Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 57: Highway To Hell

The Commonwealth journey was smooth and free of migraines. Danse could hardly believe it. The small rag-tag army following his step meshed into a reckless yet effective platoon, each member complimenting the next with specific strengths to supplement weaknesses. Though a little rough around the edges, it was evident that they had spent much time working together in defence of the Minutemen settlements, allowing them to operate as a tight-knit unit. And while, yes, they were dysfunctional with chatter, banter, laughter, and bickering, when danger lurked near they snapped into survival mode and moved as one machine.

Danse was impressed, despite himself. He would never tell them this, though. There was always room for improvement, and he was constantly picking apart their positions, advising on maneuvering tactics, tightening flanks, assigning support roles to cover holes in moments of live fire, but they were still a formidable force against bands of raiders or hordes of ferals.

Yet they wouldn't stand a chance against a tide of super mutants, or a platoon of highly trained Brotherhood soldiers, Danse knew. The mutants would just plough through with tenacity and superior strength, and the Brotherhood would overwhelm with unparalleled training and experience; the holes in their tactics would be picked apart and torn to shreds. Not that he would ever let it come to a firefight against the Brotherhood. He let himself mourn the loss of his steel brethren for a brief few stretches of travel, then he shrugged it off again and pushed on, pulling the small army with him.

They managed to reach the outskirts of Boston before one of them began to whine. Danse knew it had been inevitable. He was actually astonished they had lasted this long.

It was Clay-Crawler, lumbering along in his savage power armor. "Hungry...Tired... Not tasted blood in long time... Need blood."

It was a monumental effort for Danse to repress his superiority complex from barking at the raider to 'shut up and haul ass,' as Paladin Krieg had done many times to his squad. Nobody liked a whiner.

"I hate to break it to you, buddy, but I have a hunch that the blood you crave is a placebo," Deacon counselled while snacking on a mutfruit.

"What is placebo?"

"It just means you're bat-shit crazy. But I wouldn't stress too much about it." Deacon took another sloppy bite from his mutfruit and said nothing more, while the raider tilted a befuddled head down at him.

There was a gargled simper from Hancock's direction somewhere back in the formation. "Little man, if you want something real to crave, I got just the thing. Say the word and I'll let you have a free sample, on the house."

"Hancock, no," Piper shot down from the formation's other flank. "He's just a kid."

"C'mon, doll. Like Deacon just said, he's already bat-shit crazy. What's a little more?"

"Let him have some of that shite and he'd go full-blown bonkers and murder the lot of us, mark me words," Cait joined Piper's side.

"Are we referring to the use of recreational chems?" Curie jumped in, concern marring her delicate features as she clung to the straps of her hefty travel pack. "I am not so good with these... innuendoes yet, but if so, then might I recommend Clay-Crawler avoid the abuse of chemical inhibitors. He is very young, and still so very feeble."

"See? Even the doc said no," Cait warned Hancock, who appeared taken aback by the mass of opposition. "I'm not lettin' you get yer slimy fingers on Clay, too. So just forget about it."