At the End of the Road

Chapter 4

The door slid open with a rusty, metallic screech. The air inside the silo was stale and musty, but the relative cool was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside. Jane kept a tight grip on her rifle as she crept inside, quickly scanning the corners for Marked Men, or security bots. Ulysses followed close behind, utterly silent as he moved. She waited several heartbeats, listening close for the telltale sounds of footsteps, breathing, the hum of active machinery, but heard nothing. She relaxed her shoulders.

"Clear." She turned to Ulysses, keeping her voice low, just in case. "Least, down to the end of the hall, it is. Dust through here don't look disturbed, though. Don't think anything's been down here for a very long time."

Ulysses gave a brisk nod and straightened up, submachine gun still in hand, a ratty old pack slung over one shoulder.

"See the truth of it," he said, his deep voice cutting through the still air. Jane felt the back of her neck tingle; he was still quite close. She forced the feeling down. He gazed at a fading flag hanging on the wall above the far doorway, it what must have once been pride-of-place; the twin of his jacket, blanketed in a thick layer of dust. "America sleeps deeper, here, than Hopeville or Ashton; no scavengers to disturb its rest. Might find some untouched relics here, weapons, ammunition... or Old World deathtraps." Exploring the Divide's many ruins had become a regular activity for the two of them, whenever Jane returned here.

Which was quite often, really, considering how many jobs the Mojave still had for her. She found herself looking forward to their conversations, enjoying her time spent here more than anything in the Mojave, despite the dust and the storms and the radioactivity. When she went off exploring elsewhere in the desert, scrounging around for supplies and secrets, she even missed his rather... unique commentary. And, if she was being completely honest, she'd been having some rather interesting dreams lately. Truth was, it was harder and harder to deny, now, that he had become important to her.

And yet, she thought bitterly, considering their history, she'd be damn lucky if he even came to think of her as a friend. Not to mention that the man was an ex-Legionary, probably at least half-mad, and a very strange man all around – although, to be fair, the last two could just as easily be said about her. Oh, and Arcade would definitely have her checked in to the New Vegas Clinic for a thorough psychiatric evaluation if he knew. And Boone, too, if he didn't just try to kill Ulysses instead. And Veronica. And Cass, although she would probably suggest that Jane sleep with him, first, and then grill her for details all the way to the doc's.

Hell, she had half a mind to check herself in. Interesting or not, he was a former Legionary, had done terrible things in their name, still carried some lingering sense of loyalty – and not to mention he'd once hated her, more than anything else in this world, wanted to nuke the NCR into glass. He was also quite determined that he would die here, among these irradiated ruins. She had to be mad, herself, to care.

"Always a ray of sunshine, you are." Jane poked around a row of ancient filing cabinets, sending dust flying into the air. Maybe Ulysses had the right idea, wearing that mask everywhere. The entrance room was fairly spacious, at least by cramped silo standards, though one corner was caved in, covered in rubble. A row of portraits decorated the wall to the right, proud Old World military uniforms still visible behind two hundred years of grime. Beneath the flag, a corridor stretched on into impenetrable darkness. After some searching, Jane pulled a couple of plastic-wrapped packages from a drawer, and made a face. "Oh, great. MREs."

She tossed the disgusting things to Ulysses, who caught them deftly and stowed them in the pack, setting it down in a heap in the centre of the room.