Sector: Southern Grasslands
100 Years, 8 Months, 6 Days PSR
Trekking through the grasslands was slow going, mainly due to the fact that I couldn't fly. For the first week, Wick and Swiss teased me about it, but their friendly taunts soon died down. But just because they couldn't fly ahead didn't mean they didn't fly at all. Both my friends were glad to finally stretch their wings, especially Wick. Eniac had suggested we keep a low profile while travelling with her, and while there had been complaints, no one had disobeyed.
Now that we were on our own, Wick flew at every opportunity, performing loops and barrel rolls for our amusement. Sometimes Swiss joined too, although his flight skills were much more limited than Wick's. Sometimes he'd try his hoof at a trick when Wick pressured him, but I think he just liked being up there to fly, without the aerial stunts.
Their flying also proved a useful tool. More than once Wick warned us of raiders or bloodwings up ahead, so we had time to take cover or change direction. It also let her spot food from far off, and whenever she had the chance she flew off to hunt. Her claws and sharp teeth (and not to mention her draconian instincts) made her an effective predator, and it was rare that her prey escaped.
We spent the daylight hours travelling and the night hours eating, resting, and planning.
We didn't stop for lunch, instead having big breakfasts and dinners so we could spend the entire day on foot. Sometimes we'd save a few scraps to eat on the road, but usually all food was gone the time breakfast was over. The meals was almost always stew, cooked over the fire in a pot Swiss had taken from Shackle and served in bowls begrudgingly donated by Sunflower.
After dinner, we'd play cards and talk. After Swiss gave up trying to teach us Caravan for the night, we'd fall back on poker, blackjack, or some other game. We discussed what we were gonna do when we got up north, which was a mystery for the moment. We'd all heard stories of life being good up there, but none of us had the slightest idea what to do once we got there.
During these conversations, I was usually tinkering with some of the doodads I liked to pick up. My current project was trying to compact the radio transmitter (from the diagram I found) into a smaller package, eliminating redundant parts or reconfiguring them to take up less space. The parts I was missing I tried to fabricate using what I had, with mixed results. My hope was to integrate the transmitter into my PipBuck, which already had a long range radio.
When we finally doused the fire and turned in for the night, we always set a watch, alternating who started every evening. Thus far, nothing had approached, much to our relief. We tried not to let our guard down, telling ourselves that just because we'd been lucky so far didn't mean it would stay that way. We tried to keep ourselves awake with solitaire (or tinkering, in my case). Even so, our nightly vigils gradually lost intensity.
Our luck ran out about two and half weeks into our journey.
The day had been a typical one. Just the endless grasslands, at one point broken by what my PipBuck identified as Featherdown Creek, where we filled our water skins. We had some of the radhog Wick caught for dinner, shot the shit for a bit, then turned in. Swiss had first watch.
I woke up to a soft rustling noise. I might not have woken up at all (I was normally a deep sleeper), but I must've rolled on a rock or something.
I raised my head slowly, careful not to make a sound. In the crescent moonlight, I made out two silhouetted figures. Further inspection revealed they were going through our saddlebags, carelessly chucking stray items to the ground. I glanced around for Swiss and found his form unconscious close by. He was breathing, but I couldn't tell if he'd been knocked out or was just asleep.
I decided to play it safe and wait to see what the intruders did. Listening carefully, I picked a few stray bits of whispered conversation.
"Barely enough food here to last a day."
"We'll still be better fed than when we were with Sombra."
"Anything in that one?"
"Just some old scrap parts."
"Nothing much left here either, let's check the foals."
I heard them creep closer, so I put my head back down.
"Holy shit, look at those guns! We can't pass those up."
"Hey," said the voice right above me. "Shut up and look at this!"
"Woah, is that a–?"
"Yeah, a fucking PipBuck!"
"Where do you think he got it?"
"Who cares, it's ours now."
"But wait, I heard once they're on, they're stuck on. Who do we get it off?"
"How do you think?"
I knew if I waited any longer, I was done. With as much force as I could muster, I bucked straight up, catching one of the thieves in the chest, shouting as I did.
"WICK, SWISS, UP NOW!"
"Wah–?" I heard Wick mumble, still waking up. I didn't hear anything from Swiss. Not a good sign.
Meanwhile, the thieves tried to get their bearings. The one I'd bucked was still wheezing, so I gave another kick in his general direction. I couldn't aim well in the dark, but I felt something crunch wherever I'd hit.
The other thief was screaming. "What's going on? What the fuck's going on?" I heard the distinct sound of a gunshot, and briefly saw the camp illuminated in a burst of light. One thief was just behind me, clutching his chest. The other was waving his head wildly over Wick, a gun in his mouth, panicking. Wick was staring up at the would-be assailants, eyes wide and mouth gaping.
I kicked again, this time aiming for where the stallion's face had just been. There was a yelp, and moment later I felt him crumple to the ground.
In Wick's direction, I heard a clicking noise followed by a deafening bang, this shot a thousand times louder than the first. The camp was bathed in fiery green light. I saw the unlucky thief's head caught in a single monotone image. His head was whipping back, green tinted blood spraying from a messy hole between his eyes. Wick was laying on her back just in front of him, holding her carver toward his face and snarling.
Just like that, it was over. The fight lasted a total of ten seconds flat.
It took Wick and I a moment to catch our collective breaths. Still breathing in heavy gasps, I used my welding spell to light the campfire. Once it was going steady, I turned to Wick. While my breathing was still uneven, her's was relaxed.
"Holy shit, Wick," I managed. "I– I heard them talking. They were going to kill us!"
"Yeah, it's a good thing you woke up," she replied in eerie calm.
I called her out on it. "How can you be so calm after all this? You just survived a firefight and killed someone!"
She ignored my question. "We'd better check up on Swiss."
I decided not to press her on her unsettling nonchalance. "Uh, okay, okay. Good idea."
We carried Swiss to the fire to get a better look at him. He had an apple-sized welt on the back of his head.
"They must've snuck up on him."
Wick crouched over him to examine the injury. "Yeah, that bump looks nasty. Doubt he's getting away from this without a concussion. Hopefully it'll teach him to stay more alert on his next watch."
"That's a bit harsh, Wick."
"He'll be fine to travel in the morning." She got up from Swiss and went to sit on the other side of the fire. "Besides, it's not as harsh as being dead. If you hadn't woken up, all of us would be bloodwing food now."
"I don't know about you, but I was dozing a little on my watches. This is a wake up call for me too. What about you?"
Wick bristled. "You really think I would doze on a watch? Really? All it takes is one lazy night and your ass is grass!" Her hostility was jarring. Still, it was better than the unnerving calm she'd displayed earlier.
"Okay, Wick. You're right, obviously. I'm just saying it's better a warning than being dead."
"Some people don't even get a warning," Wick muttered. "Like Bert..."
It all suddenly clicked together. I wanted to slap myself for being so stupid.
I tried to think of something comforting to say, but everything I thought of felt shallow and forced. Instead, I let the quiet linger.
After fifteen minutes without speaking, I wordlessly trotted over to the stallion Wick had shot. I remembered hearing a gunshot before Wick's, and sure enough, I found a duct-taped twelve millimeter with 23 rounds of ammo. Further search yielded little else but useless knick-knacks. When I searched the pony I'd kicked, I found a few scraps of jerky and a crudely drawn map. If their markings were any indication, they'd been heading east.
When I finished, I sat back down next to Wick, ready to talk again if she was. "Had a twelve mil on them, and some jerky." Silence. "They were heading east. Wonder, uh, what they were looking for." Nothing. "What... what should we do with the live one?"
I waited a long time for a reply, and I was about to ask again when Wick spoke. "We don't have enough rope to spare on him. Don't want to waste a bullet on him either." I felt a twinge in my stomach at her coldly logical reason for not killing him. "Maybe tie him up before he wakes up, then when he does, knock him out again and take the rope back."
I sighed with relief at this idea. Made sense, and didn't require any needless killing. My traitorous thoughts reminded me that I'd had a hoof in killing an entire camp of people and hadn't even blinked, but I pushed these back, insisting this was different. The slavers were monsters, these guys are just desperate travelers, I told myself.
I thought that with the weight of the night's events weighing down on me, I'd never get any sleep. I found myself proven wrong when Wick shook me awake in the morning.
"C'mon, help me break camp. Swiss is still playing Sleeping Beauty over there, and so's our 'guest'. I wanna let Swiss come around on his own, so just let him sleep."
"Alright," I said with a yawn. I got up packed up the few belongings we had, erasing our presence as much as we could. I buried the pieces of burnt scrap wood from the fire, munching on some of last night's leftovers as I did so.
I considered that now that morning had come, I was taking the whole "almost dying" thing much better. Maybe it was the rest that did it. I settled on that explanation before I could think of a less pleasant answer.
Within fifteen minutes all the chores were done.
Wick scooped Swiss up and slung him over her back. Apparently she'd changed her mind about forcing him travel today. "Swiss can rest here until he wakes up. I'll be careful not to jostle him around too much," she reassured. She turned to our other unconscious resident. "Damn, I thought he'd be awake by now. Do you wanna wait for him to come to?"
I thought about it. "Nah, just leave him. Looks like he'll be out a good while more."
"Alright, just a sec." She walked over to the raider, raised her leg in a dramatic swing, and brought it down on his head, eliciting a soft "oomph" from its victim. "Like the fella once said, ain't that a kick in the head? Thought he deserved a little extra for making me carry Swiss."
My vision blurred for a moment, accompanied by a whirring noise.
I debated telling her off for it, but I couldn't deny that it was appropriate. Instead I said, "I think you just made a couplet."
"A what?"
"Never mind, let's hit the road."
Swiss came to later that afternoon. He apologized profusely for not detecting the raiders in time. We let him feel guilty for the afternoon (I'd come to understand Wick's reasoning a little more by then), but by the evening we were playing cards again.
In retrospect, our first encounter might've actually been a stroke of luck. We got a sort of slap on the hoof, receiving minor consequences for something that could've killed us if things had gone differently. At the same time this had the effect of putting us all in a more guarded stance. Being put in this state was a blessing in disguise, especially when you consider our later encounters. A bit of healthy paranoia and nervousness can go a long way.