Fallout: Rise Of The Burned Man

Chapter III

One woe is past; and, behold, there come two woes more hereafter. [Book of Revelation]

Follows-Chalk almost tripped over his bootlaces for the third time as they became entangled in a roll of barbed wire. He hadn't know how to tie them properly and Graham had refused to stoop to lacing up his follower's shoes, so the youth had been forced to leave them trailing behind. He had wanted to kick off the boots and go without, but Graham had said that would draw attention, and in the Mojave people always wore shoes. Joshua Graham knew a lot about the ordinary folk of the Mojave.

Follows-Chalk pulled at the shirt as it began to stick to the back of his neck. The clothes didn't suit the tribal; a rough maroon chequered shirt and dark blue jeans, with big dark brown boots which went further than his ankles. Joshua had described the outfit as 'the clothes of a hick'; something which the youth didn't altogether understand. They covered his tribal tattoos well though, and Graham had instructed the boy to take the hat and scarf of a passer-by when they ventured closer to Westside and to use the scarf to cover most of his face and the hat to shade his eyes.

Face tattoos were not common, even around New Vegas.

Joshua had also told Follows-Chalk to not call him by his name, but to call him David.

"You will be Adam," he said, "Do not speak where it can be avoided, for your accent will show you as a tribal. Tell no one you are from Zion and do not mention my name."

They'd come to stop outside a hut, just on the edge of Freeside. Follows-Chalk was one of the few of his tribe with the knowledge of words, which had been given to him by Joshua and he strained as he read the sign above.

"G-un Runners," he said finally.

"I must speak with Isaac," Graham replied, "You will enter Freeside without me. Enter by the North Gate and make your way to the Old Mormon Fort. Ask if you cannot find it."

Follows-Chalk tried not to be daunted by being split up in the foreign land so early; "What will you do?"

"My work begins here," Graham said, somewhat stonily, "Do not make me regret your company Adam. Ask for Julia Farkas and ask for stimpaks and news. If they give you none, meet me outside the Fort at twenty-one hours."

"Who is she?"

"She is a woman of medicine," he said, and then frowned. "Hold out your hand, Adam."

Follows-Chalk did so, holding out his right and Graham asked; "You use your left-hand?"

"Yes," he said.

"Good," he shot Follows-Chalk through the palm, his eyes unreadable as the boy screamed in distress. "They will see you now." Graham leant across and knocked his hat down so it shaded more of his face. "Go."

Follows-Chalk just managed to stop a sob escaping from between his lips as he stumbled away from the shack, hugging his wound to his chest. He'd been shot before, of course, it had taken a while for the youngest of his tribe to understand guns and he himself had been a klutz with the first .45 Graham had let him use, but it was more the shock of the wound than the pain it caused him that caused his eyes to shine with unshed tears. Graham had shot him; he hadn't even asked or warned, he had simply just shot him.

"Joshua is wise," he muttered through the material of scarf as he pushed the North Gate open, "Joshua has done this for his-work. You asked to-come."

He forced himself to get a handle on the pain, reminding himself he'd survived run-ins with Yao Guai and had helped eradicate the White Legs from the valley. He was strong. He wastough. He was-

"Hey buddy. You new around here?" Follows-Chalk turned to see three burly looking men standing side by side on the pavement next to the Gate. One of them was wearing thick, wasteland armour and another was wearing a black leather jacket, his hair in a strange style Follows-Chalk had never seen before.

The one in the leather jacket spoke again; "Freeside is Kings' turf. You want to get through Freeside alive, hire a King bodyguard."

"Why would I do that?" Follows-Chalk asked, confused, "Are there White Legs here to attack me?"

"White-" the King's member frowned, "You won't get through the streets alive without a bodyguard. Freeside's full of scum who'll rough you up or stab you up. I seen too many tourists running through here on the way to New Vegas," he dragged a small smoking stick through his lips, the red tip glowing as Follows-Chalk watched, fascinated. "They say hey, I don't need a bodyguard. Then," he laughed, exhaling a stream of smoke, "Freeside stops 'em from running. Tell you what, for you, two hundred caps and you can cruise through sweet on the way to New Vegas."

"No thank you," Follows-Chalk said, remembering caps as a system of money Joshua had explained to him on the way. It was something they hadn't had much need for in Zion, although he knew Joshua had a bag full of them and sometimes they'd jingle as he walked through the camp. "Thank you for your offer though. Do you know where the Old Mormon Fort is?"

The King sighed, flicking the stump of his cigarette to the floor. "Jus' there," he said, pointing to a huge greyish brick structure a little down the road which Follows-Chalk was standing on. "You lookin' for the Followers?"

"Julie Farkas," Follows-Chalk said promptly.

"Yeah, she's a Follower. She'll fix you up." He nodded at Follows-Chalk's bloody hand.

"Thank you for your kindness," Follows-Chalk said.

"Hey, good luck buddy."

Follows-Chalk moved away from the King, his eyes growing as wide as saucers as he took in the world of Freeside around him. For a boy who had been almost raised a world of red rock and canvas tents, the rubble-strewn city was an incredibly sophisticated world of brick-buildings, torn roads and well-dressed people.People. He had never seen so many looking so different from one another! In Zion, even opposite tribes looked largely similar but here the people seemed louder, happier, drunker. They seemed to shout out their feelings to whoever passed by, emotive and noisy, incredibly confident about themselves.

Children chased a giant rat down the street, shooting off laser pistols at the creature's head, shouting out to one another; "Get it! Get it, Buster!"

Fire licked up the side of a bin and as Follows-Chalk watched, a vagrant stood to warm him hands about it, laughing at something a child said before his humour descended into a wracking cough. It all seemed very... civilised.

The wooden gates at the Old Mormon Fort stood before him, intimidating and unyielding. Should he knock? No, knocking is what Follows-Chalk would have done in Zion. Here, in Freeside, he was Adam. He pushed the gates open, using his uninjured hand.