Spectacle Island: A Fallout Story

Every Grain

I pull up my red bandana, protecting my mouth from feral contamination.
Their blood will make us sick.
"Bea!" Nick tosses me shotgun. I swiftly catch it.
Chick - chick:
Boom
Irradiated blood splatters all over the building we stand upon.
"There's too many!" MacCready skillfully mows down ghouls one by one. "Fuck you, and you and you!" He barks, I can see pure fury carved into his bony face. "I'll fucking kill you all!"
"Goddamn it, MacCready!" I howl into the growling, frothing noise pollution pouring out of the ghouls.
I'm far too disturbed to truly be frustrated with MacCready's hasty battle tactics.
Why did it have to be ghouls?
Why?
They're the one thing I'm petrified of in this god-forsaken age.
I nimbly climb up the wall, tossing the shot gun on the metal roofing. A single ghoul chases after me, thrashing it's long dirty fingernails that are just aching to snag some skin.
"Dirty bitch!" I frantically, almost compulsively, cry out, kicking it in the chin.
Crack.
Pop.
It looks up at me with a green, bloody maw, it's chin hanging off to the side.
I look in it's bloodshot eyes framed by hundreds of years worth of a disturbed existence.
In a short flash, I see myself in that form. The feeling that produces is enough to make me wanna kill every single last one of these disgusting creatures.
"I'm sorry it has to end here!" I say, finding calm in my chaotic fear. I pull my combat knife and drive it deeply into the sickly, bubbled skin of it's sparsely haired head.
I smoothly yank out the knife.
I watch what's left of it's soul disconnect from the deformed body.
Be at peace, lost one.
"Nick!" I blindly shout for him. "Are you okay?"
"Sure, everything's just peachy," he growls in a sarcastic tone, his gun popping shots like popcorn on a Saturday night. There's a lot more kernels to pop, that's for sure.
I don't know if we can kill them all.
"Plan B!" I shout to both of the boys. "Follow me! I hope you kids can keep up with my parkour skills," I smirk, pressing my black hat snug on my head.
And with that, my hands aching to fly out of danger grab the scaffolding, and I fling my body upward; my movements slick as a fox and flexible as a ferret.
"Whoa, she's something else, eh?" I faintly hear MacCready mutter to himself as I reach higher.
"She sure is," Nick replies.
This way, we can make it to the Mayor's office.
I have a strong feeling there are some folks holed up there.
"Hurry up!" I yip, looking down at the two, my eyes mainly fixed on the hoard of ferals; not their dumbfounded expressions.
They spark into action, following after me; MacCready with his rifle strung on his back; Nick with his pistol packed in his pants.
"I hope that doesn't slip, Nick!" I snicker from the safety of the top.
"Cute," Nick's raspy but smooth voice reaches me. "You'll have to lend me Santa Maria if it does!"
I laugh.
An old robot detective swinging a sword like a samurai; I wouldn't mind seeing that.
I survey the city; it looks bleak. I could probably count 50 to 100 of these grease spots.
"Shit. Shit..." I pace back and forth. "Shit...! It's stupid to hope everyone's okay." I watch MacCready's fingers grip the top of the scaffolding as he pulls himself up.
He's huffing and puffing.
"Outta shape there, friend?" I lend my hand.
"Take that and shove it up your ass," he spits, collapsing like a starfish on the platform. "Sweetheart, I don't do melee and... parkour." He hacks up a lung. "I aim. Then I fucking shoot, alright?"
Nick jumps up with great ease, his patchy tan trench coat whipping in the wind.
"Pros of being a tin can," Nick looks at MacCready and then shoots me a cute little smirk.