Spectacle Island: A Fallout Story

Knife Girl

I sit by the campfire where many stories, humorous and terrifying, have been told. Everyone is locked away tonight; we all heard the minutemen's broadcast.
There's an exceptional amount of ghouls out tonight.
I take a hit of my cigarette.
I don't get a head rush anymore.
I dig my boots into the irradiated earth. I close my eyes, remembering the touch of soft green grass, the whispers of the trees, the chirping of birds, even an annoying seagull here and there. Now all I hear is silence. Sometimes though... I feel like... I feel like I can hear her moaning; the earth. The wind blows in a sad song, mournful, as though she's crying over her wounds from nearly 200 years ago.
Tears prick my eyes; I quickly wipe them away.
"You're too sensitive to be leader..." I hear MacCready's mischievous voice call out.
"Shut up, MacCready," I snap at him as he emerges from the ruins of the homestead that was left to rot for hundreds of years.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Awful defensive there, eh Bea?"
He looks at me with a dash of disdain, his dark blue eyes matching the sick ocean he stands ahead of.

I scoff, turning away from his abrasive, apathetic personality.
He doesn't care about anything except bottle caps and his sharpshooting; I don't like that kinda attitude.
"What?" He cries in a mocking tone, crossing his arms. His duster blows in the salty ocean breeze.
"I might be sensitive, but that doesn't mean I can't be a damn good leader," I point a long finger at him. "Sensitivity could've prevented all of this," I look up at him with hatred in my heart. "But that's always too much to ask, isn't it?"
"Yeah, yeah. Go tell that to The Synth. I don't buy your hippie dippie pacifism."
"I'll show you pacifism~" I impulsively jump to my feet, and my hat flies off my head. Before MacCready could blink, he's already got a serrated combat knife at his soft, vulnerable throat.
"What are you doing?!" He squeals like a baby pig.
"I could cut you up, MacCready. Sure you might be a sharp shooter, but I've got a certain way with knives," I hiss in his ear, pressing a little more force on his neck. "There are some folk that just can't be helped. Fixed in their ways, never want to see any different."
MacCready knocks himself out of my grip and I fall to the ground. I snatch my knife out of the crispy, yellow grass.
I look up.
I stare down the barrel of the rifle. Instead of panicking, I just laugh.
"I could end you, I've killed for a lot less."
I know he won't kill me.
"Do it. I welcome death."
His face contorts and his eyes tell of utter bewilderment. Was he expecting me to beg for my life and slobber all over his boots?
He really should know better.
"I only see one coward here."
"Hmph," he lowers his gun. "To me it looks like neither of us have the strength to off each other."
"I  don't give a fuck about ego battles, MacCready. I've got way bigger fish to fry."
"You started it knife girl."

Paranoia bites at me in the black nighttime.
I stare at the apartment complex out the window, then I look to the black sea out the open door; my feet just won't stand still. I keep obsessing over the threat of ghouls, imagining them tear up everything I worked so hard to preserve here.
"Bea," I hear Nick's voice echo through my empty agency. "Got any new files for yours truly to look through?"
He whips around the corner and stands in the grungy doorway; he matches his environment for sure.
I twist towards him, my feelings of paranoia and discomfort written all over my face.
"What's wrong?" He asks, concern clear in his expression.
"The ghouls. What if they come here? The minute men said this pack is reaching a couple hundred. They're roaming around like a herd of zombies. It's not normal; this behaviour? No. Something is going on," I say a little too fast for a casual listener.
"Whoa, whoa. Slow down. We're on an island. Last time I checked, feral ghouls don't usually take swimming up as a hobby," he consoles me with a cold metal hand.
"I know." I hesitate, "I know."
"And~"
"Nick, I know!" I shout, irrationally directing my anger and frustration towards the caring synth.
He stands awkwardly, unsure of what to do; he never sees me like this.
"It's just," I continue to ramble, "I know we can take them. But it's the principle of the thing. Feral ghouls banding together? I don't fucking like that."
"I understand. It'll be alright though. I doubt we'll even see the bastards."
"Diamond City might."
"What do you mean?" I hear apprehension grip him.
"Well... you heard the minute men. Now listen to this..."
I approach the radio sitting on top of my file cabinets and tune to a voice that is no other than Travis Lonely Miles.
"Well folks, we've got some bad news. You might have heard about the herd of feral ghouls making their way through the common wealth. Well... the brotherhood has attempted to wipe them all out, but to no prevail. There's been rumours circulating around Diamond City... folks have been saying there's a new mutation, it makes them stronger, more savage..."
There's a long silence.
Valentine and I stare at each other with concerned faces.
"Sorry folks, I gotta fly. You're listening to none other than Travis Lonely Miles."
The recording cuts and then repeats from the start.
I turn off the stereo.
"Well that's fairly foreboding..." Valentine's expression further deepens into concern; his eyebrows are aggressively furrowed.
"Well... that's what we're dealing with," I sound uncharacteristically cold.
"I~" he sighs and leans against the doorframe. "When was that recording?"
"A day ago."
"A day ago?" He jumps up; it's not a nice kind of surprise.
"Yeah, it's been repeating since then."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I dunno."
"Well what does that mean for the folks of Diamond City?" he cries.
"I. Don't. Know."
"Damn, damn!" He curses, driving his fist into the cement wall. "Please, we have to go," he pleads, gripping my black trench coat by the shoulders.
I look into his perturbed LED eyes.
Fear settles in my gut and I exhale nervously.
"Okay. Get the boat ready for us."