Wasteland

Yet another night slipped by, lost to the passions of his embrace. She had never enjoyed a man so. As much as she was afraid of him, she felt as though he'd cast a spell on her. Not only was she willing to bed with him, but she wanted him. That night she had initiated the interaction, much to Jack's surprise and delight. She told herself, one last time. One last night. Then she would leave. A month went by before she was able to convince herself that she would either leave to be a prisoner by her own undoing. Something was happening in the small hamlet, and she didn't intend to be caught up in the storm when it began to rain. Egor had been spending more time in Anne's room without being given the order to reward her for good behavior. The quiet moans behind the door could only be heard with ear pressed to wood, but they were there. More unusual were his visits to Lucy. There were no moans or the loud slaps of punishment. If she pressed her ear to the door she could only faintly make out the low voice of Lucy muttering words she couldn't make out. The days were cooler than they had been. Cool enough that she could get by with wearing her jacket. She started wearing the pip boy beneath the sleeve to reacclimate herself to it's weight and presence. Jack had given her an old back pack for local scavenging; green with faded lettering that could no longer be read. When the first gun shots were fired inside the walls of the kingdom about to crumble, Leona ran to the kitchen with the pack. Setting it on the floor, she filled it with the necessities. Pure water, fresh fruit, brahmin steaks and medical supplies; rad-away and stimpacks. There was no more waiting. No more easy nights and delusions of love. A large hunting knife lay on the kitchen counter by the sink. A ray of light shined through the slit near the ceiling from the late afternoon sun and caught on it's clean blade. This she took for good measure and stowed in the hand made sheath in the lining of her boot. At that moment Jack ran in, bursting into the small space with a crazed look in his eye.

"Good thinkin'!" He told her, his wild eyes on the knife. "H're's a gun!"

He pushed a loaded revolver into her hand. It looked nearly new, but old at the same time. His hands stayed closed over hers with the gun between them for several seconds. His face intent on hers. Then those strong hands grabbed her head. He was licking his lips and searching her face, looking for something. He must have found it.

"Yer with me, right? M'love?"

He panted, out of breath or excited, she couldn't tell. He was clearly insane. His hair was wind blown in every direction. He was nearly frothing at the mouth. His eyes were wide with whatever blood thirst was coursing in his veins. There was only one answer that she would survive.

"Of course, m'love."

"Yeah... yeah.." He panted.

Then his lips were on hers, his tongue probing her mouth and molesting her tongue in a forceful kiss that made her heart leap into her throat and drop into her belly simultaneously. She'd never been more afraid of him, or more excited by him, as if his madness transferred to her with the kiss. He left as suddenly as he came, grabbing the rifle he'd leaned against the wall when he entered and cocking a round into place. He had not noticed the full pack on the floor by the fridge, and she was grateful. She grabbed the pack and headed for the door once she heard it close behind the bar keep.

There was only the front door. She could distinguish Jack's voice from the others shouting outside the tavern walls. Her heart beat in her chest like a drum, and her ribs were the hands pounding out the rhythm. He had a gun. If he saw her with the full pack, there would be no doubts that she was leaving. She was more afraid than ever. The nervous knot in her gut was surrounded by a thousand butterflies. The flutters felt so real she felt as though she might vomit. Peaking through the window she saw Egor backed by over half the town and Lucy was with him. All armed with every mannar of weapons; guns, knives, pitchforks... They were opposed by Jack, Anne and a handful of others she'd seen making merry with the bar keep on many a night, including the portly bald man. It was a war for control of the town. Somehow the tongueless ghoul had silently turned the town against their noble king and a revolt had been organized by his hand. She was surprised to see Anne oppose Egor, as much as she had praised him. But it was a story she had not time nor desire to hear. Suddenly there was a loud shout followed by many more. War cries echoed off the buildings and into the orange glowing sky. Huge clouds of dust rose from the battle so thick it nearly blocked the view of the slaughter. Amber light glinted off the barrels of shot guns and bloodied blades as they flashed with violent vision to plunge into their victims. Now was the moment, and she took it.

Skirting the battle was the easy part. Not looking at the carnage and gore that splattered the ground at her feet was harder and more terrifying. Bullets zinged passed her head to burrow a hole into the wood of a support or wall. She barely escaped a one on one battle of two men with knifes that had been flung from the main writhing body of killing. She could see her freedom, just beyond the gate. It had been left open when the fighting ensued. A merchant could be seen leading his brahmin away as quickly as he could without looking back. Then she felt a sharp pain that tore through her from her scalp to her knees. Her head was rudely snapped back to look up into the venomous eyes of Lucy. She looked more crazed than Jack. Her breath heaved and hissed from between lips and teeth that were stained with blood. Her wild hair was on fire, but the whore seemed not to notice or to care. Then there was the unmistakable pinch of a blade against her throat.

"Yer not goin' no wh're!" Lucy spat in her face. "I know! Ya think I don', but I does! I know, and yer gonna pay fer bein' his perddy one, ya are! Yer gonna pay wit' yer blood!"

But a few weeks of living in safety and security had not dulled the skills she'd honed living in the wasteland. Ignoring the pain of her flesh, she twisted out of Lucy's vice like grip, snagging the hilt of the knife. In one smooth motion, she plunged the knife as hard as she could into the exposed and battered chest of the woman who would keep her from freedom and threaten her life. She had to use her foot as leverage to pull the blade from between Lucy's ribs. She didn't stay to watch the wench bleed to death and drown on her own blood, or to see her matted hair burn like straw down to her head and blister her skin. No. She ran like the devil from the grace of god to the open gate. She thought she could hear Jack's voice above the screams and noise of war calling to her, shouting;

"Don' go! Ya said ye was wit' me! I love ye! Come back!"

Whether it was true or not, she did not look to see. She could not, if she was to follow her feet through the door. The cries, real or imagined, forced the tears passed the lump in her throat and along the sides of her face as she ran. And she ran. She ran until she could not hear his calling to her. Until she could not hear the screams and cries of battle and killing, or smell the blood spilled on the dirt or the stench of burning hair. She ran until her sides hurt as if tent pegs were drilled into her. She ran until she could not breath and her legs fell out from under her. Then she cried and lamented the loss of a home and a man who told her he loved her. Words she had not heard since the vault. Words she thought she would never hear again that weren't lies. Crazy as he was, he probably believed he meant it. She wondered if he had been killed, or if Egor, who had tried to help her, had survived and earned the right to run the town in peace. She wondered if Anne betrayed Jack for the ghoul. And she wondered why she cared, why she couldn't stop crying. She found shelter in a sandy cave at the bottom of a long dried river bed, and she cried until a dreamless sleep stole her away with exhaustion.