The Courier's Journal

by RF and AG

Journal 9

A Broken Land - Day 1

A place torn asunder, opened up and swallowed whole by the depths of the earth. It is all coming back to me … the package, the town … the death. All that eclipsed my past life ended up in this even more hellish wasteland. Everything that I was, buried beneath the rubble of what Ulysses called, The Lonesome Road.

Perhaps the bullet was the cause, or maybe it was the sheer guilt I felt at what I had done. The reason doesn’t matter now, all that matters is that I forgot. I simply forgot this part of my past and all the lives that were a part of it.

To see the scarred rock and concrete, brought back shadows of what had been. It almost caused the end of me as well, for I was too busy in the past to realize that the present was of bigger concern. A horrid figure, wearing Legion armor, tried to take my head off. Had it not been for its shriek of rage, my journey would have ended there. Instead, it just brought three pistol rounds from Maria to the back of its skull.

When I turned over the body, I realized that at one point this monster had been a person. Well, at least as much of a person as Legion soldiers ever got. Still, it was beyond comprehension what horrors that this man must have faced to end up so twisted and broken. I soon learned, though, that he was not the only one; in fact he was far from it.

A handful more came shortly after, the cry from their now fallen comrade must have drew their attention. Perhaps they were once men, NCR soldiers or Legion, but now they were nothing more than feral ghouls who could wield weapons.

It was a small skirmish, since none of them had guns, but nevertheless, it was terrifying. It took nearly half a magazine of five-five-six to down one, if it wasn’t a headshot. No normal man could have survived such a feat … such a thought brought back flashes of The Sierra Madre. I determined, then and there, that I was not going to die in the same mess I created. No matter what it took, I would find Ulysses and end this.

From that moment on, the fight was quick and simple. I emptied the rest of the clip, leaving two Scorched Men (what I decided to call them) to fight. Fighting two fire axe wielding pyschos was tough enough back in New Vegas. Here, it about the same, but back then, I didn’t have a conviction.

Drew my knife and Maria. Parried the first axe and dodged the second, placing me behind one. Two quick shots to the head like the first attacker. Had to jump away from the other, which gave me time to unload the rest of the clip. It staggered and harmed the other enough to put it on its knees.

Boot to the face, followed by my knife through its forehead. Simple, quick, and deserved.

I looked around for others, but none came. All that stood in front of me was what looked like a deserted army base … for now. Normally I don’t like holing myself up inside of buildings, even if I can barricade them. I would have prefered to be up on the rocks, overlooking the valley just incase, but that wasn’t going to be an option. No, the cliffs were too jagged, and not enough ledges to perch myself on for the night.

Instead, I’m writing this journal inside of a nearly ruined barrack, the door barricaded shut and a small fire made out of pried floorboards.

Huh, a tear drop fell on the page.

Perhaps I’m not as strong as I thought I was.

Author's Note:

Even the strongest have their weak spots.

Also, yes I know their name is Marked Men, and not what I put.

Comments

[Dustchu]

Even the strongest soldiers shed tears in the face of battle and darkness.

Nice owkr on this!