Fallout: Equestria: A Cut Above.
Chapter 1: Fields of Brown, Skies of Grey
As the sun departed, turning the tired fields south of town from tired brown to tarnished gold, I wandered aimlessly around the ground floor of my house, recalling each memory as I passed or touched it. My course took me through the 'sitting' area of the ground floor, past the tired couch I kept meaning to repair, past my trophy case, an old wardrobe with glass doors to show off the mementos of triumph.
Past that rack of memories and the bucket full of weapons next to it. I shuffled through the bucket, pushing aside different types of weapons and different sizes, but nothing seemed worth the extra weight. I had my weapon of choice already lashed to my saddlebags upstairs, a custom poleaxe Dawn had nicknamed 'stickbird' when I tried to explain what a crowbar was. I pulled a machete out of the bucket and mouthed it, swinging it at full extension, then trying some closer cuts.
Still not right. I never did like giving up the range benefit of a good long stick. I spat the machete back into the bucket and turned to one of the mane dryer stations I had cleaned up. We were supposed to have power 'real soon now', and had been for the last two years. I ran a hoof lovingly over the clear plastic dome. I had two, spares that had been stored well enough that two hundred years hadn't even yellowed the plastic. Two would have been a start, a centerpiece to something I hadn't been able to even dream about until after my first year in Our Tacksworn.
I pulled a plastic sheet over the dryer and lashed it in place with a rope. As I pulled the knot tight with my teeth, a knock came on the door. I dropped the tag end and turned to face the door as Strongback pushed it open. As he came in, I shuffled nervously on the cracked old tiles in the salon. I was staring at the floor when he laid his neck alongside mine in a hug, drawing me into an embrace strong enough that I could feel my chest creaking. I hugged back, and we stood there for a moment in the sunset's golden light.
The hug ended, as they do, and I looked Strongback in the eye as he considered me. A small smile on his face, he pointed at me, then then floor.
"I stay here?" I questioned, and he nodded once. He pointed through the window at the setting sun, and then pointed at the opposite horizon.
"Tomorrow morning?" Drew another nod, then Strongback pointed at himself, then the door.
"Ah, you'll be here to get me tomorrow morning." This brought a smile to the face of the burly tan unicorn. Strongback hugged me once more, then ruffled my mane. As I squawked in protest, Strongback left, shooting me one last smile over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.
I fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs, staring blankly at a patch of the tired grey wall. Strongback's short visit had knocked me off of the job of packing I had been using to distract myself, and the fact of my exile from the tribe I had been born with and the town I had grew up in came up behind me like a radscorpion, it's poisoned stinger hitting me directly in my heart.
The sun slid below the far horizon as I lay there, and as darkness fell, so did my eyelids, until I passed from miserable wakefulness into a more unconscious misery, and I slept.
The sun woke me before anything else. I'm fortunate – most of the tribe is fortunate, really, in that even after 5 years of new arrivals, children, and rescues, there's still less than a hundred of us in a town that used to have a population of over a thousand ponies. There's a lot of room, and a lot of space between homes. My house used to be tucked in between a convenience store and a store that sold boots and berets, but we had removed almost all of the wreckage, which let the larger windows draw a lot of sunlight.
I levered myself to my feet and stretched off the cramps from sleeping on the floor, maundering my way to my tiny kitchen where I mused on sunlight as I cooked breakfast. Bacon on the spark battery-powered hotplate, eggs set aside for after, a couple of the incredibly precious pre-war bread for toasting, and two glasses of milk.
Sunlight was new to me, I was only ten when the skies parted for the first time, but ten years was plenty long enough that I had a strong idea of how the world should be. When the gray skies had parted to reveal our first dawn, we were insulated by the fatigue and stress of the ordeal of getting through the mountains. It had been a blessing that the shock of such a change had been spread out over several days, as we cleared a core of buildings from the abandoned township. The warm light of the sun had changed us. Smiles and laughter were more frequent, ponies seemed more willing to forgive minor trespasses, and, well, ten months after we made it out of the mountains, we suddenly had quite a herd of children underfoot.
Sunlight and meat. Two things that we took for granted, really. My father didn't know, but could talk theory for hours, what made us different from raiders. We had only lost two or three tribe members over the years to 'Raider Sickness', which wasn't fun. Having to put down someone you'd known for years, cutting their throat or bashing their head in as they gibbered madly... I shuddered in memory, then pushed my thoughts past that familiar stumbling block. Raider sickness was a terror of its own, thick in layers like an onion of misery, but most of us didn't suffer from it. Not the complete version, anyway. It seemed that everyone had an appetite for meat, which had led to the glory that is bacon.
Let's all take a moment to praise bacon. Pigs aren't people, all praise be to Celestia's name, and they are delicious. The bacon itself, Celestia's love made food, was sizzling and spitting in the pan when I heard the clatter of a filly coming down the stairs at speed.
"Good morning, Dawn" I greeted her as the filly yawned her way through the open doorway into the kitchen. She hopped up on one of the stools at the tiny counter, waving with one hoof while rubbing sleepily at her eyes with the other.
"Bacon." She greeted me, blinking in that adorable drowsy way that only young children seem to pull off. I stretched a hoof over and ruffled her mane, drawing a sleepy bleat of protest that I met with laughter.
"You sound less sad than last night, big brother. Are you feeling better?" Dawn asked as I pinched a spatula in my fetlock and slid the bacon onto a plate to cool. The eggs went into the pan moments later, sizzling in the hot grease.
"I am, a bit. Strongback came over last night after you went to sleep, and we talked." I told her seriously. Dawn nodded, and grinned wolfishly at her breakfast as I slid it in front of her, followed by a glass of milk. Eggs, Bacon, Toast, Milk.
I couldn't help but smile myself as I put my own plate on the counter and sat down next to her. I favored her with a look before I dug into my own plate, crunching my way through crispy bacon and slurping up the over-easy eggs with gusto. Dawn looked OK. Mussed from sleep, her orange mane stuck out in bristly chunks, bobbing as she ate. At five years old, she was still a very young filly, but she was healthy, confident, and well fed, like most of us since we had brought a farm back into production. We finished our breakfast in a comfortable silence, and Dawn drug a stepstool over to help me do the dishes afterwards. Earth ponies are just as good as unicorns, don't let anyone claim otherwise, but it does make it difficult to talk while doing the dishes.
We finished with the cleanup and returned to the living room. The rising sun painted the old brown couch into a dramatic monument. I plopped down, and Dawn curled up into a little filly ball next to me.
"So what did Strongback have to say last night, Wicky?" Dawn asked as I brushed her bed-mane into submission. I transferred the brush from my mouth to a fetlock grip, slower and less capable, but still OK.
"Well, he said I was supposed to stay here until he came to get me. I don't think I'm under arrest or anything, but I'm not going anywhere until I'm told."
"I think they just don't want you wandering off or doing something stupid." Dawn offered, and I grunted in agreement, working at a particularily nasty tangle.
"Probably. He hugged me real hard, I don't think he's mad at me at all." I replied, and Dawn sprang to her feet, snatching the brush from me and thumping me on the forehead with it.
"Well I am! Why do you have to leave, anyway!" Dawn said, then sat back on her haunches, a stern look on her face. I couldn't help but grin as I snatched the brush back from her and ran a thick lock of her mane over her face.
"I think I get it. There's only like 50 ponies here, and we're all tribals or wastelanders. Dad and Strongback don't want this place to turn into just another raider nest or mass grave... we need to connect with something... bigger."
"Like a teacher?"
"Right. Or a big brother." Dawn considered this, staring cross-eyed at the forelock I had brushed over her face. She was about to reply, when there was a knock on the door, and I jumped off the couch, suddenly nervous. "That's probably Strongback, let him in while I go grab my stuff."
I mounted the stairs in a hurry, and in my bedroom I shrugged into my leather armor, fumbling with the unfamiliar clasps and straps as I cinched it tight. The saddlebags came next, once I had lengthened the straps to account for the armor, and their familiar fastenings went on easily.
I stretched this way and that, settling the weight and bulk of the armor, and considered my Stickbird. The pole was a support from an awning, with a crowbar wired securely to the shaft, point forward. I could hook incoming blows fairly well, and develop a mean strike with the leverage provided by the springy, sturdy pole. I slid it under the straps of my saddlebags, in the scabbard cunningly built into my leather armor, and bent my neck around to check clearances.
A couple of frog hops to make sure nothing was loose or rattling, and I trotted back down the stairs, anxious and shaky, but not willing to wait any more. Strongback was there, as I had guessed, and had Dawn wrapped in the white-edged brown of his levitation magic. Dawn floated in a fillyball, giggling as she extended one leg or another to change the slow tumble she was in, floating just above the floor. Strongback looked up at me as I reached the ground floor, and set Dawn gently down.
She sprang to her hooves and looked at me, then at Strongback, her ears flat to her head, and a scowl on her face. I patted her on her cheek, and then turned to face Strongback.
"Is it time?" I asked. Strongback replied with a nod, then turned without another word or gesture and held the door open. I walked out with my head high, the leather armor hopefully hiding my shaking knees. Dawn came out after me, and Strongback brought up the rear. He closed the door behind him, and I pulled the key from my saddlebag, locking the door. I considered the door lock for a second, before pulling the key out and tossing it to Strongback.
"Keep an eye on the place for me, SB. I'll be back."
Strongback caught the key in his magic, tucking it into his own saddlebags, and turned a look on me that I couldn't decipher, before nodding once and heading off.
I followed his amble down Night Guard Avenue, the little street with the big name, and we made our way through town to the amphitheater.
The amphitheater was our biggest luxury, and one of the hardest challenges we had faced as a community. When we had first moved in to the town, the amphitheater was a deadly swamp, swarming with bloatsprites and haunted by a nightstalker nest in the backstage areas. The thick, heavy stone construction of the facility had stood the test of time almost undamaged, and the nightstalkers had taken advantage of the shelter to thrive.
Once the dangerous animals had been dealt with, we still had a swamp. Work underground on the tunnel system had turned up a map, and the map showed an oversized storm drain from the center of the conical theater. It wasn't until somepony found a rebreather, and got it working again, that we were able to free the drain and clean the seating. All this work had left us with an imposing and grand public meeting area, with excellent acoustics and lines of sight. We used it for public meetings and events, marriages and duels. A small group of ponies was even trying to put together some of the old plays from scripts and leftovers found in the backstage.
Today it was going to be the site of my exile. The nervous tension spiked as we pushed through the street access into the backstage spaces, and I began trembling hard enough to rattle my Stickbird in its carrier. When we reached the wings and stopped, I wasn't able to do anything but lean against the wall and shake. Strongback leaned against me, pushing me into the wall with his warm comforting weight, and Dawn climbed up onto my back to throw her forelegs around my neck. I stood there and shook for a few minutes, until I heard my father's voice.
"Boy? You in that chunk of Brahmin somewhere?"
I lifted my head to see my father gazing sadly at me. I shoved to my hooves, Strongback shifting sideways to let me off the wall, and plucked Dawn off my back. Dropping her gently at my side, as I faced my father squarely.
"Hi, Dad. I'm scared."
"I know, son. It'll all work out, I think for the best. Me and Big Bear were talkin' till all hours last night, and we think this is the right thing, the only thing to do. We got you a passel of supplies laid up, too. Bear will have it for you at the gate." My father turned away and coughed vigorously, rubbing at his eyes with a forehoof.
"Actually... I agree, Dad. We've got to move forward, here, or we're gonna start sliding back." I paused to snuffle. Shaking my head, I fought back the tears and set my stance. Raising my head confidently, I continued. "It's still bucking terrifying!"
I threw myself into my father's embrace and just broke. Dawn was clinging to my side bawling as well, and it was quite a while before any of us could get our equilibrium back. My father pulled a chunk of rag out of his saddlebag, and we were able to clean up and put our game faces back on. Dad ruffled my mane one more time, then put on his Leader Face. I stood at attention as well as I could manage, while Dawn sat next to Strongback watching us and sniffling.
"It's about time, son. The lot of us should be here by now. Sit tight, and I'll call you out when it's time."
"OK, Dad."
And nothing more remained to be said. My father made his way back onto the stage, dragging the portable lectern that we had pieced together, and began to address the assembled ponies.
"Pipe down, you insolent lot! How is a stallion supposed to get a good tyranny going with you unruly nags to lord it over!"
Dad's initial joke was met with a good rooba of laughter and some spotty clops of applause. I'd always, once I understood what was going on, admired how he used humor and intelligence to hold our tribe together, where another might have used brute force or simple volume.
"OK, ok, let's see, one, two, three, four.. looks like everypony's here, if there's someone who isn't, tell 'em what you heard."
The crowd had gone almost completely quiet. Not the silent of terrified or cowed ponies, but the attentive hush of ponies who were interested in what the speaker had to say.
"You all know me, and I know you. But let's lay it out in a little more detail. I'm Egg Forbreakfast. I'm the leader of this town. We call it Our Tacksworn, and we smile when we say it. You are, each and every one of you, citizens of this town. We are all different, we know different things, each of us help in our own way."
Father paused to let the approving murmurs swish through the audience before continuing. His voice, confident and proud before, held a tremor now. Not quite fear, but certainly apprehension.
"For five years we've built, and cleaned, and repaired. But that's not going to be enough, because for three of those years, we've done nothing new."
And his voice surged out of fear, past his earlier confidence, and straight into firey oration territory. I was smiling big, by now. My father wears a lot of different hats, but one of his favorite is his speechifying hat.
"The first year we conquered terror! We cleansed the town of bloatsprites, nightstalkers and bloodwings. We rescued DC and Deerjohn, and they're part of our group, part of US now!"
Dad paused, I imagine to let DC and Deerjohn stand up and be recognized.
"The second year we cleansed the bloodwings, began farming our own fresh, wonderful food, began raising chickens and pigs, and restored this very amphitheater."
Here dad's voice dropped to almost a whisper – only the excellent acoustics of the bowl ensured that everyone would be able to hear him.
"And since then... nothing. We've knocked down a few buildings. We've cleared a few streets, and put another foot of height on the walls. We aren't moving forward any more. And when you've stopped moving forward, it's only a matter of time until you start sliding back."
And now his voice swelled back to a more normal range, almost businesslike.
"There's nothing we can do in and amongst ourselves to change this. It's not any individual person that is at fault, in fact there's no fault to be had. We simply do not have the resources or the learning to go farther in making this town a viable, healthy community."
Dad held silence while this settled in the minds of the townsfolk. The disturbed rumble that came back was punctuated by a female voice shouting a question.
"Well, you got any idea what to do about it?"
I couldn't recognize the speaker, but that didn't bother me. I figured Dad would never miss such an opportunity, so I shook myself to settle my armor and saddlebags in place, then ran a quick hoof over my mane. Dad's reply was pretty much what I was expecting.
"In fact, we do. Big Bear and I got this idea from Strongback, and we've kicked it around enough that we think we've killed it dead, and now it's time to fry it up. Boy, come out here."
I gave Dawn a quick, but firm, hug and stepped out of the wing, blinking in the bright sunlight as I took my place next to my father. He stood on the low pedestal of the podium, and laid a foreleg over my shoulders as I sat on my haunches next to him.
"We're gonna send one of our best and brightest out there, back into the wasteland, to learn somethin', and maybe to bring somethin' good home for us."
I waved at the collected ponies, all the faces I had grown up with blurring as I had to blink away sudden tears. I coughed once and rose to my feet. "The idea, I think, was that I could get out there and figure out what's good to bring home better than a message or a signal. And if I failed, if I die... I'm not necessary. There are ponies here who do every job here better than I can. I'm sure I'll be missed, but nopony is going to suffer because I leave."
"Well, that, and I'm still young enough myself that I can make another one, looks just like him!" My father joked, and a laugh bounced around the crowd. Silence fell, and a female stood to her feet.
"OK, boy, we all know you, and you're plenty smart, and pretty tough, so what you gonna do?"
I had to pause for a moment before answering. "Well, I've been thinking on it, and I've talked about this with my father and Bear before. I'm going to go south. We came from the North, and we know there ain't nothing behind us but slavers and miners. I wasn't one of the ponies to escape Shattered Hoof, but I've heard the stories, and I don't want none of that."
My answer seemed to satisfy her, and she knelt back down on her bench, nodding. I fielded a few more questions (was I going alone; yes, how long was I staying; two years, unless I had to come back, was I insane; quite possible), and my father closed the session down, saying that they had to have me 'good and kicked out' before high noon. Father and I left the stage back to the wings, and joined up with Dawn and Strongback, and Big Bear, who had joined them. Bear looked pleased, which was normal. Bear almost always looked pleased, an amiable grin was the normal expression on his shaggy features. Bear embraced me, briefly but warmly, and we got on our way, headed towards the south gate at a steady trot. Dawn jumped up on my back and hugged my neck, her weight bouncing against me as we neared the gate.
Our Tacksworn isn't a small town. With the added area of the farm fields surrounding the athletics center, it can take the better part of an hour to trot from the north side of town to the far south, and it's far too large to wall effectively. Our defensive strategy, which was almost completely untested, was to instead clear the east and west approaches, piling rubble and taking advantage of terrain features to funnel attackers into more easily guarded and surveyed paths. The south side, though, had an actual wall.
Even if it only extended a hundred lengths from the lakeshore, and was only two lengths high for most of that, it was still a wall, and it had the South Gate of Our Tacksworn, which was an important symbol for what we were doing today.
We had a small crowd with us by the time we got to the gatehouse, but they stayed far enough back to give us some amount of privacy at the Gate. My father embraced me once more, shaking a little himself, and I hugged him back as hard as I could, Dawn clinging to my neck like a barnacle. Strongback clouted me once on the shoulder and ruffled my mane, turning and trotting back towards town. Big Bear plopped down on his haunches, turning to nose through his saddlebags. He tossed a cloth wrapped bundle to my father, who passed it to me, and turned back to pull a strange segmented bracelet out, which he spat into his hooves.
"We are going to miss you, Wicked." he intoned in his low, rumbly voice. "But your father was right, we aren't going anywhere right now, and something's gotta change. It's your job to find a way out there to make that change good."
My father nodded and gestured at the weird thing Bear held. "We think this can help. Me, Bear, and Rocky have been working on that thing on and off for a couple months, now, and we want you to take it with you." Bear tossed the bracelet at me, and I examined it. It was thick and heavy, the segments rounded and a dull greeny-brown color. One of the segments had a shiny black display, like a tiny terminal, set into it, and the segments above and below that one had buttons set into them.
Bear gestured at the bracelet I was examining. "That's an S.M.A., a Stable-tec Mapping Assistant. It knows where it is, and where it's been. Got the same mapping setup as one of those fancy pip-bucks, basically. None of the combat or medical stuff, but we've actually got one of these."
My father laughed. "Now, Bear, let's not let reality get in the way here. Put the thing on, boy. It'll teach you how to use it on the road, and, well, it's that time."
I did so, then shook Dawn off, hugging her tight before I shooed her back to my father. I then stood as straight and proud as I could, facing the big gate as my father yelled for it to be opened. The grinding clanks of the pony-powered winches seemed to be the loudest thing I had ever heard, but I kept my face composed and my stance confident as I trotted forward into the cleared verge.
I couldn't resist, and as the gate started to close behind me, I turned and reared, punching at the air with my front hooves as I yelled back. "See you in two years!" I dropped out of my pose back to all four hooves, turning the maneuver into the start of a gallop, south, away from my home town and into the unknown.
I didn't make it very far that day. I had been south of the gate before, but what little familiarity I had with the rolling hills ran out before my first burst of energy did. I dropped awkwardly out of my gallop into a rough canter, sorting my leading legs out over several steps. I settled down into the divided push of the canter, my back legs alternating while my front legs beat time against the ground. The green healthy land in and around Our Tacksworn swiftly faded into the brown scrub of the Wasteland.
Whatever had happened shortly after the skies had cleared was still a fascinating thing to us, something we chewed on around the fire or at the dinner table. Waves of rainbow light, cascading over the mountains, had stripped the radiation from the amphitheater and from the factories. The ground had been cleaner afterwards, easier to farm. The soil around the town and a fair distance out into the Wasteland had started to green, long-dormant seeds and shoots pushing their way up through the soil. The greening didn't stretch far from town, and it was starting to fade even as I passed out of sight of the town wall. I loped along in the canter, my mind stuttering and wavering between excitement and quivering terror.
I popped up over the crest of a small ridge and slid to a stop, confronting a terrible menace. The flat rounded paddles of the cactus only waved slightly in the afternoon breeze, and the pinkish flowers almost glowed in the sunlight. I kicked a hindleg up to knock Stickbird out of its sheath, and caught it as it flew forward. I slashed at the cactus monster, knocking several of the thick, fleshy flowers and a couple paddles off, and then threw my weapon back into its sheath.
"Yaar, vile wasteland monster, cower before me!"
I glanced around for the smiles and laughter of my appreciative audience, and seeing none, bent down to sniff at the fallen plant matter with a scowl on my face. The unfamiliar cactus had a light, pleasant aroma, and was weeping a clear fluid from the crushed and smashed damage done by my crowbar. I knocked the spines off of the paddles as best I could and wrapped them in a scrap of canvas before tucking them into my saddlebags... that smell had possibilities, oh yes it did. Looking around for signs of life and again finding none, I sidestepped around the cactus and pushed off into the wasteland with a ground-covering trot.
Time passed uneventfully for the afternoon, the rolling hills flattening out into a variegated plain, covered in scrubby grasses and the occasional nondescript bush. I harvested several of the infrequent mesquite bushes for their beans, stashing them in my saddlebags with the bundled cactus. As the sun lengthened, I began casting further away from my southern course, searching for a protected spot to spend the evening. Eventually, the lowering light revealed a clot of green, and I almost fell into the small pond surrounded by mesquite and other shrubs.
My stumbling push through the thick, thorny hedge startled the current occupant of the waterhole, who lunged at me with a screech, and gashed my left foreleg with its incredibly sharp teeth. Screaming, I managed to dance around the horrible fleshy thing and kick my weapon into my mouth grip. Stickbird sang through the air as I slashed at it, and the critter tried to dodge my strike, but failed. The pointy steel tip of my weapon ripped a furrow across its shoulder, and the creature, which I realized was a molerat, now that I had a moment to look at it, squealed again and charged. I was much more prepared this time, with better footing, and I met its charge with a powerful stab, putting my neck and shoulders into the strike. This, in addition to the molerat's own momentum, would...
Glance off its shoulder and leave me open to another bite on that same left foreleg. I managed to knock the horrid thing back and get my leg out of those gnashing teeth, but I was hurting, and the molerat hissed triumphantly at me before charging again. Desperation and pain-fueled anger added strength to my strike, and this time I struck true, putting the tip of my weapon directly between the molerat's eyes. The steel of the crowbar crunched through the skull of the molerat and into its brainpan and I dropped my end of the weapon and backed away as the dead thing started thrashing out its death convulsions. I quickly checked around for more of the naked, ugly creatures, and found nothing. I watched the molerat warily as its convulsions quieted to quivers, then ceased with a flatulent sound as everything in its body relaxed, spilling out both ends to join the bloody pool coming from its head.
I retched at the smell, then, my vomit joining the disgusting mess that had slumped noisily out of the molerat. Never my favorite part of hunting, to be honest. My saddlebags yielded some of the fragrant mesquite leaves, which I crushed and rubbed around my nose. Smell much improved, my saddlebags yielded one of the healing powders I had squirreled away, and a fresh cloth. A sprinkling of the powder directly into the wound caused me to hiss in fresh pain, but with a little more on my improvised bandage and a quick knot, I could feel the wound closing.
The corpse of the molerat was fortunately not leaking into the water hole, so I drug it out of its puddle of filth and splashed it with water from the pond, cleaning it as best I could. A cautious sniff indicated that the water was fresh and pure, and the healthy green surrounding the water argued in its favor as well. Deciding I was as safe as I could be, I cleaned my mouth of the taste of vomit and drank deeply, slaking my thirst and cooling off the heat of my day's travel and short combat.
Thirst quenched and wound dealt with, I kicked dirt over and into the puddle of sick from the death of the molerat, burying it neatly. The stench eased, brightening my spirits quite a bit, and it was with a happy spring to my step that I returned to the molerat corpse and dressed it out. The critter was light boned for its size, and had the subtle wrongness of proportion and form that mutated critters all seemed to possess, but the meat was firm and well marbled, there didn't seem to be any parasites, and it looked and smelled rich enough that with a little work, I might have bacon in the morning!
My joy doubled shortly thereafter. My decision to camp here for the night proved even better than I had thought, as the spring feeding this water hole had hollowed a small cave, just big enough for the sort of compact one-pony operation I was running. I setup a campfire near the front of the cave, but far enough away to keep from smoking myself out. The surrounding mesquite and scrub yielded more than enough dry dead wood to keep me in fire all night long, and I couldn't help but feel smug as my fire crackled to life, the first flames flickering up as the sun dropped below the horizon.
I processed the molerat into dinner and supplies as the evening turned to night, content and confident. The bones and tendons were too weak to do anything useful with, but the meat was fatty and smelled incredible, wrapped with mesquite leaves in a section of hide and roasting on the edge of the coals. I put together several meals worth of molerat steaks, wrapped in mesquite and grasses, and sealed in rough-stitched bags made out of the creature's own hide. While the hide didn't impress me with its toughness either, I was sure that it would last long enough to keep the meat from soiling my saddlebags. The creature wasn't naked, as I had thought, but only had a few sparse tufts of rank hair, useless. The smell of the molerat cooking changed subtly from 'cooking' to 'done', and I drug it out of the fire with the tip of my Stickbird. The meat went on one of my plates from home, and I filled a bowl with a rough field salad before digging in.
Victory, it turns out, is the best seasoning. Either that, or molerat is just good eatin'!
The mesquite branches and deadfalls I had started the fire with were very well behaved, burning long and hot. I didn't have to maintenance the fire too enthusiastically, which left me with plenty of free time. My first order of business was to check my gnawed foreleg, which was already well on the way to healed, thanks to the healing powder, and didn't look poisoned or infected. I washed the bandage out in the waterhole and hooked it on a mesquite's thorns to dry. I settled back down next to the fire, and pulled the bundle Big Bear had given me out of my saddlebags. The rough cloth sack revealed a treasure trove of chems, at least two Mentals, Buck, Dash, Stampede, even a couple doses of Fixer and a single dose of Hydra. As big as the chems were, they paled next to the two healing potions, cloudy bottles of darkest purple in their individual leather covers. The bag of a thousand caps stuck in the bottom of the sack was almost a letdown after the healing potions. We didn't have the ability to make them, and what few we had left were jealously guarded and precious.
I started crying as I put the bag back together and secured it in my saddlebags. I let the tears flow, staring into the fire. Everything was starting to sink in, and it was overwhelming. I thought this wasn't supposed to happen, I thought that I understood what was going on and that once I got started, I wouldn't be this scared. Not just of the Wasteland, though I knew it would do the best it could to kill me, but of failure. My home town was stagnating. We didn't have the tools or knowledge to do anything but fight, and the rejection of the 'raider thing' was one of the defining characteristics of our community.
If I couldn't find a next step, a way forward, we were doomed. That sobering, terrifying, horrible thought ushered me off to sleep.