I saw her flinch, “Okay…I can handle that. Three: no hanky panky. Four: no hanky panky and Five: If you gotta do the hanky panky, wake me up, I might as well get some enjoyment out of it.”

I was stunned, “You’re, you’re kidding right?”

“She smiled, “Of course! What I’m not some groupie of yours who’d put out at the drop of a hat…I’d expect dinner and a movie, and maybe some dancing first.” She chuckled, and then got serious, “I’m sorry, I have Ash Williams in my little hole in the ground away from my hole in the ground and I don’t quite know how to handle it.”

For a moment, neither of us could speak. Finally I said, “Well, it’s a good thing we’re both past our respective adventures, cause I think about here the writers would have us kiss!” We both fell down laughing; the tension was broken. I got up, “I’m going to go take a shower now. And good God, is it gonna feel good.”

“Uh, Ash, there’s no hot water or shampoo in there. You’ll have to make do.”

“Shit!” I said, yanking off all the layers of my socks in one pass, “You think I can get new shoes at the monastery? I’ve got clothes, but no boots, and I need a new watch.”

“Ash, if everything works out, I’ll take you down to the Hub and buy a whole new wardrobe if you wish. I figure it’s the least I can do for you, I got plenty of money.”

“Thanks.” I said. She yawned.

“I’m going to bed now,” she pulled off the gloves, “Don’t turn off the lights and the towel in there is self drying, just put it back on the rack and it’ll be good tomorrow morning. Well, night Ash.”

“Uh, night Charlotte,” I seemed we both though it a little too casual under the circumstances, but what could we do. She was stripping out of the armor as I closed the bathroom door.

Now I’d like to tell you that was it for the night, but it wasn’t. Though the bed was a double, which was nice, and we were both tired, we didn’t sleep for a while. When I got in the room and closed the door, I took the towel off and got into bed, and then realized Charlotte was still awake. Worse, it was kinda cold down there, so we both got under all the cover. To put this into perspective, there was a handsome, naked man and a pretty naked woman, sharing a bed, and they could feel the heat from each other’s bodies. That’s why we didn’t sleep at first. To put it poetically, the room smelled of sex. To put it more bluntly, both of us were leaking fluids and could smell each other’s. Which in turn led us to leaking more fluids. And had we not been rational adult human beings, we would most certainly engaged in what I like to call ‘monkey sex.’ That is, pure, instinctive, hot, heavy, coitus. I knew this, and monkey sex is even better than make up sex so Mr. Happy was pleading, begging, crying to go, but I didn’t. We didn’t say a word, this Femme Fatale and I and we both stared at the ceiling uncomfortably, though we couldn’t see anything else in the room. Mercifully, eventually sleep claimed us both.

 

[Talisien]

Hahahahaha!!!!! Oh my god, that was great! Ash actually BEHAVING himself! That was a perfect ending for the chapter, LOL. I'm pretty sure that, were you to send this to Sam Raimi, he'd ask you to write it out as a script. Judging from his movies, he has the sense of humor to truly appreciate this. And if you could script it into a special encounter as a mod for FO1, that would be damn cool, too. Maybe Killap or MIB88 could do it, time and interest willing- they're both great mod makers. It would be even cooler to do a talking head with Bruce Cambell's voice, but short of patching together sound bites from various movies and tv shows, that's probably out of the question. Although, he HAS done a lot of voice-over work...

A great chapter, dude. When is the next one coming? Soon, I hope?

 

[Shiozaki]

Well here is another chapter, still not many people have reviwed, well hopefully that will change, and way here ya go chapter 6 is up, enjoy.

Author:konig15

Into the Wasteland:

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Evil Deal, Fallout or any other genre I might care to add. My work tries to respect cannon, but where cannon is ambiguous I go where I will. Suggestions, complaints, and other feedback are welcomed. Life doesn’t hold back, so neither do I. My work not Politically Correct and I will make no attempt to make it so. I’m actually more interested in the history and the anthropology of the Fallout universe, such as why Fallout 2161 and thus probably 2077 has 1950s demographics. I didn’t want to leave you hanging, but you have to bear in mind I’m not writing about an idealized reality, political or otherwise at any point.

Life is unjust, unfair, and generally screwed up and we have to live with that. If this piece offends you, just remember, slash offends me, so I don’t read it. This piece may contain: robbery, murder, rape, rampant racism, unapologetic ethnocentrism, genocide, celebration of genocide, disrespect for all religious beliefs and practices but Christianity, disrespect of Christianity, and if I can fit it in, Cattle Rustling. You have been warned. Now on with the show. Oh, and I need to know if I’m staying in character. And if you enjoyed it.

Loading…

An offset, extremely worn photo of a red pickup truck driving by, probably a 2063 Studebaker Mastiff pickup. Over the “Studebaker” logo is a bumper sticker with a large American Flag, this one with a Betsy Ross design with one large star in the center, and:

Does my American Flag offend you?

Call 1-800-LEAVE-THE-USA

Get Ready…

The Truth Flatters No One

The desolation was everywhere. It was a sad thing indeed that the ruins here were so well made, so well preserved that no one could by the look tell how much time had passed since the once great city had come to destruction. Though sky was grey and overcast, the rains had not come for months, and there had been draught for years on end, so not even the vines and plants grew any longer, only the shriveled carcasses and straw remained. As if in the distance, an echo of a certain guitar refrain came out of the wind, audible only to those willing and able to listen, and then the words:

“On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
'This could be Heaven or this could be Hell'
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say...

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year, you can find it here”

Inside what was once a large building, now nothing but dirt floor, open sky and the jagged stubs of the walls, a Deathclaw relentlessly battered a large bear with its huge claws. Though there were three large gashes on her left shoulder, the bear suddenly lunged into the chest area of the Deathclaw, and quickly tore a chunk of flesh out with her teeth. The Deathclaw roared in pain, and while it was stunned the bear gave a mighty swat, knocking the Deathclaw back several feet. Immediately, the Deathclaw righted itself and launched itself towards the exhausted bear. The fight continued…

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted; she got the Mercedes Benz
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

So I called up the Captain,
'Please bring me my wine'
He said, 'We haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine'
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say...

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise, bring your alibis

Mirrors on the ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'
And in the master's chambers,
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can't kill the beast

In the street, now more dirt than and pavement, there was a woman on horseback, and she led a captive, gagged man walking behind her, bound hand and neck in tough rope. She looked unsteady, and weary and the mass of dark, drying blood on her torso gave a good indication of why. She was steadied by the supply bags around her. She was singing, but her words are unheard. The song went on but slowly it was her voice to be heard:

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
'Relax,' said the night man,
We are programmed to receive.

She looked at the man with maliciousness and belted out:

“You can check out any time that you like,

BUT YOU CAN NEVER LEAVE!”

And then she laughed maliciously, but there was more than a hint of despair in it. She tugged the reigns and her horse can to a stop. She seemed in fury to have regained most of her composure, and leapt off the beast and went over to the man who stood silent and still. Her nose crinkled with indignation.

“You know Ash,” she sighed, “I don’t even know what to say to you,” said she half in pity, “I’m sorry; get on you knees, and pray now before God. Ask him to forgive your sins, because if, IF, you are here, there is no longer any question that God exists, and there is a Hell for the damned.” She brought out her gun and pointed it at Ash’s head, “Please, get on your knees, now, or I’ll kill you now, no chance of repentance before Judgment.” He got on his knees, her gun following his head, his eyes hardened on hers. There was hatred between them. She stretched over to remove his gag, “Do you have any last words?”

“Yeah: fuck you, Nazi bitch!” She struck him with her free, left hand, and struck him in such a way that he fell backwards.

“Fascist.” She said, correcting him “National Socialism, for all its quasi-Fascist trappings, remains a Socialist movement, and is thus automatically an ideological foe of Western Civilization. Then, there’s the fact that any movement that says that Jews are an inferior people is not only hopelessly out of touch with reality, it’s just plain stupid. See, wherever the Jews go, they prosper; whatever they do, they do it better than anyone else. I mean fuck! The Holy Land is a worse shithole than this, or so the documentaries say. God didn’t give the Jews a land of milk and honey, He gave them a barren piece of shit, and the MADE it a land of milk and honey: twice! Give me some credit.” She pleaded indignantly. The man regained his standing, but at the woman’s motioning with her gun his kneeled again.

She sucked in her left cheek in thought for a moment, and then added, “And then…on a personal note…Mel Brooks is a fucking God! You have to be some kind of…of sick…twisted…evil genius to make that kind of shit he made. Anti-Semitism is for Muslims, Nazis and other assorted self-delusional shitheads. The Joooos! Those evil Joooos make us fuck up, we can’t possibly be to blame despite being uneducated, uncultured morons. Besides, you do NOT fuck with God’s chosen people; you know, cause God will have to destroy you…”

“Aren’t we all God’s chosen?” To this, the woman groaned.

“Jesus H. Christ! You are a fucking tard. Shit, you are ‘Average 20th Century Peckerwood Man’ so I shoulda guessed, but damn it hurts to know I’m descended from apes like you. You’re just lucky I’m high on Psycho, or I’d be really pissed.” She looked down at her wounds, “Five shots from a twenty-two-three rifle round? Whew! That’s really gonna hurt in a few hours.”

“I only was going to shoot you once, but then, you got up,” the man said ruefully, almost hopeful that would excuse the incidence. “How DID you survive that!”

The woman placed her hands together, bowed slightly, and narrowed her eyes to slits, “Ha ha! I am Dr. Fung, I teach and heal. I can infuse Combat Armor onto your bones and turn you into the fucking Terminator. Ha ha! I am a very clever slant. Ha ha.”

“Well you certainly deserved it.”

She looked at the man, “Ashley, I told you truth. And apparently you can’t handle the truth.”

“I was asking about what happened and you go and imply Linda’s in Hell!”

“I implied nothing! I said it flat out. OK? You two fucked, outside of marriage…several times. And did you ever repent….”

“That’s not enough to go to Hell for!”

“Ash, you fuckstick! Did Paul say, “For the wages of BIG sins is death?...Well did he? DID HE? I can’t hear you!” She pushed on Ash’s chest, pushing him backwards, “Fucking Mainliner. You gotta be Mainliner….mainline Protestant, right? So what the hell are you?”

The man looked at the woman for a moment, and answered somewhat embarrassed: “I’m a, a, recovering agnostic. I was raised Episcopalian though.”

“Recovering agnostic! Ha ha ha! This is rich! And I bet when the deadites come and start tearing my friends and colleagues out here to pieces, they’ll be a lot more ‘recovering agnostics’…Catholicism-Light; shoulda figured, Chicken Shit religion. Worst of both worlds; Catholic bullshit liturgy and bullshit mainline Protestant theology. No. He said the wages of SIN. All sin. ANY SIN. That’s why the Mary-Worshiping Papists put such an emphasis on Last Rites. You die with even a single sin unwashed, you go straight to hell, no pass go, do not collect $200, just burn. Doesn’t matter how minor, you can steal a sucker from a candy shop; all sins carry the penalty of instant and irrevocable damnation. And you know I’m right.”

“Whatever you say,” said the man in derision.

“You two fucked outside of marriage, and since you’re from the late 20th century, let me qualify that: two consenting human adults, one male one female, in a declared, monogamous relationship.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You assholes let faggots marry!”

“No we don’t!”

“Wait 20 years…” spoke the woman ominously. This did pale the man. “…And that’s not all of it! I can understand, if not respect, letting degenerate queers fuck one another, but you idiots let NAMBLA exist. What the Hell was wrong with you guys!”

The man did not know what NAMBLA was. When he was told that NAMBLA was the North American Man Boy Love Association that was all he needed to know and much more than he ever wanted to know on the subject, and the sickened look on his face testified to it.

The woman could smell blood and pressed her attack, “Listen to me Ashley, you wanna know what happened here? You wanna know the truth; well you can’t handle the truth.” She touched the blood on her jumpsuit to make sure it was dry. There was enough still wet to strain her finger. She rubbed it between the finger and her thumb. Calmer now, she continued “That has become blatantly obvious. Trust me, your girlfriend’s damnation is nothing compared to the fall of Civilization. It will blow your little liberal mind.”

“Did I say I was a liberal?”

“You are a liberal. Either you’re a conservative liberal that’s a speed bump for progressive liberals, or since you’re from central Michigan, you’re probably trade-unionist slime attached to the hip of the progressive liberals.”

“Trade-unionist slime? Who the hell are you!”

“The woman who knows that United Auto Workers pension negotiations will eventually bankrupt GM and Ford, cause by that time they’ll be pension systems that make cars on the side. You’re entire social model is going to collapse because of aesthetically pleasing nonsense. First thing, the least offensive thing the 21st century will teach us is that you’re not supposed to retire. You’re supposed to work till the day you drop dead. Back before the bombs fell retiring was considered a decadent luxury; in the Vault we despise those that refuse to work regardless. And you’re productivity is going to be eclipsed by East Asians once the Chinks steal our technology because they are willing to put in proper hours.”

“Proper hours?”

“10 hours a days, six days a week, six hours on Sunday, 1 week of vacation a year. And I’ll admit I’m a bit of a hypocrite, because I HATE to work. I hate working. Hate working. I’m a very carnal creature; I live for,” counting them absentmindedly on her fingers, “fucking men, sleeping late and eating breads, meats and cheeses.” She groaned contentedly at the thought.

“You can’t possibly be serious!”

“Serious as an Imam. HOWEVER, my first duty is to the body politic; to its defense and its betterment. And that means dispensing with the decadent concept of leisure. I don’t know about Mr….eh, Anderson, but I can do all the things I’ve done because from the time I was ten I was trained to fight. We all were. That is being a responsible citizen, unlike you hippie, baby boomer assholes.”

And Ash saw a chance, “Hey, hey! Listen Charlotte! I hate hippies too. They’re a bunch of loud, smelly assholes. Assholes I tell you. So, see, there’s like no reason to hurt me. Come’on, we were getting along so well last night…” He flashed a toothy smile that made the woman want to punch him. She slowly looked at her wounds and then back at him and cocked n eyebrow, “Come’on, accidents happen!”

“O.K. Ash, I humor you. Just cause. I’ll give you some information, but first I want to ask you some stuff. Now the American flag, did they show the…it would have been in 1951…the 48 star flag or the Betsy Ross flag with a large star in the center?”

“The second. Why?”

“That’s the flag of the Reconstruction Congress.”

“Second: did they ever show any hospitals or churches or other sanctuaries?”

“Yeah.”

“Were they marked with a cross or cross inside a circle?”

“Cross with a circle.”

“That’s a Celtic Cross Ashley, and when you understand what that means, you’ll understand what happened, most it anyway.”

“Now Ashley,” She came up to him and turned his head to the left, “See that car? The one with the tail-fins? That’s no accident. That’s called retrogression; it’s what happens when a society is so hopelessly fucked it begins to cannibalize itself; usually its high point, for ideas on how to survive. The Romans did it, the Byzantines did it, and you probably haven’t seen it, but the Arabs are doing it in your time. And I really wish the whole 1950’s thing didn’t come into vogue, the 1940’s had much better designs and fashions. Besides, in anycase, the highpoint of Western Civilization was 1914.”

“And do you see that corner?” she pointed to a pillar in that same direction, much closer to them. It was the only part of the building standing. It had a grey man positioning a grey orb on his neck and upper back. “That is Atlas. WE are Atlas, and Atlas won’t shrug, Atlas will grow weak and stumble and world will fall down with him.”

She signed in disappointment, “But, as always, we, the Fascists, will pick up the pieces. Yes, Ash, don’t be surprised that the big hero out in the California wasteland is a registered, loud and proud Blackshirt…eh, quite behind on party dues, for obvious reasons but still…”

Ash nearly chocked on his tongue at that and then began to snicker.

“Don’t be. Cause see, unless we march into your country, Fascists never take away freedom. You do. You irresponsible assholes use and abuse your government, your society, your system, until everything falls apart. There is no freedom in chaos, Ash, except for murderous criminals and other psychopaths, which is why bandits, banditos, raiders and gangsters and ALL MANNER OF HUMAN SLIME THRIVE IN THE WASTELAND!

“And who has to pick up the pieces? Us; we have to pick up the pieces, and all the while getting shit on by assholes like you, fuck you very much. Freedom can only be enjoyed by those responsible enough to use it. I don’t want to blow your mind, but just in your time, guess who carries the fight to the enemies of Western Civilization? Hmmm? From the Freikorps to the AUC fighting FARC in Columbia. Fascists, Fascists, Fascists! We put bullets in the heads of anarchist scum. We smash the sculls of the Socialists. When everything fell apart, when everything has gone to pieces…” She stretched her arms out and twirled slowly to take in the devastation “…that is our time to shine. We put things right. We are the defenders of civilization, our civilization. Not you whiney liberal faggots and certainly not the masochistic useful idiots who disguise themselves as ‘compassionate’ progressives. And maybe, after the crisis had passed, order and prosperity has restored, freedom can again be restored. It happened with Spain and Chile, and Germany, and in America too. But first things first; gotta kill the enemy and slaughter the useful idiot pigs.

First thing the Reconstruction Congress did in 2049 was round up everyone on the ACLU rolls and summarily execute them. All of them. The ACLU was the AIDS of the U.S. even back in your time. Michael Bernstein was an intern in the ACLU, that should tell you need to know, kapo motherfucker. Was it nice? No. Was it just? No. Was it needed? Hell yes! They defended the Plebiscite, and for that they all deserved to die, the filthy scum! And for all their last screams about the end of the republic and 1000 years of darkness, once we destroyed the rebels and crushed the Invaders we had free elections in 2060 till October 22.”

“October 22?”

“October 22, 2077, the day those rat-bastard land stealing chinks wiped civilization off the face of the earth. Didn’t they fucking tell you that in that comic of yours? Or did they leave that part out? So tell me Ash WHOSE FAULT WAS THE NUKING! Ours or theirs!”

“It was sorta both…” Ash said, knowing the explosion that was coming

“WHAT! We get attacked with our pants down on the Tricentennial, and it’s something other than the chinkie’s fault! Fuck, I am done with you.”

“Well this is a nice chat,” said Charlotte, again taking out her gun, “however, I didn’t explain everything to you because when you understand everything, you will want to destroy my people, because we shame yours. I’ve seen it in a dozen sci-fi films. I am going to exterminate every supermutant I can lay hands on, regardless of what good they do; that’s assuming they can do good. I have my orders, and besides, I want to do it. They have opposed us, thus the penalty must be paid. I find any fertile mutants, they die. The human race will go on as it always has. If that means taking little mutant kiddies and throwing them in gas chambers, I will do it, because the alternative is to endanger the survival of true humanity. Besides, history has shown there’s already too many colors of man. And except for Albert Cole and his ilk, everyone in the Vault, and almost everyone out here will agree with me.”

Ash said disgustedly, “You sound like you’re from the Enclave.”

It was Charlotte’s turn to be shocked “Enclave! As in Project Enclave? Shit, there’s no Enclave, we’ve been waiting for a transmission from the Enclave for 86 years. Even if it did exist it had to have been destroyed. But…for the sake of argument, where is the Enclave located?”

“It’s on an oil rig, just west of San Francisco. They figured the Chinese couldn’t afford to nuke the oil.”

“Poseidon Oil Platform #1! That’s rich! No one would think to nuke it, though. Interesting. But I shoulda known from the get go you and I wouldn’t get along. I’ve got to be a villain. I remember first day of kindergarten…”

Charlotte pondered a bit, and studied what to say, and then made her choice, “It doesn’t matter, you’re not real, and I’m going to put my money where my mouth is. I was told to never, NEVER reveal this, on pain of death, but since you’re just a figment of my twisted imagination, I shall tell you. You shall be my reeds, only you won’t whisper how King Midas has the ears of a mule.”

“What is it? The intro’s overlong; I’m getting bored. Kiss me kill me or let me go.”

“Careful what you wish for. You’re an ass, Ash. This is what I said first day of kindergarten,” she switched to a much higher pitch “‘Hello, my name is Charlotte Merriweather, I am five years old. I have two older brothers and one younger brother. My favorite color is green and my favorite food is people.’ And Mrs. Chestford said, ‘No Charlotte, we don’t say ‘people’, we say ‘Soylent’ or ‘Long Pig’ and I said ‘But why?’”

“You eat people!”

“Only our dead! …and cloned meat. You try being stuck in the Vault sucking on the protein packs; they’re disgusting. And besides at the beginning the farming stuff wasn’t fully working yet and people were dropping like flies and you got kids screaming cause they were hungry. Hell it wasn’t until about 40 years ago there were enough animals to slaughter and 15 years ago we finally got the cloning machines to pump out anything other than human organs.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“You know, I didn’t want to tell this to a dead man walking…but you know that jerky I was so upset about you eating…oh yes…don’t you dare gag now, you enjoyed every bite. And it was my last strip too you bastard. Yes the stories are true, human flesh is delicious. That’s why if you go Bob’s Iguana Stand in the Hub; don’t get his ‘Prime Cuts.’ Trust me I tried to set things right, but there’s no laws against false advertising or cannibalism in the Hub, (and who knew!) and in Junktown I couldn’t find any evidence Doc Morbid was killing his patients to sell. So Darkwater wouldn’t do anything and the cops in the Hub couldn’t. It’s not illegal, but just taboo. I tried to pin something on him, but I couldn’t, so I just bribed him for a shish kabob. Murder’s the problem, and it’s those tribal fucks that give us ‘civilized cannibals’ a bad name.” She laughed weakly at her attempt at humor.

Ash was stupefied, “Darling, you know how you said I always have those snappy comebacks? Well, Congratulations, you’ve just left me speechless.”

Charlotte, even being chastised by her imaginary friend, felt some guilt.

“I sorta understand the taboo, but the problem with cannibalism is the murder involved. Trust me; eating old people who drop isn’t fun. The meat is tough and stringy and just not nice. But we do it anyway cause it’s become respectful. And…and it isn’t right. The meat’s good and plentiful and no one’s getting killed, so why not? Why the Hell not? I’ll tell you why: it’s a bullshit, outdated taboo that has no place under the circumstances I’ve just outlined.”

Her eyes narrowed, “But this comes back to the crux of the issue. You see, life is much nastier and complicated than Hollywood morality allows for. I don’t know if you know about…X-Men for instance, but if super powered mutants really did exist, they would have to be exterminated. To allow them to live is to allow the creation of a class of blatantly superior beings that given enough time WILL enslave the rest of humanity and perhaps exterminate them, if that should strike their fancy. Mutants like that are simply too dangerous to the freedom of man to be left alive.

“I hate to break it to you, Ash, but between Albert Cole’s Idealists who want to create a new society and the Bureaucrats basically wanting to stay in the Vault and maintaining the status quo, and everyone else just trying to get by, the only people really committed to reestablishing the United States, with the 1789 Constitution I might add, are the Fascists. The Fascists and the Fascists alone. We’re not opposed to democracy, necessarily, just democracy run by spineless, appeasing, Chamberlain pussies instead of brutal, ultraviolent asskickers.

“Violence, my imaginary friend, is almost always the solution. It’s like this: one time I was sleeping in the hotel in Junktown and this bandit in the next room puts a knife to this slut’s throat and who gets woken up to deal with it? Mau. So I talk him out of it, but I more than ready to drop him like a bad habit. And if that didn’t kill him I was gonna pull his ribs outta his back with a crowbar, cause I’m sick like that. That’s how things get done in the real world.

“And now my imaginary friend, I bid you adieu; though I suspect you’ll pop up again real soon. On your knees, or I blow them out.” Charlotte readied her gun, but it began to shake instead of performing the double tap.

Ash’s eyes widened, “Wait, I can’t…I mean you can’t kill me!”

“Yes, if you’re not here, you’ll just pop up again, I know.”

“No, I need to tell you something! It…it’s important! I swear!” he pleaded.

“Ash, I’m not interested.”

“The Enclave is gonna kill you too.”

“What!”

“They’re crazy, completely whacked out. They wanted to get a hold of some FEV and weaponize it.”

“How the fuck does…wait! These are big bad Human supremacists like myself. They have to be. All humans with brains are. What the fuck do they want with a mutagen like FEV?

“Don’t kill me, please!”

“Answer the goddamn question.”

“They’re going to create a toxin out of it. Lethal enough to kill all the ‘mutants’ on earth. That includes anyone you know out here, and you too. Anderson almost turned the batch on them and it works on all humans without immunization. They want to wipe out the Human Race except for them and start over. That’s what Anderson was trying to stop!”

Charlotte’s face was that of a pitiful contempt, followed by a look of being a cat about to hauck up a hairball. Then through snorts and jeerful laughter, “You expect me to take that seriously! A-ha-ha! I might be evil, I certainly don’t think so, but I definitely ain’t stupid. They kill all of humanity, how many of them are there? 10,000 tops? Unless they have been gene restructuring equipment than we do, there’s going to be Major problems with inbreeding in the next century. I mean, My God, one good plague and it’s the end of all mankind! Secondly the humans out here are perfectly fine. Most of the mutants are from FEV exposure. Third; committing world-wide genocide to ensure our victory would make us no better the fucking Chinese. When we exterminate the Chinese it will be like the last time: they attacked us first, they tried to drive us from our lands, they tried to destroy us first, we will kill them and them alone and they will deserve it. Genocide is not a shoot first measure. Even 150 years later we still understand that much.”

She suddenly shook her head like she’d been sleeping, “Fuck Ash, Why do you keep doing that to me. I gotta kill you. OK? Danger to my people, etc, etc. Now…you shut up…pray for your soul. Now,” she began to shudder in anticipation and dread for the first time in many years. All that training was designed to make her and her classmates into hardened killers well before battle. There was no time for pity or indecision, only the immediate obedience of orders, “gun loaded and locked, check, safety off, check, aiming at Ashley’s head…check. Looking around for dues ex-machina that will keep the bad lady from completing her duty, check, I think.” She readied herself, and then…her hands began to shake. “Of course. The Evil Bitch doesn’t have the ovaries to pop the hero in the head, giving him ample time to escape. Ha Ha! Gets every time, right, fellas!” she screamed at the sky. She holstered her pistol.

Ash did know quite how to react to this, except to say, “So, eh, are you gonna let me go now? See my knee’s on this rock and it’s really starting to hurt, and…”

“Course, I ain’t letting you go. I let you go you’ll end up killing all of my people, ridin in with shootin’ muties on Brahmin-back or some other shit. Even back then you assholes understood the only way to deal with certain peoples was genocide, I’ve seen enough sci-fi to know that. At best you’ll force us into a treaty with the muties around here. That’ll just push back the issue, and my stance is clear: America belongs to the normals and normals alone. Let them liquidate themselves via attrition or head to Mexico, I don’t care, but otherwise we’re gonna fight until there’s only one top dog left.”

“So what are we gonna do now?” And as if to answer the question, Nemo, all this time napping, suddenly perked up his ears, then his head and his eyes, whinnied in panic and took off, leaving Charlotte and Ash stranded. “Oh Shit! Nemo, get back here NOW!...Goddamnit Ash what did you do…” And then she smelled it.

The smell of Deathclaw. Now Charlotte heard many a bar tale of how smart Deathclaws were, but she had no idea they could stalk prey such as herself. It didn’t occur to her that her blood loss and Psycho induced spiel; they had been able to stumble across her and plan a proper attack. As they were just short of a four-way intersection, six Deathclaws approached, one form each street venue and to from demolished houses whose walls were more memory than mortar.

“Oh, so HERE’S the Dues-Ex-Machina! Nice try, but I killed the Master, this is nothing! Nothing you asses! Even without my armor! So let’s…” she brought out her gun and cocked the top to be sure as her pupils contracted in sadistic anticipation, “Bring out the party favors!” The one closest to her was behind her, clearly visible to Ash, who was terrified.

BOOM!

The first Deathclaw had its head caved in the rifle round. Its body dropped in midstep and moved no more. Apparently these Deathclaws had seen Charlotte at work, and there was something like trepidation as they stopped. More likely, they just tried to figure out a better way to approach the little crunchy hairball. A second shot rang out…with a jarring clunk, and even worse, no second dead Deathclaw. Charlotte turned to Ash in horror.

“What did you do to my gun Ash! What the hell have you done to Adolf? Now we’re gonna fucking die!” She grabbed him. “We’re gonna fucking die! Wait! Unless…”

The stupidity of Charlotte’s plans can only be described in words by explaining exactly what she did. Charlotte had a knife in her boot, one she a long Stallona. She was hoping that the Gunrunners had sharpened it enough so she could count on ShapWit’s decade long slice and dice guarantee. She brought the knife to bear, and finding herself unencumbered, leaped on one of the Deathclaws, locked her feet into one another, then sliced through its throat, knife up the hilt. It was not an easy cut, and in the Deathclaw’s death throes, it ejected her into a wall near Ash. If her scream bring launched was unpleasant, this was blood curtailing.

Left arm dangling uselessly because of dislocation, Charlotte managed to reach down and activate her Stealth Boy. Stealth Boys only bent about 75 of the light around the user, and Charlotte was only skilled enough to use it effectively at 10 yards or more, but it was her last hope…and as much as she wanted to escape, she couldn’t leave Ash to be eaten. Besides, you never leave an enemy to die; always kill him yourself; preferably with a double trap to the head. So Ash, still in his rags, still in the same spot, but his pants covered lightly in dark cider colored, what he liked to call desert piss, found himself lurched off his butt and led down several alleyways by a ghost like figure, he was hoping was Charlotte. Finally, they stopped

“Uh, Ash,”

“Oh so it is you.”

“Wh…Goddamnnn…Who the hell’d you think it was? And why the fuck did do piss yourself? Wait, holds this.” She took off her Stealth Boy, gave it to Ash and then slammed her shoulder, hard, twice into an old dumpster. She fell on the ground, breathing hard. “Oh Jesus, why did that hurt so damn bad?” Then she heard the roar of the Deatchclaws. “Fuck Ash! We gotta go!” She grabbed him by the hand out into the middle of an intersection. “What now?”

“Untie me!” Ash pleaded.

“So you can go running off on me.”

“With those things out there, you gotta be shttin me!”

“Ash! I got it!”

“Got Wha…” Ash was again lurched this time towards his back. He saw an apartment whose first three stories had survived, unless they put fire escapes like that on offices. Charlotte then picked him up put him on her shoulders, much to her disgust, ran to a pile of blown over cars, leapt on a 56 Packard Baja Annexation, then the 77 AMC Finesse, and finally the 44 Oldsmobile Solidarity, more or less pinned up against the wall bumper to bumper vertically by the other two, then threw Ash onto the fire escape, then herself as the beast tried to climb on the Oldsmobile. He was too heave and the car lid back to earth, displacing the its companions in the process.

But the Beast was undeterred; it circled back and tried to get under the fire escape. “”Help me Ash, hold the ladder.” Though his hands were bound, they were bound one on top of the other so he could use some tings, though not a gun. He held it as she forced the release wheel to give way for the first time in a century. With the Deathclaws now converging, things were getting desperate. They got the ladder up as far as it would go, and on three, threw it down on the Deathclaws. The targeted beast batted it away, causing no damage except to almost destroy the bottom leave of the escape. After being thrown around a bit, Charlotte admitted that hadn’t been a very smart plan.

The Deathclaws below began to leap onto the escape. This might have been the end of our two “heroes”, had not the previous damage have caused just the bottom tier to tear off, leaving the upper tier intact. Otherwise with all the weight on the bottom and our “heroes” on top and the worn masonry, they would have been launched like a catapult, the arch coming just of Highway 180 and the ground contact point just south of Fresno’s corporate limits.

So there were Ash and Charlotte, standing on fire escape with no way up or down. They inched their way to a corner apartment half blown off in 2077. The smell of old rot was everywhere there. Ash had to ask:

“God, what did I do! What! Everyday, rot, stink, filth! It never ends! Why couldn’t you stick me, a, a, A Brave New World! Huh? Plenty of Distopia, plenty of chaos to cause, either me or the deadites, but at LEAST it’s all clean and the women are easy!”

“God can’t hear you; he’s too busy laughing at you pissing your pants.”

“Don’t start with me chickie-poo. You try seeing six of those things without a gun and then we can talk. God I hate desert piss; more ammonia then water in the damn thing and it takes forever to get the smell out. I’m gonna smell like a kitty-litter box for days now.”

“If we make it that long.” Charlotte intoned

“Hey I got an idea…” Ash said finally, looking down on the Deathclaws below.

“Will it get us out?”

“No, but just call it morale boosting…” and he elaborated

The Deathclaws were befuddled, trying to find a way up to the third floor to seize their quarry, when the unpleasant sensation of warm liquid fell upon then. And there was Ash at the corner, gleefully pissing on the lot of them. Between satisfied chuckles he kept saying, “That’s right…that’s right…got plenty for everyone.” On got hit and looked up and growled at him, only to get to get peed on even more. As he was looking up it went down both of the wrong tubes, and soon he was hacking and sneezing. “Well Gottsundheit!” Charlotte and Ash jeered on, and this was about the time Ash ran out of piss. The whole event didn’t take very long anyway. “See, and I didn’t piss on you, just like I promised” said Ash like a good little schoolboy expecting a reward.

“Good boy” Charlotte said sardonically, then she started snickering and pointing over the edge “Ash, I love being a chick, but I really wish I could that sometimes! That was truly groovy. It’d be cool to write my name in the sand, even though I’d need to drink a lot cause Charlottes’ a long name.” Then she shook her head “Oh fuck I’m getting woozy. Between the Psycho drop and you bleeding me out, and…” she checked her wounds “Oh shit, they’re bleeding! Oh fuck, Ash,” she struggled to breathe “I could be dying, dying man! No, No! I’m not dying; I just gotta…reset the wounds, that’s all. I do have to get to some stims, preferably with plasma boosters, or I’m probably going to bleed out. O.K.” Seeing as how there was nothing to sit on, Charlotte undid the top of her Vaultsuit and reset her bandages as best she could, showing a moderate level of skill.

She kept asking herself how she was going to get past those Deathclaws when Ash said “Me.”

Charlotte looked up from her work said “How are you going to help us escape?”

“I can…uh…punch them very hard?”

Charlotte laughed, “Ash, your right limb is in no condition to do anything. Ideally, you should be in a clean room to ensure whatever that shit was in your is all gone.” She finished her wounds, then undid Ash’s bonds, “You are not free however, Mr. Williams. I am detaining you until we get to the monastery. It ain't far from Fresno proper, but I don’t want civies getting involved…and eaten alive, or dismembered, or blow apart by wise cracking heroes who seem impervious to the fact that an innocent dies with every shotgun exorcism.”

“And what would you prefer, you highness!” He stared at her half a wild man

“Either a lot more finesse or no pretension of heroism, and please, don’t pretend you don’t have it. Now if your nice I MIGHT forget about the attempted murder of an officer of the Department of War, namely me.” She stared back as a disheveled dominatrix. Charlotte would have been appalled at the comparison. She considered her fashion sense to be much better (practical and utilitarian) than that.

“Fine, fine, have it your way, just as long it gets me home.”

“And if there’s a fight, the only people who get in the way are monks. Fine waste of sperm they are. Those who do not breed are worse than those who will not fight. Neither deserve to live.” Ash looked stunned.

“That’s that stupid-ass look I’ve been fearin. Ok, your generation was a generation of grabastic cocksuckers, bearded bra-burning rugmunchers and pacifist shitheels who in a universe where there is justice would have been overrun by the Soviet Union. Social Security is going to collapse here and in Europe in your generation, because you assholes thought better to have three cars than three kids. Soon it was one worker to one retiree, and the shit was in limbo the whole time. All old age pensions are pyramid schemes, and you assholes made it run out too soon. The whole socioeconomic system collapsed around us when we couldn’t pay the bills crotchety old boomers demanded we pay. Of course it also left us with a serious manpower shortage when the Big One came, which is why I could tell you this morning I was descended from a Brood Baby grown outside of Bath alongside 1.2 million genetically distinct bothers and sisters. Gordon Kitchener Merriweather, course they called him Polonius 5-4695. He had to EARN himself a last name; the right to be a person, unlike you spoiled boomer twats. The whole generation of 68 shoulda been shot, Hippies to the Khmer Rouge cannon fodder, even the guys in Poland and Czechoslovakia standing up the Ruskis, just to make sure.”

Ash had had enough, “OK, before you go any further, mind telling me WHY you hate the boomers so damn much. And just for reference I ain’t a Boomer.”

“You’re 26 in 1986, ergo you were born in 1960. Boomers run from 1940 or some say 46 to 1964. All that means is that you’re a late one; you might even give birth to the last hope of the European peoples: The Echo generation. But even they didn’t all pass muster. As to why I hate boomers,” she went over to him. “Rome did not begin to die when Aleric sacked Rome, but at the death of Marcus Arielius. The corruption, despotism, civil wars and inflation crippled Rome and made it weak so half-witted jackals like the Visigoths could tear it to pieces. The blame falls on every generation between Arielius and Constantine and then every generation between Theodosius the Great and Romulus Augustus.”

“And this,” she tilted Ash’s face towards the gaping hole of the wall into the devastation that was Fresno, “was not a fluke. Western Civilization did not die in a day. Like a fighter with a wing torn off, it plunged into a tailspin, gaining speed as it rode into oblivion. Everything goes back to the Big One, but the reason it went on for 27 years…

“27 Years!”

“Yep, and killed 40 of humanity. These world ending wars are supposed to kill 1/3; I guess it’s because 4/10 isn’t a sexy fraction. But hey; what’s important is that you assholes lived well on our dime. The Europeans all but disbanded their militaries; the welfare state crushed any capacity for them to make money. France had double digit unemployment for over 30 years, but you assholes were happy. Bread and Fucking Circuses, you make me sick. If I didn’t know you could have democracy without the welfare state and without killing half the population, I’d have never supported democracy in any way shape or form. Those who cannot work should not eat, and I’m more than willing to let charity take in the true victims than let the moochers climb aboard. That is the correct attitude, or you go broke, and when you go broke, you can’t buy military goods from China where all your factories were sent to for the cheap labor. As the French said, “Ces’t la Vie.” Now she looked straight at him up close, “When democracy becomes the by-word for corporate irresponsibility, democracy has become decadent and democracy has to go, or a people who aren’t decadent, will enslave you. And that’s what nearly happened, to all of us.” Her hand slid off Ash’s cheek and she walked towards the back of the apartment, making creaking noises on unsure boards. “I’m all for Bill of Rights, but they’re not the Ten Commandments.”

“But being broke is better than being left to die of Typhus and Tuberculosis and the Flu, I guess, which is what ended happening to your counterparts in Europe. There was a war on, all the medicine had to the front. A geriatric society simply cannot sustain large scale war. Sacrifices had to be made…you. Heh-heh, for once in your lives you spoiled princes and princesses were made to pay for living beyond your means. The generation that was to change the world did nothing but take Western Civilization to the brink of extinction and strung up by their own petard in the process. Even this, out here, is better: no one is left to conquer us; we can rebuild at will.”

“That’s cold” Ash said.

“For reveling in poetic justice! I don’t think so. It took 50 years of idiocy for you guys to do all of this. There were good people in that crowd, mostly the ones who went to Nam but the lot of you deserved it, all of it and more so. Work, Breed Fight, a society lives and dies on its capacity to do all three well. Anyway enough of this shit, we gotta keep moving; we’ve got no water or food and I’m getting parched. Any suggestions?”

“Maybe there’s another fire escape on the other side of the building?”

“Do they have two of those?” Ash nodded.

“O.K. then, I’ll scout ahead. There might be nails something.” This made Ashes left foot hurt dully as Charlotte crept into the inner darkness of the complex. Then a few seconds later Ash heard a whoop! A scream and a crunch, not necessarily in that order, and because Charlotte was continuing to scream, he decided to her the Bad Lady with the Really Big Gun. So with the door open he could barely see with all the choking dust in the air, he gingerly made his way down the corridor until he could make out the faintest of objects. Without light he assumed there was a big chunk of the floor that had just given way and the dangling, screaming, thingie screaming for his help was Charlotte.

With his absolute worst John Wayne accent “So, ah, ya need some help from us menfolk after all, don’tcha little lady?”

Charlotte struggled to get her legs on something solid “Please…help…now…I’m begging you.” So Ash obliged and picked her up and threw her behind him, into a wall. Charlotte didn’t mind compared to a three story drop. “Ugh. Man, that hand IS strong. Ow.” And then there was groaning, and crackling, and then it stopped. At least Charlotte hoped so.

“Hey Charlotte?” Ash asked, “How bout we crawl back the way we came and get around on the outside, O.K.?”

“Sounds great”, and through the old splinters and darkness they tried to crawl forward when the whole thing collapsed under them. Ash managed to grab onto Charlotte, who grabbed onto a two by four which was held in place by a nail. So Ash, Charlotte, the board and the nail went tumbling through the second story and onto their backs on the black first floor. They groaned in pain for their poor backs. Had it all been black that wouldn’t have been so bad, but some light at the end showed a way out. Or a way in for the Deathclaws.

And then the growling informed them they were not alone.

“Yeah, you were real great at getting rid of these Deathclaws!” Ash hissed.

She hissed back. “Shuddup Ash,”

“Hey Charlotte?”

“What?”

“If we’re in a comic book, I think this is a cliff-hanger.” He laughed a little, maliciously.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better!” she whispered and tried to think of a way to escape. Charlotte was close to accepting the very insane notion that the rules of life were being bent for her. But even if she was destined to survive this she could end up scarred, maimed, sterilized or worse mutated! (Only because they could re-grow her ovaries) Charlotte didn’t need to escape; she had to escape…pretty. She wished she could be less selfish than that, but she was merely human after all.

A/N: Long time in coming but I did it. I’m sorry folks, but my chapters are longer than many people’s whole stories. Comments on written diarrhea are welcome. Take my story as it is. Fallout feel, with Ash, me trying to tie together the modern with 1986 and a retrograde future. I’m a student of history that’s what I do. As you may know the car companies of those cars are all kaputsky, though one can hope for the return of Oldsmobile. In my world Studebaker never made those radical designs that caused it’s investors to panic, throwing them into the Junk heap. Packard never tried to save Studebaker, so it too survived, and as was planned, Packard, Studebaker and the two historical companies of American Motors and they formed a lesser GM, and all three AMC brands survived until October 22, 2077. This is not our world, but this is a world developing in parallel.

In short, Developing in Parallel (DIP) is my own as far as I know. It means certain events will not change the course of history. Wither Henry of Navarre became Protestant or not would not change history except that France would become Protestant, but that Protestant France would still have chopped off Marie Antoinette’s head conquered Europe with Napoleon, fought the “revanch” against the Germans in 1914 and gotten it’s ass kicked by Hitler in 1940 and would still have that shitbag Chirac in power (I’m saying that because of his ‘grocery bill’ for millions of Francs when he was mayor or Paris, all paid for by the Parisians). History is a story developing towards certain events we may or may not be able to control. Yes, the controller would be God himself. In short, I’m not going to take an event and run with it, but rather dove-tail it to my storyline if I can. Hope you’ve enjoyed this. (Charlotte, naughty girl, is supposed to be somewhat high on a combat drug.)

 

[Talisien]

That was pretty good, but I hope you'll get in to how Ash managed to shoot Charlotte with her own gun soon. I especially liked the "hotel California" lyrics in the beginning; I think that it fits well with the setting of your story.

I am kind of wondering, though: what happened to Ash's shotgun? He was supposesd to have taken it with him when he left Candar, wasn't he? Or is that a bit of space/time alteration in the same manner that he didn't get back to his time like in the end of Army of Darkness? Just curious...

And I really want to read the next chapter now- that was a good cliffhanger.

 

[Shiozaki]

Well here it is the most resent chapter, so now its all a waiting game, but you are in luck as i the next chapter is not to far from being done, i hope, so now that the story is over for the moment why not take this free time to PLEAZE REVIEW, Enjoy The Wasteland.

Author’s note: I do not own Fallout, Evil Dead, any of the other properties I might care to tack on. This was rushed, believe it or not. I’m sorry if the quality is low. On with the show.

Loading:

There is a magnificent stained glass window framed in dark brick. At one end, a huge army dressed in desert camouflage, some in combat armor, its bearded men holding Scimitars and AK-47s under green banners with foreign writing. The other army is much smaller, dressed in gleaming power armor with broadswords and M-16s, the banners of 25 nations fly in the regiments, of America and Britain and Germany and Russia and Ethiopia, Nigeria, Mexico, Brazil, Israel. Swastika banners fly behind them, as well as that of the Christian flag. The obvious leader of the smaller army is elevated, wearing power armor and what look like welding goggles. The leader of the other army, elevated as the other, wear combat armor except the helmet, with a blue turban. Planes from the smaller army’s direction fly in to bomb the larger army. Above them, an army of demons and angels prepare to fight in the heavenlies…

Chapter 7:
The Cavalry Arrives

My name’s Charlotte Merriweather, and for the last 24 hours I’ve likely acquired my very own imaginary friend. His name Ash and he’s a Baby Boomer, the scum of humanity. But that’s OK, because right now we seem to be facing monsters of the non-human variety. ‘Adolf’ is jammed, every part of me aches from a three story fall, and I’m facing a Deathclaw, in the dark. Things are peachy. I’ve got a plan.

“Here, Ash, take this,” I whisper to Ash, and hand him a board with a huge carpenter’s nail in it.

“What am I going to do with that!” Ash hissed back

“Whap the Deathclaw you idiot, so we can get outta here.”

“Oh, shit…” he whined. I wasn’t sure he was going to do it, until I saw his silhouette move to the edge of the wall into the dark interior of the building. I tried to cock the top of old Adolf and see if I couldn’t just eject the shell, but it wouldn’t budge a bit. Maybe I shouldn’t have named him after a failed artist; artistic temperament seemed to have rubbed off. I heard a roar, a really loud ‘whap’ sound and a Deathclaw’s screams of pain. I see Ash running for his life toward the sunlit doorway, screaming at me to hurry up. I bolted with him outside, hearing Deathclaw roars behind me all the way.

We came into the sun to take in more of the dead city. We ran across the street and hid behind a truck trying to figure out where to go next. That Deathclaw Ash struck, well; he’d lodged that nail right in the critter’s right eye socket. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. Unfortunately, the other three Deathclaws came around from the other sides of the building.

“Got any bright ideas, future girl?”

“Let me think…ah…ah...that’s it! The sewers. Gotta find a manhole though…”

“Do you have any idea how heavy those manhole covers are?”

“Yep, so we’re gonna have to be real fast, and I mean real fast…”

Well the Deathclaws were headed right for us at this point, having smelled us out. We were preparing to run for our lives again when we heard this whizzing sound coming down the road. For once, the cavalry had arrived. A beat up motorcycle roared between us and the Death claws, then swerved into a stop. I couldn’t believe who it was: there was Cyrus Pahlavi, standing there in a Vault Suit and a big fucking white cowboy hat. He took a grenade off his belt and lobbed it at the nearest Deathclaw. The resulting explosion tore off the left leg and the shrapnel absolutely shredded the left arm. It fell on it side and let out this high pitched scream. Cyrus reached for: get this, a Tommy Gun secured behind the saddle. This wasn’t even a WWII model; this was the original Gangster style with a huge drum magazine. Just thinking about it makes me want to put on a Fedora and scream, “You’ll never take me alive Coppas, neeah!” The Untouchables: what a great show. Anyway, he unloaded that gun at the Deathclaws. .45 pistol rounds didn’t do any real damage, but it forced them back, they went scurrying for cover.

Cyrus turned back to the motorcycle and took his left hand over to the CB radio. He shouted into it, “Expedition I, this is Pahlavi! I got four…things, monsters, here. I’ve found her. I need backup NOW! I repeat, backup, now! Get your asses here.”

The Deathclaws were creeping back, so he blasted a few rounds in their direction. He looked at me, “Hey Charlotte. You look like shit. Who’s your friend?” Then he shot a few more rounds to wards the Deathclaws. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!

“What the fuck are you doing here!”

“Saving your ass apparently,” Bang, bang, bang! “Say, you don’t think you could help me out here, I’m running out of ammo.”

“My gun’s jammed and wait…you can see Ash?”

Bang, bang, bang! “Duh, you've been hauling him around all morning.”

“Then we’re in a lot of trouble.” A lot. There were two possibilities. One, I was even crazier than I thought and was hallucinating my friends now. Worse, I could be sane and with Ash in tow, flesh eating Zombies might not be far behind. I wasn’t that close to Cyrus, but he was a decent guy and I had NO intention of letting him die.

“Would you stop that, Charlotte? Of course I’m real.” Ash said. Cyrus looked at us funny, “Long story, pal. You gotta gun I could use?”

“Don’t do it…” bang, bang, bang! “…Ash just shot me.”

“I see your social skills are as finely tuned as ever,” Cyrus chuckled. He went over to the C.B. “Expedition I, where the Hell are you!”

I heard a scream come over the radio “Look down the road fuckhead!” And low and behold I read a distant rumbling, rapidly approaching. Down the road, an old Mastiff pick-up was barreling down the road, and by the sound of it, blaring Matyrslayer’s “Die by the Sword.” Every ounce of me ached because I did NOT want Ash to hear that song. Luckily, the truck didn’t have loudspeakers, it was just in the cabin and muffled. Anyway, the truck swerves to a stop, and what do I see but Max Stone, you could never mistake a guy that big, seated in a mounted minigun turret. We all heard the ‘Whoop’ sound of the gun warming up and then saw stone spray death into the death claws. They were chewed into pieces: one got turned into Swiss cheese, the others tried to flee. The second was cleaved in half from gut to neck, and the bullets blasted through the building and shot up the third. It tried to crawl away for a few seconds but collapsed. As the firing stopped, we all, including Ash, got to hear the last verse of “Die by the Sword:”

Mecca is leveled

Medina a mound,

Constantinople retaken and

Jerusalem shelled to the ground!

You said we were weak, you said you were strong

You gambled everything and you gambled wrong

Where’s your Allah? To fix the dice?

He ain’t here, so now you pay the price!

A debt you can’t pay: quite the debt to accrue,

So now just sit back, and pay the devil his due.

What we did to the Jewry is nothing,

Compared to what we’re going to do to you!

Live by the sword

Die by the sword

Live by terror,

Die by the sword

Live for plunder,

Die by the sword

Try to conquer me,

Die by the sword

Die by the sword!

Die by the sword!

I was certain of one thing: Ash was going to kill us all. But for the moment, the truck’s engine died and the driver got out, He took off his too big sunglasses, “Hey, Charlotte…” his smile left his face and he turned to the still screaming Deathclaw, “Will you shut the fuck up!” He took out a .45 Colt from his belt and unloaded it into the Deathclaw’s body, which meant the thing was just full of holes and not dying too quickly.

Then my friend Jessica Bradford got out of the passenger side. “Hey you idjut! That’s a Deathclaw! Head shot; you shoot it in its eyes! Boom, instant death!”

“I got this!” Ash said, walking away from me and towards the Deathclaw “Stand back boys and girls, I got this!” He went up to the Deathclaw, which was heaving heavily by now, wriggled the fingers on his natural hand, then screamed as he punched through the Deathclaw’s bleeding chest cavity with his artificial hand. Expletives uttered from his mouth were minor as he goaded the Deathclaw to fight back as he rooted around in its innards. The screaming stopped, as with three mighty tugs, he ripped out the mighty beast’s heart. He laughed in his triumph, and screamed “Who’s the big man now, huh? Ha ha ha! You thought you were gonna eat me, but I got news for you buddy, I’m Homo Sapien Sapien! I’m on top of the food chain!”

We were all stunned, except for the driver, “Goddamn, man, that was awesome! I’m Christopher Merriweather, who the hell are you?

“My name’s Ash, and I like to cut to the…heart of the matter.” As he threw the heart to the side.

And we ALL gawked at that. Christopher looked like he had eaten something unpleasant before, before laughing a bit, “Damn man, that was the worst pun I have ever heard in my life. That was worse than reading my brother Peter’s love poetry. Jesus, Saints preserve us Christ. What do you do for a living?”

“Uh, I’m an engineer. See,” Ash held up his right hand “I built this hand, so I can do some bio-mechanical stuff, but mostly I can do mechanical stuff, and stuff.”

“Can you fix cars?”

“I ain’t mechanic of the year by any stretch, but yeah, you show me how, and I can fix cars. I’m not looking for a job though; I’m really just passing through. I’m looking for a way home really.”

Christopher smiled wide “Hey Hombre, who said I’m offering a job?” again his .45 became unholstered and was pointed at Ash; “I may just take your ass and make you work for me.”

That was quite enough “Christopher! That’s enough! Slavery is prohibited under the 13th Amendment! We are a people of laws!”

Christopher’s gun remained locked on Ash, but his face looked at me, full of disdain “Look around Lottie-da. The United States is dead. It no longer exists…”

“Listen to me you little cocksucker! Never, never again say that shit in my presence! THE UNTITED STATES IS NOT DEAD, IT LIVES IN ME!” I roared like a lion, full of righteous anger. “The United States is our reason for existence! We live to restore the Republic. I know you despise the Fascists, but we have not forgotten, and we have not abandoned our posts. I’ll fight alone if I have to, you useless slug…”

“Hey Charlie!”

“What Jessica!”

“Take it easy, or you’ll have a fucking aneurism.”

“Don’t call me Charlie, you mocha colored Negro!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Charlotte, we all get tested for gender dysphoria. Don’t take it personally. You passed for Christ’s sake!”

Christopher looked at me “But you can never get over the jump rope rhymes: Susie, Susie’s got a plan/ She’ll marry Charlotte when Charlotte grows up to be a man! He he he…” he chuckled. Why does he have to pour salt in every wound? Why? Peter and Paul, they never give me any problems….

“God, I hate Megan Farnsworth!” I chocked it out like I was struggling to take a shit, “God I hate, I wanna kill the bitch! God, grant me life long enough to kill Megan Farnsworth before Ash cuts me into little pieces, that’s all I ask!”

“Hey Charlotte, is what all this shit was about this morning?” Ash asked me.

“Didn’t I make that clear? You are a walking disaster magnet, and now that my friends have shown up, it’s doubly bad cause it’s my fucking friends you’re going to be killing real soon. That’s why I have to get you to the Monastery, where it’s safe, and you won’t be able to kill anyone.”

Christopher said, “Wait, wait, wait! What’s this about? I’m not dying. Fuck that. You want me to pop ‘em? Dead men tend not to kill people. Come on let me pop him.”

“Chris, holster that piece, but keep it ready. Now listen all of you: I have to get Ash to the Monastery of St. Nicholas White. And I have to stay there.”

“No you’re not staying anywhere, big sis,” replied Christopher. “We need you to come to West Tech, we’re gonna salvage the equipment there. We need you help. That’s why this whole damn expedition is full of people you know. Limpdick Charlie needs you. We need you, and without the breeding chambers Limpdick Charlie will close up the Vault for sure.”

At some point you have to ask yourself, why am I being used like this? So I said “Listen, Christopher, Jessica, Cyrus, Stone, and…who’s that in the back seat?”

“Oh, I forgot about Tandi.” Jessica said, and opened the passenger side door Tandi, get out here.” And I saw the figure in the back seat slide to the driver’s side rear door, and got out. Same uncolored, tattered overalls, same close cropped black hair, same dark complexion. As always I wondered if Tandi’s family came to the U.S. from a high caste background or if racial intermixing had slowly leeched the Dravidian color out. I’d never asked, and while I’m a firm supporter of blanching, I figured it wasn’t kosher.

“Hey Tandi, why so shy?” I asked her.

“Um, hi Charlotte, they, they say you’ve gone crazy, and considering what you did in Inglewood, I, didn’t know what to think.”

“Tandi, you do know what their kind did to India. They attacked you, overran everything down to the Deccan plateau and you fought them back to Karachi, they nuked your asses back to the Stone Age. 400 million people, Tandi, I’m not sure either of us can comprehend that number, but 400 million people died in India, 2.6 billion people died in the war THEY started. Never again Tandi, they must never, ever be allowed to threaten us. They are enemies of civilization and must be dealt with as such. Without pity, without remorse, and without hesitation.”

Ash spoke up “What are you talking about Charlotte? What did you do in Inglewood?”

And I looked at him as I pondered how to phrase this, “Ash, let me ask you a very important question: Why was the Holocaust wrong?”

“I thought you weren’t a Nazi.”

“I’m not. You’re stalling.”

“But…”

“Answer the question.”

“The Holocaust was wrong…because it’s wrong to kill people?” Ash intoned his answer question.

“No Ash, the Holocaust was wrong because the Jews didn’t deserve it.”

“Wha…” he stammered in horror.

“If, and this is an impossible ‘if,’ Nazi ideology had been correct about the Jews, that they were a pernicious influence on the gentiles, parasitic, thieving, and more than a little self destructive, then Hitler would have had not merely the right, but the duty to expunge the Jewry from the face of the earth.” I came closer to him, ready to knock him on his ass if he dared to strike me, “Don’t try to oppose me on this. The first duty of a leader is to the welfare of his people, he must do what it takes to ensure his people are protected from harm. And unless in your world there was no Roe vs. Wade, you slaughter pigs with more finesse than your own unborn. You kill the innocent because they are inconvenient; you kill the children of rape and incest, literally for the sins of the father. Civilized people, who claim to hold life in such great esteem, are nothing but hypocrites. They support mass murder, only this time, its all done behind closed doors. But as long as the aesthetic is kosher, you don’t really give a shit.”

“Get that fucking finger out of my face,” Ash growled.

“Say please,” I said nicely.

“Please,” he gritted his teeth. So I gave him a slight nod and took the finger down. It’s amazing how productive people can be when they’re being civilized.

“So you killed people who deserve to die. What kind of people deserve to die?” Ahs asked me.

I looked around in surprise, “Hey everyone!” I began to walk around, “Ash wants to know what kind of people deserve to be destroyed. So come’on, who deserves to die?”

“Arabs.”

“Arabs.”

“Arabs.”

“Arabs,” came the reluctant, confused responses, one by one.

“Pakistanis.”

I looked at Tandi, very happy with that last comment, “Ah! So Aradesh did teach you something about the old country.”

“Charlotte, that was a long time ago!”

There was a gunshot. We all turned towards my brother, and saw his head down with a smoking .45 over his head at an angle, which is good because you fire straight into the air an the bullet lands on your heads, which should have been a problem for 20th century Arabs with AK-47s but I guess, all things considered, Arabs don’t have any brains to lose, so they don’t have to protect their heads. I’m an Abandonist, and the first and overwriting principle in our little Christian sect is that the universe must make sense. There is no “mystery” in the universe; everything operates according to logic and reason. So when one of my favorite movie characters comes to life, the thought occurs to me that indeed, my world may be fictional, and thus not make sense. I’m still doing this now, looking for the things that don’t make sense, and every time I see something questionable, my stomach lurches, cause logically that bullet has to come down somewhere, and if it doesn’t, everything I’ve done is a fool’s errand. But I digress.

My brother’s head came up; his pale features came up in a snarl. His green eyes were slits. “OK, boys and girls. Let me make this clear. Our orders are to retrieve one Charlotte Merriweather, alive, and acquire her services in salvaging WestTec Headquarters, a.k.a. the Glow. Now, before I was so rudely interrupted, the 13th Amendment allows enslavement as a punishment under law. I find my sister full of holes and one who could have pulled the trigger, Mr. Ash. I doubt it would take a jury long to convict you, so I figure I could save you from a hangman’s rope, but hey…”

“She deserved it,” was Ash’s cold reply.

“What did Charlotte say?” asked Tandi

“Well aside from the fact she said my girlfriend was burning in hell because she slept with me…”

Tandi’s face went ashen, “How could you say that, Charlotte?”

“Cause it was true. Yahweh is the Jewish War God, and he’s merciful…but only to a point,” I leaned over my shoulder to give her a look. She looked dejected.

Ash gave me a dirty look, “Yeah, whatever, Merriweather. Oh, then there was the part where you shrieked out that, let see here, you said,” and here he did his best mechanical voice “‘We need one race…RACE…one goal…GOAL…one people, to move forward to our destiny…destiny.’”

Everyone seemed puzzled at that until Tandi slowly lifted her head after being in thought, “You quoted the Master. You…quoted the Master? Why?”

“Because Tandi,” I signed and lowered my head for a moment, “Jesus didn’t come back. Heh, heh, you understand that, Ash doesn’t understand that, and I don’t think his agnostic ass cares. But, no one can save us from the Human Condition. Slaughter or be slaughtered, or slaughter and still be slaughtered. Humanity has been moving towards unification since World War I. We Americans have been standing in the way of social ‘progress’ ever since. Don’t fuck yourselves,” first I pointed to Tandi, but I faced Ash “world unification is now within reach. But it cannot but done without genocide. Humanity is simply too diverse to be governed. There aren’t too many people; there are too many groups of people.”

Ash looked at me sullenly “I guess that’s why the Enclave wants to wipe out humanity.”

“Enclave?”

“Enclave?”

“I thought the Enclave was a myth.”

“Enclave?”

“What’s the Enclave?”

Everyone was intrigued, so I said, “Ash here says he’s seen the Enclave! It’s in the Poseidon Oil Rig, west of San Francisco.”

Cyrus spoke up “Then we have to make contact then! This is incredible! It means we’re not alone! And, and they probably have resources we could use.”

Ash looked at Cyrus “What was your name again?”

“Cyrus Pahlavi, unofficial chaplain for this expedition.”

“OK, Cyrus, I get from Superbitch here that you guys are not the nicest people in the world. However, the Enclave wants to kill EVERYONE, including you. They’ve been trying to make a super virus that will kill off the rest of humanity, leaving them alone in control of the planet, capice?”

Cyrus looked at me, “Is this true?”

“I dunno, I do think we need to make contact. First we need to get Ash to the monetary.”

Chris spoke up, “OK, I’m head of this part of the expedition. This has been a lovely, scratch that, inane conversation, but I’d like to remind you that my dad’s waiting with the army truck.”

I paled, “Dad’s here?”

Chris nodded, “He’s leading this expedition. He was picked because Limpdick Charlie thought you wouldn’t refuse your own father, but I’d say he’s doing a fair job of it.”

I looked at Ash, and fire must have shot out of my eyes as I bellowed “Ash!” I pointed at him, “if my father dies I will flay you alive. In saltwater. Trust me, I will do it. Do we understand each other?”

“You talk like it’s my fault or something! So fuck you, now I know to shoot you in the head.”

Christopher interrupted us “All right, you two that’s enough! Jessica, check out Charlotte, make sure she’s not going to bleed to death. Cyrus, talk to Ash, see if you can’t make sense out of the clusterfuck I just heard. Tandi, you help Jessica. I’m going to get in touch with Dad, tell him we’re coming.”

Stone called out to him from the turret in the back “Anything you want me to do boss?”

“See any threats coming our way.”

Stone checked his sensors, “Nope.”

“Keep it that way.”

For the next half an hour, Jessica pulled bullets outs of me and cleaned my wounds. I didn’t get a chance to talk with Ash or even Jess; she was too busy to really catch up. Limpdick Charlie had ruined my life again. He’d sent several of my friends to kiss and make up, now they were all in danger. I hated him even more for that. But anyway, I wasn’t doing shit for the Vault unless my exile was rescinded.

I wasn’t happy with my progress with Ash. In my restless sleep the night before, the thought had occurred to me that I was enacting a common modern story. Capable boy meets asskicking female. There was a T.V. show once, called Farscape and it came to my mind for a reason. Ash was like John Criton, and I like Aeryn Sun, with him crash landing in my territory and having no clue what to do. Here’s the trick though, Aeryn was forced to defect from the Peacekeepers, I’m still loyal to ideal of the United States, a United States I suspected Ash would rather see dead. But despite the many, many flaws of the Peacekeepers, fundamentally, they were the good guys. I had to convince Ash we were not his enemy, we were the good guys. But how? Ash’s time disavowed genocide on principle; they’d rather be the Jews than the Nazis, they’d rather be shoved into the ovens rather than stain their consciences by shoving the enemy in instead. Whites of his time were weak and complacent, and their civilization was brought to utter ruin, just as Nostradamus had predicted. I couldn’t, and still can’t, afford to let his time’s poisonous ideas infect us again. We must be strong, ruthless, and relentless, or we will die. Adolf Hitler was a masterful commentator on the human condition, if you could get him off the subjects of Jews and Race. He said ‘Those who want to live, let them fight, and those who do not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not deserve to live.’

 

[Talisien]

Nice! I like it. the interaction betweeen Charlotte and her friends/family is interesting. On the one hand, she seems to want "the good old days" back, but on the other, she's still pissed about being kicked out of the vault. The next chapter should be good. I can't wait!

 

[Konig15]

Hello there!
I'm glad I've found a reader or two. I want to thank Shiozaki; that's real cool.

Problem is I haven't written, not because of writer’s block or even time constraints, but because I'm not sure fanfiction.net would take it. It involves Nostradamus' Third Antichrist prophesy line and as Charlotte pointed out it took 27 years and killed almost 40% of mankind. But this is actually important to the plot because, despite the seeming absurdity of the plotline (or rather because of it), it deals with some very weighty moral issues, issues that couldn't properly be brought up because any potential foil is either naive like Tandi or a goody-good moron like Albert who has no sense. The big one is "the Enemy" and how he is to be dealt with. I didn't intend it that way, but this is the one stroy I started without a plot begining to end, and that was a mistake I will never repeat.

Charlotte herself is trying very conscientiously trying to be a paradigm of Fascistic virtue, as she believes, based on her experience in the Vault, that Albert's Arroyoists won't and Limpdick Charlie's Bureaucrats can't save civilization. Only a tough, ruthless, cadre of asskickers and visionaries can put things right again. Charlotte is the one character I never really saw in Fallout: a dedicated patriot, driven to restore America at any cost.

I want Charlotte in particular, and the Vault Dwellers in general, to not be Enclave, but close enough you can see the appearence. This is sort of like Vault City and the Enclave; you can see that it's not just isolation on the rig that terns them into assholes. But obviously, I don't think anyone wants to see a Vault 13 that is not at the least salvagable.

Now, Charlotte's world was designed before I read the Fallout Bible, which I don't really consider canon, but basically I took now, always knowing Fallout was alternate somehow, and designed a timeline that would justify the Vault's, the Enclave and a world-ending war when the US was on point of victory and negotiations could have occurred instead. Then it merged with another timeline I was working on called Controversy for short. Controversy's POD from orthodox's Fallout and our world was the sixth day, if not earlier, but it keeps dovetailing. So basically for your viewing pleasure, I present to you two maps and some pictures that may help your reading pleasure:



First Charlotte's World 2070. This was before the Seven Months War, where China seized most of the Russian Far East, and conquered Japan and her Allies. This was the direct cause of World War III.

A Crusader state is one whose population has been so devastated that European or Pan-American Immigrants, mostly veterans of the war, made up a large minority, sometimes, majority of the population.



Second, Charlotte's World 2006
NATO allies we don't have: Croatia, Kurdish Free State, Lebanon, Assyria, Vandal Kingdom (that Tunisia/Libya thing) and Israel. The Third Reich survived World War II, Hitler and most of the Nazis did not, and the Germans used forced population exchanges in the 40s and 50s to make steadfast allies out most of the above, as well as giving allies generous amounts of German weaponry. Charlotte actually carries an StG-44 variant as her Assault Rifle. It's a big debate among gun enthusists; which is better: FN Fal, StG, or AK? Germany's borders are due to early Col War shenanigans when it was a pariah and Stalin was too sacred to fight Germany again, having had his ass handed to him multiple times by a whole cadre of German Generals. Britain formed a confederation with her dominions in 1922 instead of a Commonwealth in 1926, which includes Argentina and Chile because the 1806 invasion of Argentina succeeded there. Britain was a superpower of the second rank, along with Germany, Japan and China. Technically the USSR should have been placed in the second rank, because like here the USSR only achieved half the GNP of the US, but no one does that. That Soviet Union collapsed like here, but reformed decades later more as a true military government Soviet implies rather than Communist. The Basque Country was freed after the Carlist uprising in Spain.

Oh, and here's some pics I made with the Hero machine:

This is Cyrus

This is Jessica, a little to dark but since I can't draw, I ain't gonna complain.

This is Christopher Merriweather. If you've ever seen Exosquad, Christopher is supposed to emulate Wolf Bronski's look: Combat Armor over a leather coat. Christopher doesn't have the money to buy a whole set of armor, but he's working his way up

This is Charlotte, and I'm quite pleased with Heromachine here, in Blackshirt clothing. Yes, in my Vault 13 they do have clothes, but they are quite expensive, always custom made and people only bring them out for special occasions. That axe is the one found in Fasces, check out the one dollar bill, the eagle has one. In Roman Republic times, if you didn't do as the imperator asked, his lictors would unbind the fasces, beat you half dead with the rods and then cut your head off with the axe. Pretty cool huh? Or at least morbid. In her other hand is an American flag.

And this is just showing Charlotte and Nemo dirty and messy, and all mussed up. Charlotte is in T-51b power armor without helmet to show her pretty face.

Anyway, I gotta ask some question on the mods forum, so I hoped that helped for what it's worth.

 

[Shiozaki]

My Notes: so here it is a new chapter, as alway you can check for updates here:http://www.fanfiction.net/s/1393784/8/

And Review Damit

I hanent read this yet so I dont know whats gunna happen but enjoy.


Chapter 8 In The World That Was

Loading….

Error…

Walter the Vaultek Boy appears with a wench in hand, smiling as always, with a toolbox behind him. ‘We’re expecting technical difficulties, please stand by…’ the caption reads

In the world that was…

Oh if this were a movie, I’d here that delicious click as the gun loaded, thought the man. At 6’2 and with far too little meat on his bones to justify the height, he was resisting the urge to get violent. Instead he rolled his eyes, and it seemed as if he were somewhere else, someone else.

“I can’t let you do this Major. You can’t do this. Please,” came the voice of a middle aged woman, bearing the credentials of an Associated Press member around her neck. But in case feminine wiles failed her, she also held one little 9 millimeter Beretta pointed at the Major’s head. “Worthington. Job, you have a wife, three little children, you don’t want to do this. Please…don’t do this.”

And Major Job Worthington of the Totenkopf Volunteers looked around the command station. Some of the white men were draped with swastikas on their necks or hands, or in Micholobbi’s case, on both, where they couldn’t be hidden, and the black men with other tattoos he would never be able to identify because of cultural differences. The white women were smarter; they had no tattoos to mark them as morons. But they all watched intently; were they rooting for him or her?

Major Worthington tried to resist shaking in the night cold. They were in some town he couldn’t pronounce in a town in eastern Somalia, 40 km outside of Mogadishu. He supposed before Yellowstone went up and the sun still shined properly, it would be rather hot, instead of warm, and insufferably cold in the evening. Calming himself with a deep breath, grabbed for the gun with a ferocity that stunned even him, Major Worthington pulled the gun up which caused the reporter’s ill trained hands to fire the piece into the ceiling. He grimaced as he punched the reporter and knocked her to the ground, her grip on the pistol was not enough.

“Let me ask you a question, Mrs. Bernstein. Do you believe in God?”

The reporter seemed stun and this made the early wrinkles of early middle age seem all the more pronounced “What does that have to do with anything?!”

He smiled coldly, “I figure not, little Jew. You bagel dogs are the most un-pious people on the planet. So accomplished, so refined, and always too stupid to remember that you have a covenant with God. When you abandon that covenant, you suffer…now before you open your liberal, New York, bagel dog Kike mouth, I advise you to remember I have your gun, and mine and you’re surrounded by anti-Semites who hate you on principle. Me, I just hate your politics. See, one day the Jews will become a great people again. It’s already happening, it’s been happening before I was born. Soon the temple will be rebuilt, and all the nations will come to it to acknowledge the one true God. The Jews will all return to Israel and New York Jews like you will be forgotten. Anti-Semitism will disappear like ‘No Dogs and Irishmen allowed.’ Now, unlike you, I have spoken to God, and do you know what? He told me I had a destiny.” He then rapidly took the Beretta, put it to his head and pulled the trigger.

An empty click followed. Jennifer Bernstein’s eyes expanded in horror. She’d seen tricks before but it was her gun. Worthington looked at the gun, turning it over. “And until I fulfill that destiny, I cannot die. Thing is, I have no idea what that destiny is.” He pulled back the receiver and a shell was ejected. It was clearly dented, it was a dud. “Of course, it could be any number of OTHER things. The bullets are made in Mexico, the gun is Italian and the last thing the Italians made well en masse was the Gladius or it could be bad storage conditions, or pure luck, or…”

“You’re insane!” she finally got the metaphorical gag out of her mouth to speak

“And you’re a fool. Do you honestly think for goddamned minute I’m going to listen to your latte sipping, peacenik ass? After what Abu Karim did to Bern and Zurich and especially, ESPECIALLY to Vienna?” He bent over to Bernstein, still prostate, and clapped loudly in her face. “Two-thirds of the city; two-thirds died. Just like Nostradamus predicted. Not even at the end of World War II did the Reich get pushed out of Austria, and here they folded like a house of cards. The Reich survived Hitler, the Nazis, the Communists; it’ll survive. But the gauntlet has been thrown down and I think it’s time to respond.

Bernstein tried to get up, but Micholobbi leaped from his chair “Hey Major,” he said, grappling her “want me to off the little Jew twat? She deserves it. I’m getting sick of her Jew-lies.”

And the Major responded, “Micholobbi, stand down. We’ve put up with her shit for three years, another night won’t hurt things.” Micholobbi looked disappointed “There’s the fucking Yemeni army in Mo-town, we gotta wipe it out or Eithiopia’s done for. And I want her to watch.” He went over to the Communications console where a not so attractive young woman with black hair was waiting, “Sergeant!” he barked,

“No…” was all the reporter could breathe out.

“Transmit the following. Code Crop-dust, alpha six one, three, three two six sixteen. Fire at will. And play the music.” And it was done.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mogadishu could never be considered prosperous by any other part of the world, but as the largest city in Somalia, it had a prosperity all its own, seen all the more positively in these times when the average GDP in the developed world was half what it had been a decade before, in the good times.

But the The Emir was not there to enjoy things. He had just come to put things in order. Yes, the Somalis had agreed to join the Caliphate, and war on their infidel neighbors, but for petty territorial gains, not the righteous jihad commanded by the Prophet. The clans of Somalia were unruly and were admittedly the weak point in the Madhi’s attempt to subjugate Ethiopia from all sides. They were not good, pious, Muslims. So The Emir had brought an army from his native Yemen to finish the job. God be praised all that stood in the way were a pathetic band of Christian blacks, and strangely enough, an army of Frankish racists. Dijjal was a fool to send them here, but they had proven surprisingly tenacious and loyal to their dark-skinned superiors. And now they were at the doorstep of the capital of HIS new emirship.

The interpreter stood, ready to serve The Emir. His name was Abdul, and he was shaken by recent events. The great armies of the Caliphate had gathered together to crush the Zionist entity once and for all. Finally, the Zionists would be served justice, or so he had been taught. And yet before the battle could begin the armies were smote, and there was really no other word for it. Hundreds of thousands, burned to nothing, their tanks and APCs, many from the captured factories of Europe, melted into slag. Was it an infernal Jewish weapon? Or was it, as the Christians claimed, the Two Witnesses, the two who would preach at the end of time in the Christian tradition? Now Abdul was not a fervent Muslim, more of an Arab nationalist, and had none, or at least little, of the hatred of other faiths his bosses did. He thought it stupid to blame the Jews for everything when the Arabs themselves did so much wrong. Hatred of others never made any people great. He wished he were back in America, as a student, before the rise of the Caliphate.

He was pulled from this train of thought, as he heard the rumblings of a song, being played through the city's series of megaphones designed to call the faithful to prayer during the day:

Words like violence

Break the Silence

Come crashing in,

Into my little world

“What is this?!” demanded the Emir. None of his body guards moved from the walls of the great room, with its bare white stucco walls.

“It’s a song sir, sometime their special operations soldiers hack the PA system” he replied, “you see, your eminence, they broadcast propaganda and try to make the people fall from the path of righteousness.” Actually the messages were usually more like ‘Abandon Islam or die’ but he didn’t want to press the issue.

“I don’t care what it is. I want it stopped, now!” A few aides left the room to try and do just that. It would be at least an hour searching before they could neutralize this nuisance. The Emir got up from his chair and forced Abdul to the wall, his finger pressing into Abdul’s face like blunted claws

“I can read your soul, boy” said The Emir, “You have the heart of an infidel. You want to dance to that filth. Do you know that music is haraam?” Of course Abdul knew that was bullshit. Arabs were the most pious of Muslims, who were the most pious of all peoples, and they had always had music. That was absurd. And Depeche Mode produced good music.

But The Emir could kill him with a word, and it was the word of the Madhi, so Abdul submitted. “Forgive me, your eminence. I am weak and prone to sin.” The Emir let him go, and he slumped to the floor.

The Emir order his hooka to be readied with tobacco and walked away, his plain, but soft robes flowing behind him “It is not me you need to seek forgiveness from, boy. But seek righteousness in Allah’s path; for He is oft forgiving…I sense something terrible is coming.”


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sergeant! We’re ready to begin” bellowed Private Sandra Masters from behind the M198 artillery piece. This would carry its payload 20 miles to the Mogadishu seashore.

“Good!” barked the sergeant, a burly man in his early 30s. “Here, I got a present for you.” He tossed Masters a set of headgear. He had a bunch on his arm which he distributed to the other seven crew members plus himself.

Masters turned the thing over “What is it?” The other soldiers agreed in unison.

“Well, technically, it’s a thingie…” and the sergeant laughed at his own attempt of humor. “Pukes, this is,” and he pointed to his own, “A…psychic nullifier. Supposedly you put it over your head like this” and he took off his helmet and put the headgear on “and you’ll be immune to any psych attack the Muzzies try and pull here.”

“Bullshit!” said Private Masters, “If the Muzzies got psychic powers, then I got a dick the size of a bratwurst.”

“That would make Bower happy,” remarked one of her comrades.

“You could have a dick the size of a bratwurst if you want…inside of you,” this time it was Bower himself. He chuckled evilly.

“Shut the fuck up!” Said the sergeant “These things just came from London, and if they say use them, then we use them.” And several of them up the nullifiers on.

“Yeah, Dijjal’s word is law now among the Kaffirs. Just like the Madhi’s word law to the Muslims.” Masters remarked.

“What did you say?!” Screamed the sergeant.

“I came here to kill rag head darkies, not be the…the flunky of some megalomaniacal British cripple!”

“Masters,” said the sergeant “wear the damn thing or not, it’s not my business.”

“Looks like Strak's headgear from Farscape.” Said Masters as she reluctantly put the thing on, secretly hoping it wasn’t some sort of mind control device.

Let’s kill some nigs.” He put his helmet on, “Fire!”


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The screams of the dying were everywhere as the city of Mogadishu perished under the shells. Abdul’s throat seemed to cave in. He couldn’t breathe. This was VX, and he had no atropine.

All I ever wanted

All I ever needed

Is here, in my arms

Abdul prayed to any God who would hear him to make him pass out before the spasms got too severe. It didn’t matter about faith, the virgins, the alcohol rivers; Abdul just didn’t want to feel himself breaking his own back.

Words are very

Unnecessary

They can only do harm

Abdul Kasim, native of Yemen, fleunt in Somali, Ethiopian, English and his native Arabic, regarded by everyone that knew him as a gentle soul with no real desire to hurt anyone, a jerk might say a wimp, was dead; his heart gave out, after the convulsions had shattered his spine. The Emir on the other hand, along with his guards, stood still and passive. They too had no atropine, but it did not matter, they were immune. The Emir took a long drag on his hooka and exhaled, but little came from his mouth. He got up, letting the robes unfurl, revealing a fist sized hole in his abdomen, going clear through to the back where his spinal cord should have been. The remained to the tobacco smoke came out through it. It was a wound he had received in the conquest of Italy. He was compensated with many Italians POWs in recompense.

He knew that every man, woman and child in Mogadishu was either dead, or dieing. He could vaguely hear the cries of the little children, half in fear, half in horror as their parents died around them. VX is heavier than air so it would sink to their level too, and he could do nothing this time. He knew the man responsible was ultimately Dijjal, that deceiver, that murderer who stood in the way of Allah’s designs. But the man who ordered it; well, he would come, and the Emir would kill him for his insolence. Or so he thought.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This was the first slaughter of Job Worthington, who was destined long after his death to become Charlotte Merriweather’s most famous ancestor, and a hero of heroes among the Enclave. 4 million people, civilians and soldiers alike died in one terrible night of VX bombardment. The rest of Somalia as well as Ethiopia’s copious Muslim population, followed shortly thereafter. Nukes would disappear or fall back in their silos; just as the radical Imams had preached when Job was young, so unbelieving kuffirs had to find work-around. It is considered the beginning of the end of Islam, a bloody sage Charlotte would continue in Inglewood. But it would not be fair to Charlotte, the Enclave, or the soldiers of the Totenkopf Volunteers to add this final caveat:


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Job was about to crow several hours after the bombardment began, “Well ladies and gentlemen. This is officially a war of annihilation!”

Cheers erupted at the command post along with some clapping “They used to say they’d win because they loved death more than we loved life, well let me tell you something, we are Whites! We are the most destructive race ever to walk the Earth, and we love to kill our enemies!” And he raised his hands in triumph and got the hoots “We will secure the existence of our people and a future for our children!” More cheers, “But in doing so we must aid others. We should, and I’m speaking to all of you, remember we are not monsters. Every one of us signed the oath that we joined up restore Europe to its proper state, not to murder, not to oppress, especially the non-whites. We want them resettled, where they are free of us and we are free of them. And this WILL come to pass! But now we are all brothers, whatever our color, in this great struggle against the ultimate tyranny.” More cheers, especially from the Ethiopians who were always wary of the Volunteer's intent.

He continued, “We came here to put things right and look at us! Dijjal did not believe our intentions, so he sent us to Africa, to humiliate us, to make us give up. Have we?!” A raucous ‘No!’ came from the soldiers “Well I for one have a new appreciation of our brothers in Christ! I have seen Ethiopia; I have seen a people hungry for enlightenment, for a better life, here not in ours but in their own lands, as it should be. And if any one you,” and here he turned to Bernstein, “should ask why I, we, destroyed Mogadishu, I will tell you it is because despite being full of Muslims ready to revolt, and being attacked from all sides, the Christians of this land have never faltered, never failed, never given up and I swear before God we will not let them down when they need the Totenkopf Volunteers!” More cheers, this time the black men were louder than the Whites.

“Are you done gloating?!” Bernstein asked sickly. Rarely had she seen something so revolting her.

Worthington looked at her, strangely serene, “I’m not going to let Ethiopia fall. They’ve resisted Islam for 1400 years; I’m not going to listen to ignorant fucks like you when your view of morality will cause tens of millions to be dragged off in chains. They don’t deserve it! Is that what you want, for millions of Christians to be dragged off in chains like in France, and Italy and Spain? You wanna see pagans being slaughtered? Hell the Muslims took Delhi last month, and after that massacre you still wanna fight civilized with these people?! Fuck you?”

“They’re not all evil!” She blurted out righoutly

“Relativist Fallacy! Neither were all the Nazis, that didn’t keep them from sending grandma and grandpa Bernstein to an all expense paid trip to happy fun time at Auschwitz." Worthington answered back just as rightously.

“That’s bullshit! There was no Holocaust! It's a Jewish con...” one of the women spoke up. Job got out his gun and preceded to pistol whip the woman, kicking her as she lay defenseless on the floor, all the while asking her again and again if she wanted to be stupid.

“I’m only gonna say this once: anyone who denies the Holocaust in my presence will be beaten for insubordination. You wanna be a little fucking Nazi, at least own up. Take responsibility,” He went back over to Bernstein, the beaten woman was left weeping on the floor, “As I was saying, only this time, we’re all Jews. This is the end of days for the Muslims too and in those days everyone who does not convert will be killed. It’s in the hadiths, I have read them. I’ll tell you what; any Muslim who crosses that line and renounces his faith, I’ll fight to the death for him. That’s more than what you’ll get from the Madhi, I’ll tell you that.”

“You’re a monster. You call them Nazis, you’re a fucking Nazi!” Bernstein slipped out and threw a nearby bottle at Worthington. Worthington was hit and fell to the ground, while Bernstein was wrestled down by the other soldiers.

Worthington got up, rubbing his head and cursing vividly, he inhaled deeply, went over to Bernstein and grabbed her by the chin and pulled her up, “Listen bitch, the only reason I’ve left you alive is so tomorrow the AP can run this story and I want to pick the headline. ‘Vienna is Avenged’ you got that?” Bernstein made no acknowledgement, “Ta. Better a live Nazi than a dead saint. Ariel Sharon said that in 1982. Right before I popped out come to think of it. Smart man. Your kind: the liberals, the socialists, the faggots, are one step away from being killed, so you better remember that. You’ve lost. This is a judgment of an angry God, Muslims to punish Christians and Jews for their sins, Christians to pass judgment on Muslims, the most wicked people to ever walk the Earth. And you’d better pray Jesus comes back cause otherwise there are two orders that will shape the world from now on. We had freedom, and we blew it!” He slapped her, “Blew it! First we had an empire, now we’ve got a slum. Pick your side."

“Decent people…” Bernstein began, at which Worthington cut her off.

“Decent people are…are slaves trying to outrun their chains. Me, I’m not decent. I’ll fight, and I’ll kill the son of a bitch that tries to put a burka on my wife. Hang me afterward, but for now let me do my fucking job!” He put his finger into her chest “And you can quote me on that!”

You wanna run from problems? Mary’s…my wife’s grandpa used to work for Vaultec. Said in the 50s he came up with these nifty bomb shelters he called Vaults.”

“Vaults?” Bernstein squeaked out, terrified for her life.

“Long term shelters. Technology wasn’t there then, but I’m sure if you want to now you could build Vaults and hide all your liberal, faggoty friends away from what’s happening now and hope it goes away but that’s the coward’s way. That’s why they’re fewer ‘decent’ people everyday. I used to be decent, Dijjal used to be decent, and if you live long enough, you’ll used to be decent too. Pay attention: there are two sides, only one can save us from the other, so pick one: The Crescent or the Swastika.”

January 28, 2007: Been too long since an update. Why this? Because Into the Wasteland is a Milieu piece and I wanted to set the tone properly, something I realized Charlotte simply cannot do. My goal, as always is to explain the psychology of Vault 13, Vault City, and ESPECIALLY the Enclave. And the psychology there calls for something really traumatic. So early on I took Nostradamus’ Third Anti-Christ prophesy as a starting point (along with Revelation, the Apocalyptic Hadiths, and a few others), and it’s actually important to this story because you should have no doubts of the religious persuasion of the people of Inglewood, based on the clues of the last few chapters. Anyway, it’s supposed to be nasty and dark, and assuming I don’t get the story struck (and it’s been that fear that’s kept me from updating), I’ll update sometime in February and keep updating at least once a month till August when I go to Law School and then all bets are off. My apologies for the long lapse.

 

[Shiozaki]

Bump review!

 

[Requete]

Wow: that was intense; heavy breathtaking stuff. Plese write more.

 

[Shiozaki]

Well the next chapter will be done shortly, school seems to be the determining factor, the story will return to its runts with plenty of deadites and super mutants.

As always reviews will be welcome.

--Shiozaki

 

[botia]

WHOA! I must admit I haven't read it all, but I promise I will! (as soon as I get to work Awesome, I really like the disoriented feeling of the beginning of the first chapter. I was very immersed in the feeling. You, are not bad at this. Not bad at all.

 

[Shiozaki]

ok new chapter up sorry for the wait, Enjoy.

Loading:

[A picture in full color of a bearded Muslim, in this case the vaunted and feared Madhi of the last chapter’s fame, scrapping away the face of God on the Sistine Chapel, as the false Prophet bade them make no art and tolerate no art, especially religious art. And make no mistake, when the Muslims outnumber the native Italians in their homeland, they will do this in our world. Demographics is destiny.

Fade out…

[A faded card of Walt the Vaultec Boy in on a horse with a white tunic with a red Cross emblazoned on it, on the right saying Crusader: You have become a brutal and zealous defender of civilization The penalty for killing Muslim children is waived, the bonus in Karma for killing Muslims, Mutants and Raiders is doubled, but the penalty for doing other nefarious deeds is quadrupled.

Get ready….

Charlotte the Pocho

Part I

First let me say I hate Ashley J. Williams. I hate him so much for making me use that title. See technically it is Ash’s turn, but I’m the one who needs to do the telling, so he offered to switch. In return, he got to pick the title. Insufferable man. Oh well.

I had lain in bed the night before (that is, November 2, 2163 into the morning of November 3. It was a Thursday, three weeks from Thanksgiving) thinking of what all this meant. I thought of it again but I knew I was deep in the horse shit when I heard Cyrus say “You’re from Dearborn ay?!” Take a picture!” He summoned my brother, over saying “Merriweather, come over here! You’re gonna love this! This asshole says he’s from ‘Dearborn, Michigan’ Ha!”

I was lying on the ground and Jessica looked up from applying the bandages to my wounds, “He’s from Michigan? That’s a long way…” And then it hit her “Charlie, is he talking about the big Dearborn, Michigan?”

I wearily nodded my head, feeling exhausted after getting shot and then avoiding a pack of Deathclaws. I noisily exhaled.

Jessica “I thought they changed the name to Vijayanagar Center after the Final Crusade.”

“They did,” I groaned

“So he’s lying?” she asked

“I doubt it.” Jessica cocked an eyebrow

We heard a laugh coming from my brother and a ‘That’s rich!’

“Who is this guy? He obviously tried to kill you and yet I saw you save him at least twice. What the Hell?”

“I don’t think I can,” I breathed out.

Jessica looked a little crestfallen “Charlotte, you didn’t fall in love with the guy did you…” I started to protest, “I mean that’s exactly what a moron wetback chicka would do, and we all know you’re one of the rare smart wetbacks.”

“I am not a wetback.”

“Spic-io Americano?”

“Try again.”

“Mexican-not-quite-American?”

“That’s not funny, Jess. I’m not a spic.”

Jessica rolled her eyes at me as she had so many times before “Yes…and my ancestors came over on the first cruise ships, and when they got here they were so happy they decided to wear the souvenir iron bracelets for the rest of their lives, and pass them down to their children. Why do you people want to be Bonobos anyway?”

I was about to respond when I heard shouting. It was my brother. I struggled to get up, and Jessica had to help me. “You’re lying to me asshole. You keep lying and I’ll hook your nads to the car battery over there than zap you until your sperm are doing the electric slide, you get me?”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Ash blurted out.

I looked past Jessica and looked at my brother rolling his hand through his hair, and he looked over at me and jumped back a bit to see I was up. “Good God,” he said, “I can’t believe you’re up.”

I laughed a little “Well, I am tougher than the average gal.”

“Yeah”, said Jessica “Tougher than a Deathclaw and twice as mean. And that was before,” and she turned around and knocked on my chest. I groaned in pain but did little else, “…the armor implants. Christus Invictus, what is this world coming too?”

“Radioactive slag…” murmured Ash.

“Ha!” exclaimed Cyrus and my brother. “Good call!” said my brother slapping Ash on the back. Ash just looked confused, and unlike in the movies did the smart thing and said nothing at all. “Now where are you really from buddy? And why did you shoot my bitchy sister?”

“I told you, I just got here. I don’t know nothing. I’m from Dearborn Michigan.”

“There ain’t no Dearborn Michigan, Mr. Williams” Cyrus informed him, “There’s only Vijayanagar Center. If you were from Michigan, you’d know that.”

“Now,” said Ash, “I’m a little slow on the uptake but why in the hell would they change the name of Dearborn?”

“Cause of Jason Vijayanagar, you ignoramus!” shouted my brother, “You know, the greatest man to come out of Michigan since Henry Ford?”

“Christopher Merriweather, you ignorant Spic!” and thus Jessica Bradford, who is supposed to be my friend, mortified me in front of my childhood hero. “Have you met anyone out here who knows who Jason Vijayanagar is?”

“Jess…you’d better quiet down or I’m going drag you into the wood shed and make me some mulattos.” He looked at her disapproving looks. Hell, the way she cocked her head I could see them while looking at the back of her head “Or Zambos, whatever make you happy.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Chico, you couldn’t handle this,” and Jessica used her hands to out line her body. She then shook her head to make her hair shake out.

“Bitch I’d rather fuck Sin, with the yapping dogs threatening to tear off my cock. Better that that make love to a talking monkey.”

“Coming from a New World primate, I’ll take that as a compliment. You cut off your tails to say you’re Bonobos, but you ain’t fooling no one.” As if the Wasteland disapproved of the conversation, a cold blast came in and reminded us all, it was indeed November. The cold always makes me wonder how I survived that first December out of the Vault. It was so cold. So cold. But that’s a story for another day.

Ash quite justifiably looked confused and looked at my brother, his some of his misshapen beard swayed in the wind. “What the Hell are you talking about? What’s a Zambo?! What in the Hell is a Bonobo? And could someone get us outta here before we freeze to death!” And then he sniffed the air, “Oh God! The Deathclaws are beginning to stink!” I looked over across the cracked pavement of the street to see two of the Deathclaws strewn all over. Ash was right

“Offal; when creatures die they release their bowels,” I muttered.

“Hey honey, I didn’t hear you,” Ash put his good hand to his ear.

“I said when you kill something, they shit themselves. Didn’t you know that?”

“Why no sugar lips, I didn’t” Ash cocked his head to the side, “Any other tidbits you’d like to share?”

“Yeah, I should mention that Bonobo is the white equivalent of nigger. At least it was before the war…Because a Bonobo is a…weak chimpanzee; they have to hide from the more aggressive chimps in order to escape rape and extermination by more…shall we say virile specimens of the species.”

Ash blinked at me “Oh really, well, God bless America, at least race relations are the same as when I left.”

“Ha!” was the first reaction out of my mouth, “Listen fellas,” I walked over to Ash, and put my hand around his shoulders. This here is Ashley J. Williams!” Everyone looked at me.

Christopher in particular lowered his sun glasses and cocked his eyebrow “Yeah we get that. Who the fuck is Ashley J. Williams?”

“You know, Evil Dead? ‘All right you primitive screwheads, listen up,’ ‘Yo, she bitch, let’s go!’ That Ash and I can prove it”

Christopher looked at me funny and took a step back “Yeah, that Ash. Charlotte, that Ash ain’t real, and even if he were, he’d be dead by now, long dead.”

“You didn’t see the original ending did you?!” I blurted out “OK, OK, I’m not crazy, if you guys can see him I’m not crazy. Remember ‘Last Action Hero?’”

Cyrus gave me a horrified look. Good, I thought, he got it.

“Or, or, the ‘Purple Rose of Cairo?’” Jessica loosed at me funny. Good, Tandi probably wouldn’t understand, and Stone was too stupid, but Christopher on the other hand still needed to understand what I was getting at. I breathed in a sighed “Or ‘Magical Porn Theater?’”

At this Christopher took off his sunglasses entirely with one hand, “Which Magical Porn Theater?”

“Does it matter?!” I asked.

“They’re all classics,” and he gave me a toothy grin.

“Which is one with the neo-Nazis?”

“Magical Porn Theater III.”

“Magical Porn Theater III then.”

Christopher gave me a look. It was one of…let’s say discovery. Or stupidity coming to light. “You mean” and he pointed at Ash “this asshole, came out of a movie screen?

“Who are you calling an asshole, mud pie?” Ash retorted. “Yeah you, mudpie… “Hey, hey, hey!” I said, “Yes, out of a movie screen, Chris.”

He looked at me for a second “Why do you get Ash? I want Rambimbo! I want the women of Mantis Squad to teach me to love women of all different colors.”

“Christopher!”

“If you’re not bullshitting, this is still bullshit. I want Rambimbo. Rambimbo! Rambimbo!”

Hey, shut up kid,” came Ash’s tart reply. “I’m not your damn entertainment, so shove it. You’re apparently a border jumper so make yourself useful and, ah, I dunno, make me a burrito? Just be thankful you’re not a goddamn Puerto Rican or I’d kick your ass on principle.” He smiled and held up his right gauntlet in a haymaker, “And I have the upper hand.”

Christopher said nothing. Frankly he should have been used to this shit, but he belted Ash across the face anyway, Ash hit the deck, reeling from the bitchslap “Hey, Holmes” he said, in a slightly Mexicano accent, “You think I give a fuck what you think? Heh?” Then he said some stuff in Spanish I didn’t understand but didn’t sound nice.

“Christopher, don’t tell me you went Vato on me?!” I spat in displeasure

He looked at me and said “Lottie-da, he expects a wetback, well, I’ll give him…” and was blind sided by Ash who tackled him to the ground and began punching wildly, with the metal hand. Jessica and I threw Ash off Christopher and Ash was held by Cyrus, who grasped Ash’s arms behind his body and held him tight as Ash screamed to be let go of.

“Hey, hey! The Plebiscite War is over!” and she looked over at my brother, “And you lost.”

Naturally I had to set the record straight in front of Ash “Jessica, for the last time, my ancestors were loyal. No Latino from Arkansas was ever disloyal to the Union.”

“They kicked us out anyway, made us dance with the blue devil, and still treat us like garbage!” Christopher muttered.

Ignoring him, I went over to Jessica’s med pack and found some chloroform. I got some cotton and applied it thoroughly. “And I am putting all of you on notice: I am NEVER going back to this shit, do you hear me? Look,” I pulled down my left sleeve and showed my too muscled forearm (well technically ANY muscle on a woman’s arm is too much), “Look, Tandi, Ash, this is my ID barcode. It tells everything about me,” This barcode is on the underarm and was burned on my skin at birth. “And this,” I pointed to the diadem on the bottom of my wrist, “Is my racial marker. Look at it all of you ignorant motherfuckers, especially you Chris” it was of course, the Celtic Cross, “I am 100 FDA approved white meat and you motherfuckers better listen up. My family assimilated. They became white, and frankly I don’t have to impress you Ash. Yes America is for white people, like Kenya is for Negroes and China is for Orientals. Belongs to them exclusively. But we came, we saw, we gave up everything we were like good immigrants.”

“Do we hold it against Stone that his ancestors were thieving, ignorant, boozing Irish? Or against Cyrus that 150 years ago his ancestors were Muslims? Muslims; enemies of all humanity! God smite them all or I will!”

“Deus Vult!” came a slightly unexpected reply from Stone, Christopher and Jessica.

“I swear before you that out here there is not a difference between the blanched and the pureblood, pedigree means nothing. If nothing else I have EARNED the right to be called white and I will NEVER be treated like a Colored woman again. EVER! Do we understand each other now?”

“Yeah,” said Jessica, “except aren’t you a Colored woman? I mean yes your MOM is white…” And I nearly had an aneurism,

“And so is my dad. My Mom wouldn’t have married him otherwise. I come from a white mother AND a white father.”

“I mean where exactly do you live again?”

“Level 6 Priority B Housing” I said through gritted teeth.

“And what do people actually call it Charlie?” said the-bitch-who-is-my-best-friend-and-whom-I-have-to-kill-now.

I sighed, almost in pain, “The Barrio.”

“Ah ha ha!” Jessica jumped and nearly did a jig.

“”Hey Jess,” Christopher summoned her over with a finger, “I’ve seen real Negroes on the documentaries, from Africa. Shut, up, shut up. Dark as sin and twice as ugly. Now for a delicious looking mocha goddess WITHOUT nappy hair means you have enough white ancestors to qualify for the Waffen SS.” Jessica was appalled and we all, Ash and Cyrus included, burst into laughter, “So I wouldn’t be talking to anyone about racial purity, sister.”

And when Stone swiveled over towards Jess and said, “You just got reamed by a blancharo,” we all lost it. Now I don’t want to give the impression this conversation was entirely friendly, but you learn to deal with these things.

I went over to Ash, finally, the chloroform in my hand dry now, so I reapplied it. “Are you going to kill me chicka?” was his not so even reply.

“I’m just going to put you under till we get the monastery. I don’t want anymore…accidents. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, but you did try and kill me.”

“Please,” he said, “Don’t me under. I can help, I’ll do anything you like,” he began to shake in Cyrus’ arms, “Just don’t let me sleep. The Deadites will be back, I know it. I have to be awake, or they’ll…eat me.”

“OK, Ash, let me ask you, in our time together have I given you any indication that’s I’m…

“A beaner?” he finished

I winced “I’m descended from beaners; there’s a fucking difference.”

He breathed through his nose and said, “No.”

“Then I’d appreciate you not treat me as such.”

“Alright, so you guys are Nazis?”

I thought about this for a second, “No, think of us as Zionists, just on a larger scale. Kicking out and/or assimilating the invaders of our God-given territory. I personally don’t want to kill anyone except the Muslims and the Chinese and both of them tried to exterminate us. Muslims, in case you haven’t guessed, started that war that killed 2.6 billion.” Without thinking my right fist went into my open left palm, dodging the bottle of course. “I don’t expect you to understand, you’ll have to see it, and read it and feel it for yourself. They will not hesitate to kill, torture and enslave again. That is why I killed everyone in Inglewood. To keep them from enslaving the Christians of Little Antioch ever again. The monks might be able to explain it better. Now breathe deep…”

“Please…” said Ash after struggling against Cyrus.

“I’ll think about it, but first I gotta know something…”

“What is it? Anything!”

“What’s your beef with Puerto Ricans? I got some Puerto Rican ancestors…”

“I wouldn’t advertise that publicly,” he said with great disdain. The look on his face got really nasty for a second, “Because, no bullshit, and seeing as how you’re not really a beaner, the lazy Ricans are on welfare and the enterprising ones are stealing cars.”

“Oh come on Ash. That can’t be true!”

“Oh yes it is. Know how I know? Cause it was MY car. Yup, stolen in Toledo, Ohio. They found the bastard sleeping in it.” We both started laughing, and so did Cyrus. “Wait, how…are you white when you’re, ahem, ‘descended from beaners?’”

“Genetic reconstruction. We can’t do it in the Vault cause the machinery is too cranky, but it’s called dancing with the Blue Devil. I hook you up and inject you with the right kind of shit, in 18 months you could be a Negro woman darker than Jessica over there. The Vats of Fort Mariposa are simply ultra fast versions of that.”

Ash did something I never saw him do before, ever. He turned green, “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick!”

“I told you, you couldn’t handle the truth. That’s what a snip is. A genetic transsexual, down to the chromosomes; we got rid of the fags and got the snips. Pity the children. In more libertine households before the war it was something of a right of passage to spend part of one’s youth as the opposite sex to figure out which one was best for you. It’s pretty sad. But what’s sadder is what you just saw here, don’t you think Cyrus?”

He held Ash tight but grunted out “There’s a lot of hatred in the Vault.”

“An inevitable by-product of a multi-racial society.”

“I don’t agree. There’s not enough love between us.”

“You’d say that wouldn’t you?” I asked, “But chew on this Ash: in your time they say the German people did not know of the Holocaust. Is this true? Not really, the scholarship is quite clear that they knew something was happening but chose not to investigate. Yet the saying persists, and it persists because it is political truth designed to keep the Jews and the Germans away from each other’s throats. It comfortable lie. For a Fascist, for an American of the 22nd century, there is no comfortable lies, no political truths, only objective reality and I will tell you more when I think you can handle it.”

“Oh shit, no you bitch…” he said as I put the cloth over his mouth. He was out like a light in seconds. Thought I’d let him go didn’t you? Nope, I ain’t that dumb.

I started to take Ash back to the truck when Cyrus, being the gentleman he is, offered to do it for me. Now, Vault Dwellers are significantly stronger than normal humans, thanks to genetic manipulation; Stone can jog 20 miles with 350lbs of equipment strapped to his back, so picking up a man alone isn’t difficult for any of us.

“Are you finally going to begin explaining things. You know, for real this time?” Ask Christopher, “I have to tell Dad something.”

“In a second, I promise”

Jessica was still there, still stunned so I went over to her. Now was the time to be magnanimous. See that’s how you keep a friendship going through arguments. She finally looked at me, aghast, “Did you hear what he said to me?”

I nodded, “And you deserved it. Come’on, wherever we stop, I’ll pay for desert.” Her eyes lit up a bit.

“Well, now that people are prepared to be reasonable, let’s do it! Hey give me your gun.” Still jammed, I handed Jessica Adolf and with remarkable precision, she twisted and pulled and with a tiny ping, the bullet cam out and the gun was ready to fire again. I hated her for that skill. “Oh and I noticed your blade is missing.”

“Yeah,” mine’s stuck in a Deathclaw somewhere out here.”

“Here’s mine,” she handed me a knife made from the wastes.

“Thanks”

“No problem. Besides, what is a Mexican without a knife?”

Apparently I sound a lot like Charlie Brown when I scream in frustration.

Author’s Note: July 20, 2007, it’s been way too long. I should explain the last chapter. I did that basically to see what I could get away with. I can complete this story. Yah! Now before you ask, no I don’t like Muslims. It’s best to leave it at that. Muslims are an ideological enemy for me, much like Nazis or Communists, but the whole Race thing I touched upon here I simply find a sad facet of the Human Condition. And Yes, Charlotte has always been of Latino descent and I planned to spring it on you guys like this since at least chapter 2.

If you don’t like my work, by all means tell me so. If you do like it, tell me. I’m always looking to improve my feeble writing skills. In Charlotte the Pocho part II there will be a massive gun battle and deadites. Honest Injun. So stay tuned.