Fallout: Fury Blood

Chapter 128: Aquaboy

Waking to a ruckus was an ordinary feature to a raider's lifestyle. In fact, waking to a peaceful environment was considered extraordinary; it meant that something was amiss. The ordinary morning consisted of several parties attempting to subdue the night creatures who had burned the midnight oil until dawn, usually high on chems and spoiling for a fight.

Since joining his new clan, Clay-Crawler had had a real bitch of a time getting accustomed to the quieter mornings, where lazy-eyed zombies drifted here and there looking for food and hunting out cigarettes and lighters from grumpy clan mates who were less than willing to part ways with their precious morsels.

Well, not this morning. He snorted awake on Deadskull's big manly chest to find the Minutemen milling around the opening of the cave, talking in loud voices over the roaring of vertibirds. Dogmeat was positioned at Deadskull's feet, staring at him oddly.

"What? Get your own beefcake to sleep on!"

Dogmeat barked in response, then whined anxiously at the commotion, ears pinned back.

"I'm up, I'm up." Putting his pants back on, the raider ignored Curie's judging look from near her patient and rushed to join the party. "We go to battle?" he asked no one in particular, hoping for a consenting reply.

Hancock shouldered to his side. "Nah, the Prydwen did the ol' walk of shame in the middle of the night. 'Birds are off to find her." He didn't seem at all perturbed by the news, but then that was just Hancock on the regular.

As for Clay-Crawler, a multitude of things gushed through his brains as he peered along the skyline. One: they were now extremely vulnerable to Dark Blood attacks without the protection of the airship. Two: Whisper must have caused some trouble to make this happen. Three: Without Elder Maxson keeping tabs on him and awaiting his answer on becoming his personal Squire, he was now free to cause some trouble of his own.

The Apocalypse Gods were granting him the opportunity he needed to heal relations between his clans, new and old.

It was unsettling to scope the sky without the hovering airship within sight; he had come to rely on it's godly presence overseeing his days and nights. But it was the kick in the ballsack he needed. Using the cover of chaos reigning throughout the Brotherhood outpost, Clay-Crawler made a break for it. He told no one his plans, knowing they would stop him and call him crazy. But he was the Dragon Rider now, crazy was his middle name.

He wished he had had the foresight to have his power armor brought down from the Prydwen to Delta Dune for repairs in the maintenance bunker, it would really have come in handy for a lone ranger adventure across the Bloodlands. But, oh well. He would just have to make do with one arm, and a fucktonne of guns.

As for where he would get the fucktonne of guns, well, no one was guarding the Minutemen stockpile that had been shoved into a narrow cave as the acid rains began to fall. Everyone was too busy setting up tents and tarpaulins and worrying about the airship to even bother with it. A gross oversight that he was more than willing to take advantage of.

Stealing into the cave was easy. Cracking into the wooden crates was another story. They were nailed down and there were no tools lying around to help him. Clay-Crawler resorted to hacking at them with his machete, and when that didn't work, he shot at them with his shotgun. He more than made up for the loosed shells with what he found inside the crates, and then some.

Guns galore! He pilfered a laser musket, a sawed-off shotgun-not just because it looked cool, but because it used different shells than his combat shotgun-and a revolver pistol. That one, he took just because it looked cool. The guns and ammo he shoved into his duffel bag, squashing it all in with his food and extra clothing.