Jimbo

In Sag Harbor there are a series of Ponds that are bunched together. In the Old World they were known as the Long Pond and Round Pond, and their smaller versions, Little Long Pond and Little Round Pond. But now, those old signs have become rusted and dented beyond all recognition and they are only known as the Ponds – a small farming community that make use of the irradiated water to plant crops of all kinds – but primarily maize.

However, one Pond's name was still recognizable in it's immediate surroundings – Crooked Pond. However, unlike the others, this water was even more irradiated than the others – making all plants watered by it sickly and mutated, and being all but undrinkable for humans.

This is where the Jynsts had their farm.

Jimmy and Joey were twins that were born on this farm by their parents, Emily and Adam Jynst. The Jynsts were immigrants to this area, having been pushed out from the west when the Waves from Shinnecock came crashing down on their settlement. Though they did finally find a place to settle, the farms around the Ponds had long been established and were owned by large and rich farming families – the upper class of the community if you will. So the Jynsts were forced to make their farmer around the Crooked Pond with other destitute farmers.

However, there was one other danger about the Crooked Farm, and that was that it was the southernmost point of Sag Harbor – and therefore the most vulnerable to the raiders of the Port. That issue had mostly died off since the Ponds came under the watchful eyes of the Guards but not that day.

It happened when the boys were twelve. The two were out some ways practicing their shot against a line of bottles when screams came through on the wind. They hurried back to find not only their farm, but all the farms by the Crooked Pond lit in flame. Gunshots rang out. Men ducked behind the cover of over turned barrels and crates, pinging off shots one after another. While women took up children and hurried inside – heading for cellars and the like.

But that did not save them from the Raiders.

Grenades launched behind the cover flushed the men out, before being gunned down. Joey flinched then scowled and Jimmy could see the rage set in his eyes, the boy took up his rifle, which did little good except against varmints and dashed down the hill to the battlefield. Jimmy ran after him, and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Don't go down,” Jimmy said, “It's suicide.”

Joey's eyes flashed. “They're killing everyone! How can we just stand by?”

“I would do something if we could, but it's not possible. We will die.” Jimmy said.

Joey stopped. He looked, as if sizing up his brother in one glance. “You're a coward.” He said.

The hurt lanced through Jimmy. What?

But Joey turned his attention back down to the hamlet of farms. A curse escaped his lips that would leave Mom aghast. “Damn bastards sons of bitches!” Before Jimmy could even get a question in edgewise, the boy rushed down the slope. I have no choice. Jimmy thought as he followed.

At the base of the hill one glance told the boys all they needed to know.

Fields of bodies lay sprawled out across the ground, faces blown apart, guts spilled. Jimmy bent over and puked, the world tipped on its axis. But through the haze all he could see is his older brother by a minute – red faced and wide-eyed and blood pooling out from the palm of his hands – where his fingers dug and pierced the skin. His fists balled up in blood.

“Where did they go?” He said, punctuating the words in snaps.

“The cellars.” Jimmy said, “They're after the women and children.”

“Mother!” Joey shouted, then turned and ran to their farm. But Jimmy stayed moored in place. “What are you waiting for?” He asked, before he vanished in the distance. Jimmy did not look at him, but at the field of bodies – at a body in particular. His father lay on the ground behind a busted open barrel – his arms and legs missing – his ribs open for the wasteland ravens. While Joey took in the entire scene with rage, Jimmy's eyes had honed on that lone figure, even now his head spun just at the afterimage of that corpse.

Dad was dead right in front of him, and all he could think of was his own rage.

He had to save Mom … from Joey. From his pigheadedness that would only bring the both of them, all that's left of his family, to their deaths. So he tore his gaze away and swallowed his tears. His legs leadened and weighed down with ever step he took chasing after his twin.

To the west of the Crooked Pond is the Rose Hill – a pre war farm had been set up there, and now the destitute farmers make use of it's old fields for their own crops. They also make use of it in the cases where they are not dwelling in prewar buildings to access the farm's large cellar. The Jynsts were one such case. The Jynst farm existed partly between both the Rose Hill and the Crooked Pond, a scrap shack with makeshift fence and rows of maize that swayed in the wasteland winds. To here the two boys rushed, darting between the blackened trees on the outskirts of the settlement as they did.

Pushing open the door, the boys stood transfixed. The ransacked shack awaited them, cushions with stuffing pried out, tin plates and utensils scattered on the floor, the hidden panel underneath Dad's workbench thrown aside and his pistol snatched, and who knows what else might be stolen.

Joey cursed again, intelligible gibberish as he punched against the metal wall. Jimmy's voice snagged his attention. “She's not dead.” He said, and the boy slowed and stopped. His haggard face zoned out on him, seeing through his twin brother and to the rows of maize behind him.

“How do you know that?” Jimmy thought that once his brother addressed him that glazed look in his eye would disappear and that Joey's attention would focus on him – but his hopes didn't come through. Joey still looked pass him, as if Jimmy had merged with the scenery in his mind.

“There's no bloodstains or bullet holes. No signs of a struggle. The house was empty when they came in. Mother may still be safe in the cellar up on Rose Hill. And, at the very least, others may be there – like Cecily.”

Cecily was the farmer's daughter adjacent to them, a few years older, and acted like a big sister to the boys. The three of them, along with Eddie from the opposite side of the hill, played in the safe confines of the Ponds. The adults worked hard to keep the dangers of the wastelands away from their community and the children had the first taste of childhood they ever had since they settled down in the Ponds.

The name Cecily calmed him down. Joey's shoulders relaxed and then he nodded. “Okay. Let's go then.” Once again his brother moved forward, leaving Jimmy to hurry along in his wake. Through the staggered pants and pleas to slow down, Jimmy could see the glint in the boy's eyes. A iron determination replaced the glazed look from before, and, for a moment, Jimmy thought things will be alright. Joey could make the impossible possible.

But that taste of childhood had already rotted away.

For the moment they made it to the old farm, a scene of desolation laid before them. Where at their home, they knew that the place had been stormed and raided by everything being disturbed and out of place, here they knew that a shoot out had taken place by the wave of bullet holes on the walls behind them when they walked in and by the body crumpled on the ground.

“Mom!” They both shouted.

The woman's eyes cracked open. She watched her sons descend on her and kneel by her fallen form. “Wh … what – ”

“Don't speak,” Jimmy said, his hand reaching over and clutching her hand. Desperation flooded him. She needs to live. Not her and Dad too. She needs to live. But the weakness of her pulse and the way she flinched when touched revealed the truth. She had been shot in the shoulder and the stomach – she would not live.

But, again, Joey could not see the truth. “Stimpacks!” He shouted through tears, “Where are they kept in here? We need to – ”

Her confusion slipped away at that moment and Mom regained her voice, “You need to run.”

“Wha...What?” Joey said.

Jimmy fell silent too, but from the noises coming through the trap door behind her. Shouts, sobs and male laughter – crude and laden with derision had been a constant background noise. But in that instant a scream spiked, cutting through the words. When it died off, their mother reinforced “Leave now, while you can.”

“What's happening down there?” Joey said, his voice dropping down an octave.

“You need to leave. Before they come back up. You both need to live.”

She said it as if she knew she was going to die.

“I'll stop them.” Both Jimmy and their mother snapped their heads over to him, but Joey already went to the kitchen counter and picked up a knife.

“What are you – ” Jimmy began.

“Stop! Stop right now!” Mother screamed.

But Joey pried open the trapdoor and jumped down.

Jimmy reached out for him, but Mom grabbed him by the ankle.

“Please.” She said. Tears swelled in her eyes, tears tinted red as a wound on her cheek mingled blood with them. “Please.”

“But Joey ...” Jimmy's voice trailed off.

He won't be coming back out. Her eyes told him.

He turned around. Turned his back to his fallen mother, to his brother down below with the screams. He turned around and ran.

He did not get far.

For some reason, the boy darted home, with equal parts speed and stealth. Perhaps the shack symbolized safety and security to him, despite the fact that living in the Wasteland all his life should have taught him better. Sure enough, Jimmy pried open the door to slip inside when a hand reached out and covered his mouth. He tried to scream, but the smell from the cloth around his nose and mouth invaded him, made the world fuzzy and indistinct.

He awoke in the twilight of the wastes. He sensed more than felt the ropes on his arms and legs. When the world straightened again, he found himself bundled together in a group by a campfire. Huddled masses of quivering limbs and soft sobbing. Young voices. Children, young women – and it did not take long after that for him to realize what had happened.

Slaves.

When his eyesight had fully adjusted he saw his brother.

Or, at least, Jimmy thought the boy was his brother.
Bruises and cuts covered him. Black-eyes and swollen cheeks. A bandage wrapped around his right hand, speckles of blood poking through – the same hand that held the knife when he jumped down. He could not take them. Jimmy knew that. Had ran from the reality that his brother and his mother would die in his place, and while he should be happy that Joey was alive with only a few wounds to show for it, he wasn't. Because … the air around him had shifted. Or, rather, corrupted. Like his inner person had been sucked out of him, leaking a husk with hollow eyes behind. Those eyes did not stare at him, but rather looked ahead – fixed and immovable. Jimmy followed his gaze.

Cecily.

The young girl laid bound, her back against the flickers of the fire. The air around her too had changed. Jimmy could no longer imagine that bubbly smile on her face, nor see her pushing them along on the back of Brahminn's in the pens. Still, silent, cold – and her eyes … they put the listlessness in Joey's to shame. Jimmy felt his stomach rise, the world swim and pain sprout through every part of his body.

And he wasn't even the one who had the crush on her.

In the next morning, when he awoke, he saw one thing. The sight of the raiders converging down on Cecily as she thrashed on the ground, blood spraying out in crimson patterns. A switchblade waved in one hand while blood dripped down from the other. While shouts of “How did she get it?” and “She cut her damn ropes!” echoed across the campsite, they thrust the girl back to the ground and tied her up again.

In the following days as they traveled, their captors(Scavs he learned) had one member of their raiding party by the side of a captive at all times. But the precaution became unnecessary – no one tried to kill themselves again, not even Cecily, who winced with every step and shudder when looked on by the Raiders.

The length of the walk went on – descending into a monotony repetition of steps and swaying shoulders – hands and arms bound even in travel. They chain the slaves together, so if even one tried to bolt and run, the rest would be dragged, slowing the procession down and letting the Scavs shoot the runaway in the back. After that, they unchained the body and threw it down into the wastes and went on.

Sometimes Jimmy wondered what happened to those bodies – what manner of wasteland critter devoured it after they left.

He needed to think of anything to ignore the beating of the sun.

It came in bits and pieces. A brown blob on the horizon, beneath the radioactively hot sun. Until he glimpsed the glint of light glancing off of it, Jimmy didn't realize he saw metal. Sheets of metal, stacked and melded together, formed a wall that jutted off the wasteland floor. Only when he saw the crow's nest that peaked over the wall, that the entrance became visible.

Beneath the crow's nest are three tunnels. They seemed … different, from the metal that made up the walls. The tunnels had corroded and rusted over the years – ancient in the way only pre-war remnants are. As the group, captives and captors both, passed through them rows of windows – blown open or with jagged glass teeth -revealed themselves. Jimmy stared through the windows, seeing the solid metal of the wall. They passed armed guards who stood through the tunnels behind sandbag barricades, smiled at the women captives with smiles that made Jimmy's skin crawl.

One of those smiles stretched out on the guard at the end of the tunnel. Behind him stood a giant fan, it's teeth blades that kissed the ground. Through the teeth, Jimmy could see a pre-war building – concrete seats, old computer monitors stacked against the wall, and faded propaganda posters plastered on the ceilings. The guard had a blackened smile, teeth rotting in his gums, and stood before a generator.

One of the Scavs walked up, “New arrivals for the Port.” He said.

The guard with the black teeth smiled wider, “Yep, Big Tony will be hella happy. Big haul.” With that, he pressed a button and the fans budged a inch, he pressed another and they stopped. While the captors ushered the beaten down people inside, the gatekeeper caught Jimmy's eye and smiled, “Hey kid.” He said.

No one has talked to him in days. “What?”

“Wanna guess how fast this fan goes?”

What is he say –

“Or what happens to a slave who tries to run through it?”

Once he came into the building, he understood. The monitors pressed against the wall served not only to make room in the rest of the building, but formed a ring. The Scavs shoved the captives into it, and the buzz of electricity in the wire fence around the pen stilled them.

Time flowed in staggered gasps. He did not slip in and out of consciousness like he did before, but rather minutes drained by with pain. Every second he sat there, only able to stare at the pulsating light of the electrified fence, brought him closer to nausea. For the first time since they were gathered, whispered words rode in the air between the group. Mainly those of children asking what is going to happen now.

The answer to that question came with a flood of people, who came in, one by one, through the wide glass doors in the front. No. Not people. Raiders. Raiders like those Scavs who captured them, but dressed a bit different. They wore more tattered and torn leather armor that just covered the essentials. And had a variety of different headwear – a masquerade of demons, just for him.

Or not. For them.

It became clear that the raiders came to barter – to buy them as slaves. While a couple outsiders were interested, it seemed the main buyers were a gang called the Lifesavers. A giant of man, well over six feet, in a shredded duster painted black with a white claw on the back. He spoke with the boss of the other group, wagering prices. There was a familiarity there – the two had done this business before. Had raided, capture and brought back captives and then sold them to the other.

Jimmy remembered the fire in Joey's eyes, now gone, and his fingers curled up into fists.

Why had I not felt this anger before? But Jimmy knew. Fear and self-preservation kept it at bay before. But it was simply too late for either now. He sat, shivered, as one by one old familiar faces vanished – never to be seen again. He watched Cecily be taken. The Fuller twins whose family owned the Brahminns. Eddie, who Jimmy had not seen until now, bought by some small group called the Steadies for who knew what. Lastly, his own brother, dragged away.

“No!” Jimmy shouted, but then one of the raiders smacked him down.

But he did not stop.
“Joey!” He shouted again and was punched this time, thrown back. That got his glare focused on the man who abused him, “Give me back my brother!” But despite that the Raider just chuckled and walked off, pulling out a cig as he did.

But the commotion caught one of the bosses', the big man in the duster, attention.

Jimmy felt the man's gaze on him, and then returned it. There's no way I'll let you take Joey from me. I've lost everything! I need him back! The thought was fruitless he knew, but Jimmy thought it anyway, a fire he had never felt before burning through him. He had left it all on his brother's shoulders, relied on him, and now they were separated. He had to … he had to get him back. His eyes screamed such thoughts to the man.

And so when it came to Jimmy's turn to be sold, the Scav boss held up a single hand.

“What?” Said the other boss. He was a grim-covered bearded man. His eyes cold and sharp.

But the Scav boss didn't back off. “This one's not for sale.”

And Jimmy felt his head spin.

“And why wouldn't he be?” The slaver boss said.

“Simple. I've taken a liking to the boy.”

But that just made a smirk eek out on the slaver's face, “Oh? You like boys? Is that what you learned back in your Regulator days?”

O God. Jimmy dimly thought.

But the man scowled. “Fuck you, Iago.”

The man held up his hands. “Hey. Anything goes in this city. You should know that best of all, Regulator” He spat it out as a insult.

Then they cleared out, until only Jimmy remained behind in the pen. The boy stared at the man, Tony, who walked forward. There was a different air about him than that of the Raiders. He didn't feel bloodthirsty but not warm either. A weary sort of coldness. With ice-eyes the man looked down at him, and, looking up, Jimmy felt the words leave him before he could stop the, “Why me?”

He did not expect the man to respond.

“Because you were the only survivor.”

What? “There were a lot of survivors. You just sold them all!”

“Those were slaves,” The man said, “You are the only survivor from that settlement. The only one who can still fight.”

That stopped him. “Fight?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes. I will teach you how to fight.”

“And why would you do that?” Jimmy had about as much trust in these Raiders as there was clean water in the world.

But instead of answering, the man pushed a button and the electricity turned off with a buzz. That was all Jimmy needed. He brushed past the man and charged to the glass doors where Joey was taken. But he stopped when Tony grabbed him by the collar. “That is why I will teach you to fight.”

Jimmy craned his neck around, “Why?” He spat out again.

“I've order my men to have a modicum of self-restraint – they will not kill or rape children, but that is sometimes not enough. The children brought in this time were too broken to be of use. All save you. I can use you. I can train you. And you can learn to kill. That is why I will teach you to fight. You're the sole survivor who is capable.”

“And why would I do that?” Jimmy wanted to break away from his grasp and claw the man's eyes out, but his grip was too strong.

“Because it's the only way you're getting your brother back.”

And, like that, Jimmy stilled.

“Your brother, and the rest of the slaves, are under the Savers' control now. If you want him back, you have to buy his freedom. To do that, you need caps. And the quickest, easiest way to get them is to go out on raids.”

“Raids? Do to other settlements what you did to ours? Fuck that.”

“If you will not be of use, you will be sold back to the slavers, who will find a use for you.” His tone held the threat of danger, as if the fate of being sold was worse than he could imagine. With that, the man, Tony, left, leaving Jimmy lying on the ground with his thoughts.

After three hours, Jimmy approached the man after a meeting and agreed.

The years passed after that. Jimmy, or Jimbo as the other recruits now called him, got into a routine. Eating in the morning, shooting practice, lunch and then helping the raiding parties deliver their spoils back into the Port. During the off hours, he tried to sneak out and see his brother, but the guards blocking the doors prevented that. Though he had free range within the pre-war airport he was still a prisoner in some regards.

But time wore down his sense of being caged and he grew bonds with the new recruits despite himself. The new Scavs were children as well, but unlike him who was taken from a raided settlement these ones were merely born and raised within the gang. They had adopted their parents bloodthirstiness, bragging to each other about how good of a shot they were, how they could make a brahminn's head skull smash open, and, later, once they hit the pre-teen and later years, how they were looking forward to “samples”.

That's what they called taking their spoils of war in the aftermath of a raid – having a “sample”, because after that the women in whatever settlement they hit would be enslaved by the Lifesavers and the Scavs could then go and buy her if it suited them.

So, like that, casually as a part of small talk, Jimbo discovered what his brother saw all those years ago.

He plotted his escape attempt from that moment on.

First thing, he needed to get pass the guards. He could not leave without Joey (and though the memory is faint at this point, Cecily as well) and that meant getting outside, crossing the length of the city, finding the Saver's territory and freeing Joey. Impossible. It was impossible as of now, as he did not have the Scav's trust. That would change once he went on his first raid and came back with his first scavenged supplies, but that required finished training. He did not have that much time. Or rather, he could not wait any longer.

On the matter of time, he also discovered that it would not be as simple as he thought to buy his brother's freedom. A successful Scav could save up caps to buy a slave or two, but to buy a slave's freedom meant to wipe away any record of the person's past enslavement. Upon the buyer's death, the ex-slave would not go back into slavery, his children would not be sold as slaves, and he could join the gang of the buyer as a member. In order to buy a slave, a set price needed to be match, in order to buy freedom the buyer had to match the price the slave would make over his entire lifetime of servitude.

Jimbo could not make that sort of money … at least not without doing outside work.

As a business, the Scavs only hired themselves out as bodyguards to the infrequent visitors to the Port in the last decade. For those merchants who dared to enter the town to sell their wares, have a night of rest and entertainment and then leave, the Scavs were not only the first group they came across through the gates to offer protection, but the best. Since the Bootleggers would almost always backstab any woman who enters the city and set them up into prostitution, which is still a better fate than anyone who ends up in the hands of the Lifesavers, the Scavs were the only ones of the Big Three that could let visitors enter into the city and leave in one piece. That is not to say that visitors being protected by Scavs are safe, since any gang can decide to attack anyway and start up a gang war, but at the very least there was a chance of getting through unharmed.

Ironically, though the Scavs were the best at the bodyguard business, few ever wished to do it. Besides the glory and bragging rights associated with raiding, scavenging just brought in better results. The other gangs relied on the supplies and source of people carried in through the gate. Because of this discrepancy between the necessity of scavenging but the steady revenue gathered from bodyguard work the Scavs continued it despite lack of interest. In that regard, bodyguard work killed two birds with one stone. It let Jimbo save up caps for to buy Joey's freedom and it allowed him to escape the building and experience the rest of the Port.

The Port spread out over a far greater extent than Jimbo had thought before. The Scavs set up shop in the northern edge of the city, where the old pre-war airport once was. Before it stretched a stretch of a airstrip, rigged with mines that moored Jimbo to the spot when he first stepped out. In the distance, he could make out the metal roofs of buildings or the smooth concrete of pre-war ones – the closest being a cracked concrete wall to the west. “Hangars,” Jiji told him. “The Inquisitors lock themselves up in there. We're technically allies but I wouldn't get too close to the sick freaks if I were you.”

Jiji lead the Guide Association, the Scavs' organization that hired out bodyguards to travelers. Jiji decided to accompany Jimbo on this first trip, though the job itself was simple. A trader from the Waves had come the previous day wishing to speak to Tony. Afterward, he decided to head out to the town to get some food and drink and to sell some of his loot he had carried all the way here. Or, at least, that's what Jimbo thought the man wanted to do. Just like with the Lost Ones in East Hampton, the man was clearly crazy. He twitched with every step, head lolling from side to side, and when he spoke he did so in broken heaps, words colliding into each other to become only vaguely understandable.
So the duo lead the man out through the reinforced glass doors, pass the minefield and further south. As they walked, a crisscross grid of scrap buildings grew before them. Their goal was to the southwest, the next gang territory closest to the Inquisitors. There rested the Bootleggers well-known Living Waters alehouse, whorehouse and casino. But right before it was a makeshift marketplace, really no more than a handful of stalls set up to sell wares. Apparently, the visitor wanted to sell his goods there before grabbing something to drink and eat and then going back to Shinnecock.

They approached the Poseidon Energy which served as the mouth of Bootlegger territory. The trio took one step and then the guards spotted them. Spotted them and opened fire. “Damn!” Jiji said, jumping behind the nearest cover. Jimbo went to follow him only to see the Wave spinning around in one place, oblivious to the danger, so Jimbo dragged him back as well.

“So, what now?” Jimbo asked once all three were safe behind cover.

Jiji paused, as if his mind was stuck in mud, “They shouldn't be attacking us,” He said at last, “This'll start a war.”

“Aren't there always wars in the Port?”

Jiji glanced down at him, “But with the Savers in their succession crisis? With Iago killing off his men one by one? The Bootleggers must be crazy to start shit now.”

“Maybe they don't realize we're Scavs?” It is the only thing Jimbo could think of.

Testing it, Jiji poked his head over the crate, “Hey!” He shouted, “We're Scavs! Don't – ”

And then ducked again when a new fury of bullets blasted through.

“They know,” Jiji said, panting for breath.

Jimbo just stared at him, face blank.

A voice from behind broke Jimbo's incredulously. Both men turned to see the Wave, who, like all of his kind, had his face coated in blue, focus in on them with coherent eyes. Jimbo, for a moment, thought he might say something sane, when the man said, “The Sea of blood is calling. Will you answer the call?”

And Jimbo's blank face returned. “What?”

But the man went on, his voice lulling under the dings of the bullets. “We answered the call to come that the Big One gave – to dance on the Waves of death, to coax blood out into the Sea. Will you join us? Blood for blood, death for death? Or will you stay trapped in this cage of metal?”

Jiji just shook his head. “Enough,” He said, grabbing Jimbo's shoulder. “We need to go.”

But Jimbo turned on the man, “Did Big Tony agree to align with the Waves?”

Jiji stopped. “What?” Since the conversation began that word leaped from man to man.

“You heard me: Did Big Tony agree to go on a raid with the Waves? There are a few coastal settlements in Sag Harbor. I think this guy came to make plans with Big Tony – it's the reason why he stayed and had that meeting with the boss. But I think now he's asking if the deal is still on – or if we are just going to keep fighting in the Port instead of make a profit.”

The strength fled the pirate in one gasp of air. Then he turned his attention to the Bootleggers, who approached with cautious steps, doing cover fire all the while. The man's eyes hardened from their coherency into a cold craziness, the sort of eyes he must always have when he travels on tin rafts over Mirelurk-infested waters.

Jimbo honestly wasn't surprised when the man pulled out the hunting rifle strapped to his back and began picking off shots. Jiji and Jimbo followed suit, shooting over their shoulders at the encroaching force as they backpedaled. Once there was enough distance, they broke away and sprinted to the airport. When they made it back, Jimbo could make out the force of Bootleggers waiting on the other side, a minefield between the two.

War had broken out.

It turned out that Jimbo got the gist of the problem. Big Tony, Regulator turned Raider, had joined up with the Waves for one raiding session behind the backs of the rest of the Port. The Bootleggers took the chance to incite a fight against the Scavs in order to prevent them from cashing in on whatever spoils they might have gotten from the Waves. Not that it took much persuading for any of the gangs in the Port to go to war with each other. It was merely a event a bit different from the norm, and that was enough.

Being that Jimbo was still a recruit and was only able to escape outside due to the loophole of taking up bodyguard work, for the entirety of the war the boy was trapped inside the airport. Still, he heard word that the Lifesavers did not engage and join either side, still too caught up in their own internal strife, which gave him hope that Joey would stay out of the conflict.

The Port closed down as the war went on, stopping all traffic. With no visitors to guide, Jimbo became trapped again within the airport, whittling away his time with target practice. But soon enough he would have his first taste of actual combat.

The Bootleggers charged in through the minefield. The very action, the very sight before the Scavs revealed that there must have been a leak. Just the thought of what Tony might do caused shivers down Jimbo's spine. The Scavs were quick to set up a defence, and the hail of fire sent down on the Raiders in the open field did mow down a few of them. But they were apparently wearing some sort of armor, perhaps old pre-war bullet proof vests, underneath their clothing. They came with the intention of being shot Jimbo realized, and knew then that the Bootleggers wouldn't be able to do anything here. This was a desperate attempt after the war had already been won. Bragging rights. In the Raider City of the Port everything hinged on that.

But apparently the Bootleggers hadn't considered everything. For as their laser weapons cut across the open space, several figures began to line up on the rooftop. One by one the force dwindled, for with each shot from the snipers above another person died. And while the Raider City loved it's blood, gore and violence, you still needed to be alive to tell the tale. So the Bootleggers broke and retreated, some of their numbers dying with every step backwards. Also, without the careful consideration of where to walk several went off the safe path and blew up in an explosion of smoke.

When the dust settled the Steadies had earned themselves a new reputation as snipers.
When the dust settled the Scavs were never again attacked at their main headquarters.

When things settled down, once more Jimbo took on a job for Jiji. It had been three years since taken in, and soon he would be pushed into raiding, just like the others. He wanted to hold off on that as long as he could, doing whatever he could to earn caps and to see his brother again.

That time came far sooner than he thought. Jimbo had been hired to join a scouting expedition to the outskirts of East Hampton. A underground bunker had been discovered there, hidden underneath debris, and the Scavs wanted to check it out while avoiding the the swarms of Lost Ones.

Jiji was the head of the expedition, and he outside of Jimbo he brought along a couple other bodyguards as well. But upon stepping outside the Port for the first time in years, Jimbo found out that the Scavs were not the only ones in on this project. There were representatives from each of the gangs. The Bootleggers had brought a scarred man with barely a hint of skin not covered. He wielded a laser pistol on one hip and a rifle cradled in his hands. An Inquisitor came as well, a silent man in a archlight mask and Rippers in each hand. As for the Steadies and Lifesavers …

Jimbo halted.

No, “halted” is too mild of a term. He ceased. All movements, all words, all thoughts. His mind could not quite comprehend what he saw. There, before him, stood Eddie, his old childhood friend, decked in “Painspike” armor (as the raiders called that particular brand of shredded leather clothing) and a psycho tic helmet, which most of the druggies wore. But Jimbo could see the cold eyes underneath and the familiar way he held the Infiltrator in his hands.

But his full intention honed in on the Lifesavers. The slaver in Blastmaster armor walked toward the group with two slaves in tow, each heaving a giant weapon as they waddled behind him. But the one on the right approached steadily, his muscles flexing underneath his rags with a controlled ease as he lifted the massive minigun. Underneath the tattered mat of his hair his brother Joey glanced at the group with a steel glint in his eyes.

“Joey!” He said. He couldn't help himself.

The boy, the man, stopped. But then his eyes widened like tin plates. “Jimmy?” He asked.

And then the slaver smacked him.

“No talking to – ” Jimbo rammed into him, shoulder shoving the man aside.

In an instant, the slaver pulled out a gun and aimed from the ground. Around him, Jimbo could hear a wave of guns being drawn, the metallic clink against leather as barrels left holsters. Jiji aimed at the back of the slaver's head, while the Bootlegger had his laser rifle drawn on him. The Inquisitor stood by the sidelines – there wasn't much he could do with a chainsaw sword in a gunfight. Eddie looked like he wanted to do something, but didn't. And Joey just stared and stared at his brother, stuck in the middle of the shootout.

“Yo. Uh. Jimbo? I kinda need some justification to start up another war so soon.”

The slaver foamed at the bit – “I'm going to kill this sonofabitch.”

“Don't hit my brother you motherfucker, unless you want to be missing a head.”
Instead of letting his anger flare up the man considered, “Your brother?” Then realization struck, “You're the one that got away. There's not two, but three of you in this group? Shit.”

A mood shift settled over the group then. As if moving in one accord, the rest of the Raiders pulled away, holstering their weapons, and then stepping back, leaving Eddie, Joey and Jimbo in the middle. They're going to keep a watch on us. Jimbo realized. And a single glance and the apologetic Jiji convinced him.

The trip was uneventful, to say the least. The group moved further and further east, but in a cautious silence with eyes focused on the wasteland. Whenever Jimbo tried to speak up, mainly to Joey, the other raiders, particularly the Saver, cut his words down. But more than that, it seemed like Joey (or Jobbo as some of the slavers were now calling him mockingly) himself didn't want to talk.

But the silence shattered with a howl.

The Raiders broke out in gunfire, drawing their weapons and then shooting at the noise in one motion. Screams followed, bloody gasps through the hail of blasts, and when the gunshots died off, a disfigured form lay in a thickening pool of red. Jiji walked up and kicked the body over with his boot. While still hard to make out, the 66 on it's back could be seen.

“A Crazy.” A tension snapped in the air. “We gotta go.” But the rest of the group was already moving before Jiji finished.

Though they sprinted in the opposite direction, they were still too late.

Everywhere. They came out of everywhere. Underneath the wreckage of some prewar buildings by the water's edge, crawling over a jutting hill to the west, and one even jumped off the roof of a nearby building, his leg cracking and bending at a angle. He dragged it behind him as he chased after them, a song rising up behind them, “Ho ho, the mistletoe hung where you can see!”. The others stormed through the blood of the dead Crazy, but the singing one just waddled through it eyes dancing in a similar red.

Perhaps he was too distracted by this deranged man (who was even now shifting to the lyrics, “Oh by golly have a holy jolly – ”) to notice the other come up behind him and smack him over the head with a baseball bat.

Jimbo awoke in starts, one moment the world closed in on him in an inky black, and the next it broke out in a hazy white. In those moments, sensations of all sorts plagued him. He could smell something putrid, like htat of shit, rotting bodies and splattered gore. Hecould see grey buildings, cracked and fallen, blurred into the haze.

But on top of all – he could feel.

Pain. Pain was everywhere. In his head, in his back, in his legs – a burning, constant pain. He could also feel dirt or concrete or asphalt beneath him – a hard surface that his body was dragged over. No. He felt it then – hands. Hands under his armpits. Someone dragged him over a rough surface.

And then everything snapped into place.

Crazies all around marched in file, legs and arms swinging. The one dragging him said, “The Drake! The Drake! He slithers on his stomach and eats his own limbs! He needs legs! He needs arms!”

“We will give him legs! We will give him arms!” The rest chanted.

… And that was his cue to get the hell out of dodge.

In one motion, Jimbo bolted up, breaking the man's grasp and ran … and tripped. He cursed as he stumbled, and then glared behind him at the obstruction ... and stopped again.

A fallen tombstone.

Jimbo glanced up to see rows upon rows of stone headstones, cracks and chips running through pre-war names. The last of the sunlight vanished off the horizon, and the receding light revealed a clinging mist that hugged the rocky soil of the cemetery. Through this mist, the Crazies crept, faint green light, flickering now and again into blood-soaked red, shone through the fog. “Caall,” They droned, “He caalls for you, for everyone, for the Cosmo and his monkey. You will dance for us.”

“Dance for us!” Some shouted.

Then, together again, “On marionette strings.”

Yeah. Great recruitment policy, guys. Sounds fun.

Though he tried to make the tone of the thought sarcastic in his mind, Jimbo's whole body shook, and his urge to vomit had nothing to do with the pain. I need to run. The dim thought followed, but his body did not budge.

Only when the first emerged out of the haze and gazed down at him did Jimbo find his legs. He ran. Ran to the gate of the cemetery while the Crazies approached in staggering steps behind. “No one escapes ...” A voice whispered. But Jimbo thought, If I run fast enough, I –

Jimbo fell.

He did not trip like he did before. He collasped like a marionette with it's strings sliced in a second. With his belly pressed agains the ground a sensation which he'll never forget came over him. The best way to put it is that some force cracked open his skull, pried it open, and then poured liquid fire into it. Jimbo screamed and rolled back and forth on the ground as sounds, sights, and sensations overwhelmed him. Voices, from the deep, rose up in his skull, “You are ours. You are ours.” They said, and Jimbo realized that the voices came from without. Breaking oven his eyes, he saw the Lost – the Crazies huddled about him. They held a loft a grimy Vault 66 jumpsuit. Jimbo wanted to be unnerved by the situation but instead he stood up and began to walk to it. What am I doing? He thought.

The hands of Jimbo ran through the fabric while the Lost Ones (Crazies, a quiet voice pleaded – they're crazy) hummed. He desperately wanted to wear it. Not for the jumpusit itself, but to become One with the all. Because once he did – he could eat. Starvation struck him from all over – engraved in his bones and flesh. All Jimbo wanted to do was claw a man's eyes out and bite –

Jimbo tore the suit away and chucked it to the ground.

Dozens of eyes flashed red.

The next moment blurred by in pain. Jimbo could not reach for his gun, could not even get out of the way. Punches, clawing, biting (in his forearms when he shielded his face), and kicks rained down on him as he curled up on the ground. I'm going to die. He thought with an air of certain conviction. He eased into death, his mind fading away.

But not before he heard the gunshot.

Jimbo awoke to the smell of burning.

Then he remembered how he passed out.

The man screamed and jumped to his feet. He went for a gun that was not there, and realized he was in a definite un-cooked state.

Then someone pressed a sawed-off shotgun to his temple.

Jimbo's body tensed. Arms, legs, back. The Raider looked at the man across fro, him. They were of a similar height, though Jimbo was but a boy. But what the stranger lacked in height he more than made up for it with intimidation. Geared head to toe in a gray-white combat armor sawed-off shotgun in hand and twin desert eagles on his hips, he looked ready for war. But what really stilled Jimbo were his eyes. In a face obscured with a bandanna above and a face mask below, the man's eyes gazed at him with a dead eye – the beys of many a Raider, the eyes of a killer.

They would make good eyes in red. The thought came.

Jimbo opened his mouth to scream again.

And the gun's pressure on his head increased. Make a sound and you will die. It told him.

Jimbo complied.

The stranger lowered his gun, turned on his heel, and went. Jimbo did not need to be told to follow. But as he did, the Raider realized he could move without much trouble. He had been treated with stimpacks. The bandages around his body and the spent syringes around the mattress in the corner (the same he had been sleeping on, Jimbo understood) were the only signs he'd ever been injured. By the mattress also was a low burning campfire – the earlier heat Jimbo had felt. The echo of a gunshot sounded in Jimbo's head.

The next hour went by quick. Once Jimbo caught up, the duo moved with silence, fleeing the campsite, entering a pre-war building, climbing to a rooftop, hoping across the gap to another roof, then crossing a plank set on the roof's firescape to a water tower. There, high above, the two men had a eagle's eye view of the immediate East Hampton around them, including the sight of half a dozen Crazies (Crazies! His mind parroted. Definitely Crazies!) crawling over the campsite.

Once they were gone, Jimbo turned to his savior, “Thank – ”

“Have you already gone mad?”

“Huh?” Jimbo said.

“Have. you. already. gone. mad!” The man hissed. Then grabbed Jimbo's collar. “You woke up and screamed bloody murder, bring every Lost One in the area down on us. And when I had my gun on you, you tried to do it again!” He took a moment to cool himself down. When the stranger spoke again his voice flowed liked ice over a razor's edge. “If you are too far gone, I will kill you.”

Jimbo stared.

The man glared.

After a beat, “What do you mean, too far gone?” Jimbo tried.

The man continued to glare.

Jimbo continued to stare.

The man relented, sighing, “Just what it sounds. From now on, you'll have to fight against the Lost Traveler. You're one of them now.”

It took a second to process, but then - “That can't be right.”

“If that's the case you wouldn't need one of those,” He said, pointing to Jimbo's head.

What? Jimbo thought, reaching for it. His fingers touched metal. What is this?

“Don't take it off,” The man said. His fingers twitched on the grip of his sawed-off shotgun.

“What is it? Jimbo asked, lowering his hands. And why the hell did you put it on me while I as unconscious?


“It's a psychic nullifier.” The stranger explained.

“Oh.” Jimbo said. “I see.” ...that you're insane.

As if he had a true connection to the supernatural, the corners of his face mask crinkled as if he smirked … or smiled. “To anyone else it would just be madness, but you can experience it once you take it off. Of course, you'll have to do it once I lead ya out of the city.”

“You'll do that?” Jimbo asked.

“Yep. You get out of the city only in exchange for wearing a lump of metal while inside it. If I'm crazy you can throw it off an be on your way. If I'm not, then you'll at least have evidence.”

Jimbo was fairly sure he smiled this time.

“Granted, you'll probably find evidence before you leave the city, whether you want to or not.”

“So … what's your name?” Jimbo asked while the two moved closer to the edge of the city limits. He did it to pass time, and reeled back when the man replied.

“Delvin,” He said. The ease which he said it, and a irrevocable feeling of “wrongness” to attribe such a common name to such a mysterious figure told him it was fake.

“And yours?” “Delvin” asked.

For a moment, Jimbo thought about lying, to give a similar fake name, but there was always the chance that the man had told the truth. So he said, “Jimbo.”

But the man just shook his head. “Your name, not your Raider-nickname.”

“Oh.” Jimbo said, once again reeling a step back. “James, James Jynst. Or Jimmy when I was a kid.” Then he took a measure of the back in front of him, “If you knew I was a Raider, then why – ” But he never got the chance to finish. Jimbo doubled over. Would have screamed too, if his hands didn't cover his mouth in time.

Then Delivn crouched before him, “What's wrong?” He asked with urgency “Is the nullifer acting up?”

“Yeah.” Jimbo grunting, rubbing the weird machine's front. “My forehead's killing me – I think the metal's heating up.”

“There are Lost Ones that way then,” Before Jimbo could even question him, Delvin continued. “I told you that you are one of them now. However, the Lost Ones' hivemind isn't instantaneous. It jumps from one to another. Whenever you approach one it's mind will try to invade and the metal will heat up from the direction it's in. It's sort of a radar and not just a nullifier in your case.”

“I see.” ...that you're trying to burn my brain out.

The man sighed. “Please don't use that tone. I know I gave you time to accept, but this arbitrary skepticism is wearing me down. Didn't you feel it when the Lost Traveler tried to control your mind?” “

“Of course I - ” I … I did. He had been trying to forget that.

“Well,” Delvin said, after a beat of silence. “Let's just head out of town, avoiding the direction those pangs come from.”

And they did. The trip was more or less uneventful. But that meant, of course, no Crazies. Which only made Jimbo's fear and ire mount. He began to dart his eyes from shadow to shadow – narrow alleywas, the unseen corners of buildings, and the top of roofs – anywhere the Crazies could lurk.

“You won't find them.” Delvin said. “So long as you wear the nullifier you'll sense them before they see you.” Jimbo grunted. But still the duo made it out of East Hampton with no hitches. Once far enough away, Delvin turned to Jimbo. “Well. That's far enough now. It's time to go our seperate ways.”

“Well, I guess.” Jimbo said, “Thank – ”

Then Delvin tossed him something.

Jimbo fumbled with it, then realized it was his rifle. “What the hell – ”

“I took it when you were unconscious. Wsn't sure if you would be crazy once you woke up. And then you never asked for it back. Well, now you can protect yourself should a Lost One come to you once you take off the nullifier.”

Jimbo opened his mouth, closed it, then scowled. “Thanks.”

“Delvin” waved the thanks away as he started to walk back … into East Hampton.

Why would he … No. It's over. The nightmare is over. No need to jump back into it.

Casually, Jimbo pulled off the nullifier.

It was the same. It was the same, damn, feeling. He screamed. He crumbled. Liquid fire poured in his head, in his body, through his limbs and though he scrapped at the ground the fire would not escape through his fingertips. The world went dark and yet merged with hundreds of viewpoints, scouring, climbing … feasting. And above it all, as if swept by waters, a strained voice called out over the sounds of gunfire, “The pain will never end.”

In the midst of it all, Jimbo's hands grasped the nullifier and slammed it on his head. The sweat still poured down his face and body, but his body was his own once more. Glancing up through blurry eyes, he saw Delvin vanishing in the distance. “Wait.” He croaked, getting to his feet. “Wait!” He shouted and rushed after the man. Delivin stopped and turned to meet him.

“What is it?” He asked, as if he had not just heard Jimbo scream and roll around in the dirt behind him.

“What,” Jimbo panted, “What was that?”

“You know what that was.”

Yes, yes he did.

At last, Jimbo caved. “Help me, please.” He felt the air darken, and knew he had to explain himself. “Well. It must be difficult, living in the city, in exchange for aid I can help – ”

“We don't need help.”

And everything evaporated into ash. “We?”

But Delvin just nodded. “We are the Ghosts of East Hampton. Out of the sight of all sane enough to avoid the City of the Lost Ones and invisible to them as well. That is the way it will stay.” At his blank face, Delvin added. “Or what – you thought a piece of equipment as obscure as a nullifer an be made by one man?”

They make them. Hope pushed him on. “If there's anything I can do - ”

“I suppose you already know too much.” Jimbo tensed at that, but then the man went on, “I'll see what I can do.” That's great! “On one condition.” I should have known.

“What is it?”

“A favor. A suitably sized favor.”

Jimbo's skin crawled. Suitably sized” That sounded like it would be life-threatening. “And if I refuse?”

“Simple.” The man surely smiled then. “We turn off the nullifier.”