Patrick peeked his head over the fence, poorly made with pieces of rotting wood and chunks of scrap metal hammered into it. The fence swayed slightly under the weight of his hands, but thankfully held up the weight. His sharp green eyes quickly passed over the Raider base, looking for enemies and a way in. Two raiders were patrolling the front of the compound, their spiked armor was protruding from the boiled brahmin hide in such a way that it made it difficult to miss them.
“Lotsa people awake,” Achilles murmured from where he stood next to Patrick. He had to bend his knees and hunch over to avoid being seen over the edge of the crude fence that marked the edge of the camp. “I don’t like that.” He pointed at the patrol, and then at a gap between two of the low, crumbling buildings.
“Not much light there. Probably nobody nearby. Wait for patrol to pass, then make a run?”
Patrick nodded his head and pointed to a nearby building. "I saw some raiders go in there and come out with a couple new guns, so it must be an armory. They looked like they used a key though." Patrick frowned slightly. "Not sure where they found that." He reached down to one of his vest pockets pulling out a bobby pin and screwdriver. "Watch my back while I bust down the door." Patrick gave a cocky grin to Achilles.
“Right. Careful,” Achilles nodded as they ducked down and waited for the patrol to pass. Listening in on their inane chatter as they passed, Patrick learned of several varieties of Psycho and ways to take it. As soon as the had rounded the route, Patrick rushed off, silent as a cat, to the armory building. The door was strong and sturdy but the lock was only average quality. Patrick set to his task relying on Achilles to keep him safe. It took him almost no time at all to get the door open. A quick look inside showed no guards inside.
While Patrick was being sneaky, Achilles wandered the edge of the fence. Stealth was not his strong suite, and he waited until Patrick called “Clear!” to hop the fence. He took a look both ways and noted the patrol. They were on the opposite side of the camp, even his heavy stride would likely be inaudible at this distance. He climbed over, and walked as quietly as he could without sacrificing speed, keeping a hand on the revolver at his hip. He passed through the dark alley between the buildings, ready to make a beeline for the makeshift armory.
When he emerged into the moonlight, he heard a gasp from very close to his right. There was a young member of the tribe, probably Patrick’s age. He was unarmed, probably not a member of the patrol team, and didn’t seem to know what to do finding an intruder in their midst.
Achilles’ hands lashed out, as quick as when he drew his gun. He had one hand around the kid’s neck, and the other clamped over his mouth. The boy made a choking noise, and put his hands up to struggle, but he was weak and quickly went limp from the lack of blood to his brain. Achilles let him drop to the ground and turned to continue on his way, but he realized how much of a tip off the boy’s unconscious form would be to the patrol team. He turned back and grabbed him off the ground, and slung him roughly over his shoulder.
While Achilles did whatever he was doing, Patrick searched the room for less obvious treasures. There were several pieces of scrap metal around the room and Patrick scooped it up. 'Always useful to have.' To his delight, he found a container of Wonderglue mostly full, some duct tape, a fission battery, and even a copy he hadn't read of La Fantoma!
"Are you ready?” He looked back but didn’t see Achilles in the room with him. He frowned looked outside, seeing Achilles holding an unconscious or dead raider on his shoulder. “Oh man, are you okay? Do we need to run?”
“Didn’t hurt me none,” Achilles brushed past Patrick into the makeshift armory, and put the boy down as the door swung close. “Went down quiet, we can finish the job.”
“Alright.” Patrick glanced nervously at the young Raider, but retrieved the large canvas sack he had brought to carry the weapons out.
“Bullets first,” Achilles instructed, as he began rummaging through containers and shelves, “If we can’t carry all the guns, at least they’ll have nothing to shoot with ‘em.”
“Right. Got it. Bullets first.” Patrick sorted through the boxes running a quick inventory and started to gently place fistfuls of loose bullets into the bags. “How do we feel about dynamite?” He pulled out a bundle of long fuse dynamite to go along with his statement.
Achilles shrugged, not turning to look at him as he continued sweeping boxes and loose bullets into the bag. “Actually,” he looked over his shoulder at the bundle Patrick had. “Idea. Keep loading the guns, give me that.”
He took the bundle of dynamite and started adjusting the fuses. He cut all but one of them short, and twisted them all together, then twisted the cut off pieces end to end until they reached the combined fuse, making a length about three feet long. He put it on the ground in the middle of the shack.
“Whatever we don’t take, stack with that. The fuse should give us time to scram.”
Patrick grinned again. “This is going to be awesome.” He emptied out all the bullets he could find and started depositing guns into the bag. They were all of poor quality and fairly common, but Patrick reasoned every gun the townsfolk had was another gun the Raiders didn’t. “Bag’s full!”
“Good,” Achilles tossed one more handgun in after the last, and then started grabbing guns by the armful and tossing them into a pile on top of the bundle of dynamite. After the guns went any other junk that they had decided to store in the armory. He was working in a groove when Patrick interrupted him with an issue of morals.
“Achilles, what do we do with him?” Patrick gestured at the unconscious young Raider on the ground.
Achilles turned to look at the splayed figure and grunted. “Forgot about ‘im. Guess it ain’t right to leave him to burn.”
Patrick smiled and nodded approvingly, “Yes boss! Get the guns, I got him.” Patrick slung him over shoulder as well, trembling slightly under the weight.
Achilles looked at him and smiled. “Trade?” he held the significantly lighter gun bag out to his young protege.
“Trade.” Patrick let out a sigh of relief and handed the kid over. “Get running, I’ll be faster so I’ll light the fuse.” He pulled a lighter out from one of his many pockets, grasping the gun bag with his other hand.
“Good deal,” Achilles said, shifting the dead weight of the young raider on his shoulder, “Do it.”
He pushed the door open and stepped outside, nearly running into the two raiders who were walking their patrol. There was no knocking these two out, Achilles drew and fired twice, hitting both in the center of mass and sending them down with screams of pain. “Now we need to run,” he called back into the little shed. He shoved the revolver, still smoking, back into his holster and started running for the fence.
Patrick lit the fuse, the tiny spark starting its path to destruction. “Running now!” He sprinted forward, passing Achilles up, and tossed the gun bag over the fence, climbing up quickly. He turned around and reached a hand down as Achilles caught up. They grasped hands and Patrick heaved him over.
By now there were shouts from the camp, mostly confusion and questions. Achilles and Patrick had yet to be spotted, but it sounded like they had found the bleeding raiders. Achilles wondered vaguely as they ran if they would survive the wounds. They were a good thirty yards from the fence already when the dynamite went up.
The next day
“You would think the Sheriff would be more appreciative is all I’m saying. We turned in a bag full of guns, bring him a criminal, even blow up a Raider camp and we didn’t even get a bent bottle cap for it.” Patrick pushed open the door of the Radiation Roost. “Hey barman! Can I get a Nuka-Cola?”
Achilles shrugged as he ordered a glass of whatever brown liquor they had. It didn’t taste quite like whiskey, but it didn’t taste that unlike it either. “We’ll live, maybe someone’ll pick up our tab out of thanks.”
“Lotsa people awake,” Achilles murmured from where he stood next to Patrick. He had to bend his knees and hunch over to avoid being seen over the edge of the crude fence that marked the edge of the camp. “I don’t like that.” He pointed at the patrol, and then at a gap between two of the low, crumbling buildings.
“Not much light there. Probably nobody nearby. Wait for patrol to pass, then make a run?”
Patrick nodded his head and pointed to a nearby building. "I saw some raiders go in there and come out with a couple new guns, so it must be an armory. They looked like they used a key though." Patrick frowned slightly. "Not sure where they found that." He reached down to one of his vest pockets pulling out a bobby pin and screwdriver. "Watch my back while I bust down the door." Patrick gave a cocky grin to Achilles.
“Right. Careful,” Achilles nodded as they ducked down and waited for the patrol to pass. Listening in on their inane chatter as they passed, Patrick learned of several varieties of Psycho and ways to take it. As soon as the had rounded the route, Patrick rushed off, silent as a cat, to the armory building. The door was strong and sturdy but the lock was only average quality. Patrick set to his task relying on Achilles to keep him safe. It took him almost no time at all to get the door open. A quick look inside showed no guards inside.
While Patrick was being sneaky, Achilles wandered the edge of the fence. Stealth was not his strong suite, and he waited until Patrick called “Clear!” to hop the fence. He took a look both ways and noted the patrol. They were on the opposite side of the camp, even his heavy stride would likely be inaudible at this distance. He climbed over, and walked as quietly as he could without sacrificing speed, keeping a hand on the revolver at his hip. He passed through the dark alley between the buildings, ready to make a beeline for the makeshift armory.
When he emerged into the moonlight, he heard a gasp from very close to his right. There was a young member of the tribe, probably Patrick’s age. He was unarmed, probably not a member of the patrol team, and didn’t seem to know what to do finding an intruder in their midst.
Achilles’ hands lashed out, as quick as when he drew his gun. He had one hand around the kid’s neck, and the other clamped over his mouth. The boy made a choking noise, and put his hands up to struggle, but he was weak and quickly went limp from the lack of blood to his brain. Achilles let him drop to the ground and turned to continue on his way, but he realized how much of a tip off the boy’s unconscious form would be to the patrol team. He turned back and grabbed him off the ground, and slung him roughly over his shoulder.
While Achilles did whatever he was doing, Patrick searched the room for less obvious treasures. There were several pieces of scrap metal around the room and Patrick scooped it up. 'Always useful to have.' To his delight, he found a container of Wonderglue mostly full, some duct tape, a fission battery, and even a copy he hadn't read of La Fantoma!
"Are you ready?” He looked back but didn’t see Achilles in the room with him. He frowned looked outside, seeing Achilles holding an unconscious or dead raider on his shoulder. “Oh man, are you okay? Do we need to run?”
“Didn’t hurt me none,” Achilles brushed past Patrick into the makeshift armory, and put the boy down as the door swung close. “Went down quiet, we can finish the job.”
“Alright.” Patrick glanced nervously at the young Raider, but retrieved the large canvas sack he had brought to carry the weapons out.
“Bullets first,” Achilles instructed, as he began rummaging through containers and shelves, “If we can’t carry all the guns, at least they’ll have nothing to shoot with ‘em.”
“Right. Got it. Bullets first.” Patrick sorted through the boxes running a quick inventory and started to gently place fistfuls of loose bullets into the bags. “How do we feel about dynamite?” He pulled out a bundle of long fuse dynamite to go along with his statement.
Achilles shrugged, not turning to look at him as he continued sweeping boxes and loose bullets into the bag. “Actually,” he looked over his shoulder at the bundle Patrick had. “Idea. Keep loading the guns, give me that.”
He took the bundle of dynamite and started adjusting the fuses. He cut all but one of them short, and twisted them all together, then twisted the cut off pieces end to end until they reached the combined fuse, making a length about three feet long. He put it on the ground in the middle of the shack.
“Whatever we don’t take, stack with that. The fuse should give us time to scram.”
Patrick grinned again. “This is going to be awesome.” He emptied out all the bullets he could find and started depositing guns into the bag. They were all of poor quality and fairly common, but Patrick reasoned every gun the townsfolk had was another gun the Raiders didn’t. “Bag’s full!”
“Good,” Achilles tossed one more handgun in after the last, and then started grabbing guns by the armful and tossing them into a pile on top of the bundle of dynamite. After the guns went any other junk that they had decided to store in the armory. He was working in a groove when Patrick interrupted him with an issue of morals.
“Achilles, what do we do with him?” Patrick gestured at the unconscious young Raider on the ground.
Achilles turned to look at the splayed figure and grunted. “Forgot about ‘im. Guess it ain’t right to leave him to burn.”
Patrick smiled and nodded approvingly, “Yes boss! Get the guns, I got him.” Patrick slung him over shoulder as well, trembling slightly under the weight.
Achilles looked at him and smiled. “Trade?” he held the significantly lighter gun bag out to his young protege.
“Trade.” Patrick let out a sigh of relief and handed the kid over. “Get running, I’ll be faster so I’ll light the fuse.” He pulled a lighter out from one of his many pockets, grasping the gun bag with his other hand.
“Good deal,” Achilles said, shifting the dead weight of the young raider on his shoulder, “Do it.”
He pushed the door open and stepped outside, nearly running into the two raiders who were walking their patrol. There was no knocking these two out, Achilles drew and fired twice, hitting both in the center of mass and sending them down with screams of pain. “Now we need to run,” he called back into the little shed. He shoved the revolver, still smoking, back into his holster and started running for the fence.
Patrick lit the fuse, the tiny spark starting its path to destruction. “Running now!” He sprinted forward, passing Achilles up, and tossed the gun bag over the fence, climbing up quickly. He turned around and reached a hand down as Achilles caught up. They grasped hands and Patrick heaved him over.
By now there were shouts from the camp, mostly confusion and questions. Achilles and Patrick had yet to be spotted, but it sounded like they had found the bleeding raiders. Achilles wondered vaguely as they ran if they would survive the wounds. They were a good thirty yards from the fence already when the dynamite went up.
The next day
“You would think the Sheriff would be more appreciative is all I’m saying. We turned in a bag full of guns, bring him a criminal, even blow up a Raider camp and we didn’t even get a bent bottle cap for it.” Patrick pushed open the door of the Radiation Roost. “Hey barman! Can I get a Nuka-Cola?”
Achilles shrugged as he ordered a glass of whatever brown liquor they had. It didn’t taste quite like whiskey, but it didn’t taste that unlike it either. “We’ll live, maybe someone’ll pick up our tab out of thanks.”