Fistful of Caps (Oregon Trails) [FULL/FAST]

    “Right, right. . . I can fuckin' walk. . . “ He said, ...coughing on the smoke and haze coming from the building around them.

    Cat attempted to lead Bullseye out of the inferno, but they were both disoriented and unbalanced. As they cleared the doorway into the flaming streets of Tull, Bullseye stumbled and went down hard. Cat, turned back scooped under his arms as gently as possible, dragging him further away from the shifting structure looming behind them both. Crack. One of the roofing beams collapsed inward, causing a guser of embers and sparks to hiss from all opening around the building. The heat was intense as the wildfire had reached it' crescendo. Tull was fully ablaze.

    “Fuckin' shit. . . where the fuck are they?” He asked, looking around for Cat. She was, of course leaning over him at this point.

    "They went tah th' stable.... waitin' on us." she responded flatly, looking at his wound. Singed locks of dark gold hung around her soot smeared face as she studied the mercenary. The broken bone stood defiantly out from his arm, and Cat shook her head.

    “Need to set my damn fuckin' arm,” he said pointing at the bone coming out of his arm to make sure she noticed, though the steady flow of blood was probably enough to give it away.

    "Ah don't know how, dammit." She growled, "Told yah I ain't no fuckin' nurse." Cat drew her Sequoia is one hand, and her other she placed on Bullseye's chest. After scanning the streets quickly for signs of any more soldiers, she spoke. "Ah... don't know what tah do." she admitted quietly, her head swimming with fatigue and the chems. Her heartbeat raced, and her palms perspired. Was Earl still in the stable? Was he still alive? If Earl and Daniel fled while Cat was with Bullseye, the contract was void and she had lost her only lead. That couldn't happen.

    "Sorry, pardner, but one way or another you and I will make it to those stables, and we'll see to yer noodle arm there." Cat held the gun in her right hand, while her left glove took a firm hold to Bullseye's leather armor. Gripping the collar in one hand and keeping the heirloom weapon available in her right, the woman grunted as she dragged Bullseye backwards down the dirt street. Fresh blood began to flow from the woman's left arm as it strained to drag the mercenary. Debris and ash blew everywhere, and the roar of the flames had drown out all other noise. Tull had transformed from sleepy desert town to hell on earth in twelve hours. The smell of burning flesh began to hang thick in the air, and Catherine coughed when it first hit her.


    "Hold yer fire!" Cat yelled as she kicked open the door to the stable house. Dragging Bullseye in the doorway, she let go of his collar. "His fuckin' arm!" she wheezed as she stepped over the mercenary and dunked her head in the water trough. She emerged, sputtering and whipping tangled locks of hair from her face. Most of the soot had come off, but the rest of it smeared across the bridge of her nose. The eye was swollen ripe now, and it throbbed painfully. "He's gonna fuckin' bleed out... *cough* Earl..." she said, attempting to sit Bullseye in the stable hand's rocking chair. "I don't know what to do with that thing... and if it get's infectd..." Cat said quickly.

Earl was in his own little hell. He could feel his injury from his mad dash through the Dixie Pig throbbing, and his tired muscles were screaming for relief. But the physical pain wasn't the worst bit. He'd had injuries before. What got him now was the strange sense of unreality about the scene before him. Tull was burning. The very thing he had sought to prevent by forming the Devils, and now, he had failed. His eyes looked over the scene, and he moved over to the wall of the stable. He barely registered Daniels words of affirmation that he wanted the Enclave punished as much as Earl himself did- after all, Daniel had only been too eager before to join them- with a grunt.

The tired man wandered over to the stable wall as Daniel began his work, and slumped against it. He lowered his head slightly and took in a deep breath, which cut off into a strange sort of gasp at the end from pain. He tuned out Daniels vicious work, never having been a fan of torture himself. The Lieutenant was filth, but even filth deserved to be removed cleanly.

The hypocrisy of that thought based on what he had allowed Martius to do under his command, and his own dirty tricks struck him. His cracked and dry lips twisted into a self-mocking grin, and he shook his head.

His mind began to wander to other places as the torture progressed, and then he was suddenly yanked out of his own little world when the door slammed open.

Out of reflex, his revolver went up- only to come down as quickly when he saw the two figures. "Wha' the- Jesus H. Christ!" He exclaimed upon seeing Bullseye and Cats condition. His own pain momentarily forgotten, he staggered over to them and examined them.

He didn't know how to set a bone himself, never had need to do it. They had always had Doc, the town medical man to handle stuff like that.

He was probably dead now, and the thought was sobering as he moved over to the two new companions of his. Fortunately, Daniel appeared to have some medical knowledge, and Earl did as he said, pressing down on the shoulder as he listened to the group.

"Easy- Easy." He grunted, removing a shot of Med-X from one of his pouches, and tilted his head at Bullseye. Should the man have nodded in response, Earl would have injected him with it. Had he ignored it, and let Daniel set the bone back in place without any numbing agents, Earl would have shoved the medicine back into his pouch. "Las' one I got from the NCR supplies." He remarked, either way.

When Daniel brought up his plan to go to the Enclave bunker, Earl scowled. "Fine. But ah'm warnin' you right now, Sinclair, you better get us there quick."

He pressed his hand over his injured side, and sighed, "Comeon. Lessgo then. I wanna git outta here quick as we can. Sooner, the bette-" He froze, just now remembering the Lieutenant. He stalked over to the man, staring him up and down, "Sinclair, let them boys know their Lieutenant is over here. If anyones got anything to leave a surprise for them, leave it. But we're goin', now."

    “Need. . In bag,” [Bullseye] grunted.

    The two rebels held Bullseye as they administered their medical procedures. The mercenary struggled and writhed in Earl's grasp, his words lost in the rag. Catherine snapped out of her daze as Daniel set Bullseye's broken arm, joining the other's in their half-circle around the man.

    "Fuck fellas... Ah... ah already gave 'im my las' hit of Med-X..." she said soberly, staring at the rebel with tired eyes and a swollen brow. "Ah don't reckon it's good tah..." before she could finish, Bullseye passed out. She lifted one of the merc's eyelids with her thumb. A sinking feeling overcame her as the dormant pupils reassured the dark thoughts in the back of her mind. 

    "He's out..." At this point Cat's head felt unorganized, seeming to skip from one idea to another instead of a train of thought. Her head throbbed. Grabbing the mercenary's bag and dragging it to her, she frantically searched the satchel with her bloody left hand.

    He's gonna die. Is it my fault?

    It was then that Catherine's fingers touched two items of great importance. She produced the first item, handing it quickly to Earl. "Use tha Stim-Pak." she said to Earl. The gunslinger wasn't sure exactly how things like Med-X and Stimpaks work, beyond Med-X relieved pain and got a person all fuckered up and a Stim-Pak healed things much quicker than nature could. "Hyper-regeneration?" The woman had no idea the words were said aloud. Catherine, one of the Followers who had donated her first name, had also explained some of this medical stuff when Cat Fyre had been a young girl. Decades later, the memories were broken and foggy.

    Jet. The drug was an upper. Cat had some of it. Maybe increasing his blood pressure wasn't the best idea, but could it bring him back? Before Catherine could continue mentally scolding herself for her lack of medical skills, Daniel spoke again.

    "We can leave now, and get back to where I've got the Devils. There's proper medical supplies there. I don't want to risk getting it infected. Keep pressure on the wound."

    ...Earl scowled. "Fine. But ah'm warnin' you right now, Sinclair, you better get us there quick."

    He pressed his hand over his injured side, and sighed, "Comeon. Lessgo then. I wanna git outta here quick as we can. Sooner, the bette-" He froze, just now remembering the Lieutenant. He stalked over to the man, staring him up and down, "Sinclair, let them boys know their Lieutenant is over here. If anyones got anything to leave a surprise for them, leave it. But we're goin', now."

    Daniel went back to the Lieutenant, and knelt down in front of him. He looked at the man, and pushed on his knee to get back up, making him reel in pain.

    Catherine did not want to follow Daniel Sinclair to his home. She would be alone there, surrounded by maybe dozens or rebels, and wielding guns typically only carried by the NCR. Things might get ugly, quick. Bullseye's condition added to her already significant frustrations, and she simply nodded to Earl. Rising from her position near Bullseye and putting her left hand into her duster's pocket, the right hand produced the heirloom weapon. 

    She walked with an unsettling determination, approaching the bloody and battered Enclave officer. The others readied themselves and left the stable. Catherine stood before him, bloody and battered in her own right, and spoke in a venomous tone.

    "You slaughtered an entire town... fer what, exactly? ...Why!?"

    Regardless of his answer or silence, the magnum jumped once in her hand. His suffering had ended.

    Holstering the weapon, Catherine stood before the corpse. What had happened here? Finding a much needed cigarette, Cat struck a match and lit the tobacco up. As she took a deep hit, the woman found two bottle on the stable hand's desk. The first she to the floor, smashing the bottle and covering the straw in alcohol. What are you doing? Taking a swig from the second bottle, the golden haired woman struck a second match and slowly crouched to the floor. As fresh flames hissed across the stable, the main door was heaved open. The remaining brahmin fled the burning structure, their hooves pounding across the bloody streets of the flaming ruins.

    Cat managed a sort of jogging limp down the street, catching up with Daniel and Earl near the edge of town.

Earl had been heading for the door when Cat stopped him, producing the syringe. His eyes went wide, and he quickly moved over to Bullseye, lifting up the mans sleeve and pressing the stimpak into his arm as Daniel carried the man towards the door. He didn't say a word, just calmly and quickly administering the medicine, hoping that it'd work. Cat's words regarding the second dose of Med-X disturbed him, seeing as he had not been aware, and more than one Med-X dose could be potentially dangerous.

"Easy with him Sinclair-" He growled, following the man out of the house. He drew his .357 with the longer barrel, eyeing the ghost down that had once been his home. "Drop him once, and I'm hitting you over the back of the head. Now les' git movi-"

His words died off when he heard the retort of Cat's revolver from inside the stable, not looking back over his shoulder. He knew already what he would find, and he didn't much care. He never could put down a dog while looking at it, and he never much cared for the after-effects of it either. Funny. I could blow a man to Gods kingdom without battin' an eye, but when it comes to hurtin' a fuckin' pup I can't do a damn thing.. He shook his head, clearing his brain of such thoughts as they began to move.

"Eyes open. Com'on Cat-" He hissed, in an urgent manner as the gunslinger presumably joined them outside. "Lead the way Daniel. Now. And worry about your fuckin' self. Cat's walkin', and I'm walkin' and that's all you need to worry about right now. That, and making sure Bullseye doesn't bleed to death on you." He shook his head, pain seeping into his side as the adrenaline began to wear off.

At least wait until we get to the boys, please.. He silently beseeched his God, trampling forward in the dust, feeling awfully like an exile.

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

As the companions left the ruins of Tull behind, crows began to take over their vigil, noisily fighting over the best pieces. As the black cloud descended on the irradiated sands of Tull, a man watched in the distance through binoculars.

The man wore a ranchers outfit, and was laying prone on the ground. His eyes were glued to the binoculars in his his hands, as he surveyed the destruction wrought upon what had formerly been a proud, rebel town. The NCR flag flying over the destroyed ruins told him all he needed to know, and with a growl he forced himself up. He pulled a brown bandana around his face, and unslung his hunting rifle as he made his way towards the one place that'd be able to get the word out quick about what had happened to Tull.

After all, the Republics greatest weapon was its very own radio host. He faded away in the dust of the Oregon trails, another ghost in the desert.

 



      As the group trekked across southern Oregon, Catherine stopped and then turned to face the horizon. The day before, Cat had walked into the sleepy town and studied it's layout. There had been no need. Though Tull was over a mile behind them now, the roaring flames could still be heard in the desert winds. Hanging low, the stench of death clung to her clothes. The blonde woman stood and watched it glow until the others had made quite a lead. Cat would catch up... she just needed at minute. She had failed to save Tull from a grisly end. However, Earl and the Devils were still alive (mostly), and that meant her contract was still open. The caps were still waiting for her.

    The thoughts were difficult to work through, jagged, the pounding in her head particularly distracting. Was Earl a murdering rebel? Yes. The man had committed his sins. But did he deserve the fate Catherine's employer so ravenously longed for? Cat didn't reckon so. If she took him back to the Oregon Outpost, back near the border, Earl would be tried and probably executed in public. She would get paid handsomely, the barons would have their blood-lust temporarily satisfied, and Earl would become a martr for the rebels. No doubt it would rally the bastards stronger than ever before...


    
    Turned out, Cat was out of time to mull over the situation. A light footfall caught the gunslinger's attention behind her, and Cat Fyre wheeled around with the heirloom weapon drawn. She hesitated, then allowed her right hand to fall. A haggard young NCR Ranger stood before her, silent in the cool desert sand. She blinked repeatedly, making sure it was no hallucination. As wrecked as Catherine felt, hallucinations were a possibility. When he tapped his helmet and the visor flashed, Cat sighed.

    "You look like shit, Cat." the helmet whispered. The volume had been turned down.

    A strong breeze pushed across the badlands, sending dust across the injured gunslinger and the ranger both. Catherine shielded her eye with her dirty sleeve. The ranger's had helmet protected him from the debris.

    "Then ah feel like ah look. Where tha fuck were ya back there?" She asked, feeling relieved it was her contact and not some random ranger. Still, Clyde's silent arrival seemed suspicious.

    "Showed up as soon as I could, Kitty Cat. A little too late for Tull, by the looks of it. Good to see you alive. I the one in the rancher's hat would be the target?"

    "Listen... They killed most of tha townsfolk, Clyde. Fuckin' wore NCR uniforms and everythin'... they want y'uns tah take the blame. Fuckin' Enclave. Ah know it sounds crazy... really crazy..."

    "Yeah, they even set up a few NCR flags. I saw. Might be a rebel stunt. Who knows. There are so many inbred hicks it's anyone's guess why they did it. Shit. Even have a couple power armor suits to look like Enclave. Good work sticking with the rebel leader and his men. I've got a sniper on the east ready to hit the yokel in power armor when you're ready."

    "Now just wait a damn minute, Clyde, you can't shoot 'em. And that dosen't make sense, why the hell woud they burn their own town? It was the real Enclave, dammit. Why the hell would the rebels act like Enclave actin' like NCR!?"

    "You tell me... you seem awfully comfortable around them."

    "Psh. The guy in the armor... I need him alive. The man he's carrying, I need him alive. And Earl stays alive, too. That's all there is."

    "Look Kitty, you must have taken some bang to the head, 'cause you're talking crazy. We are taking that Earl fella with us. He's the rarget, right? The murderer? You get your cut, we get ours. If you really want the freak in Enclave Armor to live, I suppose we could let him go. I think that criminal should probably come with us just like Earl... dead or alive. He is still wanted, I think. Cat... The plan was we meet after the job, you give us Earl, and we split the money, remember?"

    "I remember the deal, Clyde. But ...you're not taking Earl or Bullseye. Ah have unfinished business." The gunslinger was weak, but not unaware. Another ranger was hidden nearby. Or was there more? She was exhausted.

    "Are you fucking serious right now, Cat? Do you know who you're talking to?" Clyde's body language wasn't relaxed anymore.

    "I know who I'm talkin' to, alright." Cat said quietly, raising the revolver to meet the ranger's gaze. "Now, shut up and listen good. You and your boys are not going to kill any of them. You can't have them. I know how yer boys operate with criminals... Yer jus gonna 'ave tah leave. I'm workin', and ah need those two with me. No negotiations. No bullshit. Ah... Ah'm sorry."

    "Alright, Kitty Cat... but I hope you realize this means your done. No more, Cat. You better just keep your little ass lost out here in Oregon, because you won't be able to come home. The Mojave is gonna look at you like another merc turned rebel. It won't matter who you're daddy was, the rangers are probably gonna hunt you down within a month, tops. Is that what you want?"

    "I don't owe you a fuckin' explanation, Clyde. I don't care what yah tell your boss er whatever, my business ain't done here. Please, just leave." The revolver shook in her hand.

    "You're making a big mistake. You just crossed the Rangers. Your dead to me, Cat. One more thing... Jonas Hawkins has been spotted in Oregon. The guy's been hunting rangers and kin. Chances are he'll be looking for you. Good Luck on yer own."

    The ranger chuckled, turned, and disappeared into the night. Cat's arm trembled with fatigue as she allow it to fall again. He heart was thudding against her ribcage, and her stomach became suddenly upset. What had she done? Without any assistance from the NCR, her journey would be difficult. And then... what if they did decide she was an enemy of the state?

    "Fuck." she whispered. The breeze was cold, and Catherine produced her bottle. After taking a few long gulps and lighting one of her last cigarettes, the woman replaced the bottle into her pack. The tired bounty hunter enjoyed the tobacco for a moment more, then hurried to find the others.



    Catherine caught up to Daniel and Earl, her boots crunching over the sand and dirt as she jogged. "Sorry. Had tah piss." she mumbled, noticing Bullseye lulling in and out of consciousness as she herself felt light-headed. Taking a long drag of the cigarette, she walked heavily beside Bullseye and Daniel. "Ah think he's comin' nack 'round. How much furhter till we get tah Dan's bunker?" Cat glanced over, exhaling smoke as she placed her hand on Bullseye's shoulder. The guilt was overcome by fatigue, and she continued to walk. Stay awake. Stay... awake.

"Ah think he's comin' nack 'round. How much furhter till we get tah Dan's bunker?"

"Here. I have to go in first. Spend too long identifying yourself, you'll be turned to ash."

Earl listened to Cat and Daniel, eyeing the little shadowed hatch. Such a tiny thing held all his men, and his uncle inside of it. Far from home, driven out of their town by the very people who had built the bunker initially. For a moment, his mind wandered to the flames of Tull, and all the bodies. His sisters. His brother-in-laws...all of them. All he had left was his Uncle, who might very well be dead now-

He snapped out of his thoughts as Daniel opened the hatch with giant black evil robot magic presumably, and stepped inside with Bullseye. Earl holstered his six-shooter as he entered the bunker, removing his hat out of habit. When he followed Daniel in, he was immediately put on guard by the fancy technology in the bunker, and by those pale blue lights shining out of the floor and ceiling. He suppressed a shudder, and reminded himself that this was Daniels bunker, and nothing could happen. There wouldn't be any boogeyman inside.

At least he hoped not.

"Fuckin' hate this place already..." He muttered quietly to Cat as he eyed it suspiciously. However, his eyes snapped over to a new sight now. A dirty man sitting down on one of the metal benches, his head in his hands. His brown pants were stained with an even darker color in places, and a bloody bandage was wrapped around his arm. Earl recognized him immediately, and strode over. He said the mans name, no louder than it normally would be, but almost in a searching manner. "Billy?"

He looked over his shoulder for a moment, seeing that Daniel had taken Bullseye off to a med bay. He then turned back to the man whose name he had called.

Billy looked up at his boss and old time friend, his lips twitching into a smile beneath his thin nose, a pair of spectacles providing a clear glass door to his dark eyes. He spoke up with his nasally accent, standing and grabbing Earls hand. "Hey-hey-hey Bossman..thought you were gonna let us rot in here." "I wouldn't ditch you boys. 'sides, you must be in heaven here. After all, you love technology and all those wires and shit." "Wasn't allowed to touch anythin' Earl." The man replied with a laugh, running a hand through his hand through his hair. A pair of greasy goggles hung around his neck, and they bobbed as he gestured around.

"How're the boys Billy?"

The lean greasemonkey frowned, pushing his spectacles back up his face and shaking his head quietly. His left hand began to twitch as he spoke, and he seemed to hesitate over each word. "They ain't doin' good Earl..they think everyone in towns dead..and we lost four more of 'em from injuries, despite the medicine-"

Earl cut him off there, "My Uncle?" "Nah, he's still breathin'..don' worry about him yeah?" The gunslinger seemed to sag at the news, the first relief he had been given all day. He quickly wiped his face before any tears of relief could fall, and tilted his head down to sniff. "That's somethin' at least-" but he stopped when he saw Billy's face, a look of yearning and hope plastered on the younger mans features. "Earl, it ain't true is it? Tulls okay?"

Earl was silent for a few moments, and pulled Billy closer to tell him privately what had occurred. By the end of it, Billy looked devestated, "Those god damn double dealin' dirty bear basta-" "No, no Billy! It weren't the NCR who dun' it." "Who was it then?" He asked incredulously. "It was some sorta others. 'Enclave'. Crazy fucks. From the stories. They rolled into town and..they killed everyone Billy. Your Ma and Pa. My sis. Johnny's brother...everyone."

Billy stepped away, shaking his head as he muttered denials for a few moments. He slumped back down on the bench, and Earl sat next to him, wrapping an arm around the other mans shoulders. "It's gonna be okay Billy...it's gonna be okay.." He consoled the other Devil, who began to cry into Earl's shoulder. Earl just held the man, glancing over at Cat.

The racket attracted the rest of the Devils, and soon a small audience was there. Earl let go of his friend, patting him on the back and leaving him to his grief. He clutched his hat infront of him as the men began to ask what was going on, some greeting Earl, but others diving right into the questions. Earl found himself facing a small crowd of men, all of them his age, or a bit older. All of them had put their lives on the line for a cause they had believed in. And all of them now could tell that something was wrong. As Earl began to recount what had happened to Tull, the mutters grew into shouting. Some of the men looked furious. Others devastated. And others just quietly wandered off in shock, bottles of whiskey in their hands.

When it was finished, Earl slipped off. The men had stopped paying attention to him, and had gone off to deal with their grief in their own ways, ways that not even a leader could intervene in. Especially considering that way almost inevitably involved alcohol. He just thanked God that his officers had been smart enough to order the men to have stored their weapons away while they were bored and had nothing to do.

He sat down inside one of the various rooms in the bunker, sliding against the wall. His hat was held in one of his hands, and he just stared at the far side. The adrenaline left him now, and he was able to fully comprehend the horror of what had occurred. What he had done, inevitably, in fighting the NCR. He closed his eyes, unsurprised to feel a bit of salty water streaking out of the corner despite his best efforts. He gripped his hat in a white knuckle grip, and then slammed it into the wall, swearing as he cut open his knuckles. "Fuck!" He growled, reaching into his pocket for his own flask, knocking out a few things. A crumpled note from a gal he had been chatting with, a key that his father had given him, and a fistful of caps. He looked these over, snorting. He'd have given all the caps in the world to have been able to fix what had happened, but no amount of caps could. "So what fuckin' use are they?" He murmured, tossing them to the side.

He buried his head in his hands then, and just went silent. He wouldn't even have heard anyone, should someone hac=ve entered.