Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 64: Freedom Fighters

*WARNING*
Graphic violence and disturbing content

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The stab of a stimpak burst through her neck and enlivened what thrived in her veins. Another one. How many was that now? She lost count.

Back to the battle haze. Kelly's palms were clammy and the pads of her fingers prickled as she became one with her rifle again. It purred violently against her shoulder, spitting out streams of bullets into Dark Blood flesh.

The offering of flesh was mindlessly keen. Still. It just wouldn't stop. The Minutemen were putting up a good fight, but when the stims and bullets ran out, so would they.

The whistle of arrows warned Kelly and surrounding soldiers to take cover, ducking low as the lethal offerings plunged into the trench walls. Guns were up to return fire in unison, only to be met with a complimenting wave of spears. Kelly just managed to shift from one's path, feeling it's wind flutter across her shoulder before it plunged instead into a man behind her. She swore and gaped at him, but his eyes were peeled open to stare at her lifelessly, before his mouth unhinged and his head drooped. Gone.

Irrational guilt held her in place for a moment longer, before she shook it off and raised her rifle over the trench to finish her magazine. Lieutenant Durand was still at her side, cranking his laser musket.

"We can't keep this up much longer! Attrition is their game and we can't match it!"

Kelly peppered an incoming tribal before crouching down with him. "Reload!" Minutemen took up her slack in response. She breathed wearily while her numbing fingers worked to exchange clips. Getting low on ammo. "Any ideas, Lieutenant?"

Durand tongued his molar grimly and cast glances over the trench tops. "Other than throw weapons at the slaves and force them to fight, or ditch them and make a full retreat, none."

"You forgot surrendering," she proffered in dark mirth. Durand only huffed in equally as dark humor. Dishonor and cowardice were the only ways out, and despite what the Brotherhood and salty Wastelanders said about them, the Minutemen were born and raised in honor and bravery.

She slotted her new clip in place and promised herself three more breaths before going back in. Where the hell was the Brotherhood? The wind should have told them of the renewed battle cries in the camp by now. Or maybe they were drowned out by those the Brotherhood roused themselves. Where was the vertibird left behind to ferry her men down from the Prydwen? Scratch that. Where was the fucking Prydwen!? The blanket of dust in the air was too thick for her eyes to penetrate.

"Come on, Harper." Durand must have noticed the frustration in her eyes as he held his laser musket firm. "Back in it. I've got your back."

She finished her third breath and thinned her lips on a decisive nod, then joined him back over the ridge, the sound and sight of bloody mayhem opening wide for them.

Soldier by soldier, the trench line grew thin as ammunition was spent, forcing combat knives and machetes out from their sheaths. Raiders and specimens began to breach the trenches, leaping on men and women who fought for their lives in desperate efforts. More and more, Kelly found her rifle sights down the trenches instead of over them, picking off raiders as they charged from behind. But it was the specimens she was worried about. If just one broke through from behind, catching the scent of her many wounds over the others around her, she was practically offering her head out on a silver platter.