Carlyle
Chev
IzurichFar Harbor-near Pine Crest Cavern
It certainly was an odd sight. As far as he could see, there was clear forest behind them. For nearly 55 years Doctor Theodore Wright had lived on this island. He had seen the edge of the Fog roll in and out, lapping the forest's edge as consistently as waves that came upon the rocky shores of the island itself. But never before had the Fog receded so far inland. The more he thought of it, never before had he been so far inland either-and for good reason too. The interior of the island was no place for a townie. Sure, like all Harbormen he considered himself tougher than your average mainlander. But as the Far Harbor's physician, he saw firsthand what the Fog could do. Chemical burns to the skin. Bronchitis in the lungs. And whatever the hell it did to the mind. And that was (to his understanding) just radioactive water. Add in the gulpers, the crawlers, the anglers, the crabs...place was a goddamned gumbo stew from hell. Ten years ago, he was almost sure the entire town of Far Harbor would be added to the mix. Fog had swallowed so much of the island and people naturally blamed the rad-worshiping Children of Atom. Tensions got high. Thankfully after the whole Acadia fiasco, things never got as tense as they were back then. But with the Fog recently turning tail so fast after only a matter of weeks...he started to wonder if the blaming fingers might start getting pointed in the other direction…
“If you wanna convince me to stop and sight see with you, better have a souvenir flask handy..Never mind, got my own” Dr. Wright looked back to see Longfellow, -his grin barely hidden by the bottle of whiskey at his lips.
With a roll of his eyes, Dr. Wright resumed his hike. “We truly are too old for this shit”
“Well doc…you owe me one. All them medicinal herbs don't pick themselves. Besides, haven't you ever been curious about what the Island is really like?”
The more he thought about it, the more he had to admit it-he truly was curious. How could he truly consider himself a true islander if he only ever experienced its coasts? But then he saw it -the edge of the Fog. Within its hoary pall was the visage of a derelict Trapper’s fort. He could hear the faint buzzing of flies. He could also detect the faint stench of decaying corpses.
Dr. Wright sighed “I was honestly banking on your liver giving out before the favor would be called in”
“What can I say Doc?” Longfellow said with a chuckle and friendly pat to the doctor’s back “You got healing hands” Longfellow looked deeper into the shadow before them. “You know, even with these Trappers gone, never thought he'd leave the old camp. Much nicer in my opinion.” With a disgusted whiff, he cleared his nostrils. “Certainly smelled nicer”
Dr. Wright squinted his eyes, the cave entrance within the Fog barely visible. He turned to Longfellow. “You know I make no promises, right? This is far outside the realm of my expertise”
“I know”, said Longfellow. “He’s an old friend though. I promised I’d at least try.”
Dr. Wright pulled a bottle of Rad-X from his pocket. With a deftness that only comes with years of popping open pharmaceuticals, he lifted the lid with his thumb and shot a single pill out to land under his tongue. Taking Longfellow’s bottle, he poured a shot into an empty flask, handed the bottle back and raised his flask. “To old friends and bad promises”. And with a smile and a toast, they headed towards the cave in the depths of the Fog.
From the looks of it, Dr. Wright guessed the Trapper corpses had to be at least a week old. Putrefaction had set in. Some early signs of skeletonization. It did seem odd that none of the wildlife had taken hold of more.
“You’d think he’d at least clean house if he was expecting visitors”
Longfellow signed “Like I said doc, something’s not right with him.”
There were right at the cave’s entrance. A sharp crack suddenly took Dr. Wright’s attention. He looked down to see that he had stepped on a partially decomposed human tibia. “Well, I certainly don’t disagree with that diagnosis”
As a wasteland doctor, Dr. Wright never considered himself too far removed from the backwoods shamans of the more remote parts of post-apocalyptia. Perhaps the title "doctor" was putting on airs. Sure, he had a copy or two of the Massachusetts Surgical Journal. A dog-eared copy of the 2076 D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine compendium. But who the hell had a functional “pluripotent stem cell bank,” “targeted liposomal microsonicator and re-aggregator” or “Autodoc rapid qPCR interpretation module” anymore? Pre-war medicine was near magical. What Dr. Wright knew were the things he learned from his father (and likely what his father had learned from the mentors before him): Keep wounds clean. If you see bleeding, apply pressure. Never cut a vessel with a short name. Use all five senses, (and sometimes your gut too). If the Geiger counter clicks come your way, break out a box of rad-away. And when in doubt-stimpak it. Thank God they could still make stimpaks. But psychiatry was a different story. For all of modern science’s advances in twisting nature to its own devices, even the pre-war doctors might just as well have been wasteland shamans when it came to the human mind. At least, as far as Dr. Wright could gather from the pre-war books. He never found much useful there. Sure you could reduce the brain to a bunch of biochemical reactions but what did all that thermodynamic mumbo jumbo mean when it came to a broken heart or melancholy spirit? Drugs could scrub the surface of it and maybe mask things for a time but in Wright’s experience it all came back to talking it out. And when that failed, hell, back to shamanism and pray to whatever power made this cruel world.
When Dr. Wright saw what was in the cave, he certainly made a few quick invocations.
The corpses there were much fresher. For the more intact ones, some even appeared to still be in rigor mortis. But they weren’t human. Emaciated mongrels. Pit bull mixes. What may have been a German shepherd. Bits and pieces of them strewn about the cavern haphazardly as though they had been torn apart. At the far end of the cave between two boulders stood a Super Mutant gowned in a bloodied Yao Gui pelt. It was hard to see completely through the Fog, but Dr. Wright could faintly see the crumpled form of an old dog cradled in the mutant's arms. The mutant was crying uncontrollably.
“Erickson, my god, what happened?” Shouted Longfellow. “Look, just sit down, I brought you a doctor. We can get this all sorted out.”
The mutant looked up at his guests. “They were…imperfect. I couldn’t…fix them. My dreams.” Near the mutant Dr. Wright saw a stack of holotapes. He slowly began to move towards them but he was suddenly caught off guard. A gust of wind blew whistled through the cave entrance behind them, the pressure change suddenly thinning the fog in the cavern. Dr. Wright then realized that the boulders beside the mutant were not boulders, but giant green dogs in sternal recumbency, their glowing eyes piercingly fixed towards the two human newcomers. In unison, the beasts turned their heads to the master between them. There was a sudden resoluteness in the Super mutant’s face. But Dr. Wright could see it beginning to break. A fresh tear began to fall from the mutant's eye.
“You must leave this place” The mutant said firmly.
Their eyes still fixed on their master, the mutant hounds cocked their heads synchronously in curiosity. A pair of growls began to echo throughout the cavern.
“NOW!” roared the mutant. Dr. Wright could only faintly see the two green blurs dart towards each other before he was yanked by Longfellow in the direction of the cave’s entrance. The growling echos in the cavern were suddenly interjected with vicious snarls and the screams of the great mutant in an agonizing cacophony. Then came the cracking of bones. The screams fell silent. Dr. Wright could see the moonlight break through the cave’s entrance, but the echoes of his footfalls along the rock floor reminded him that he was not yet out of danger. Two bone chilling howls shook the walls of the cave as his feet finally met the soft traction of the forest floor. His geiger counter clicked madly as he dove into the depths of the Fog. God he hated psychiatry.
It certainly was an odd sight. As far as he could see, there was clear forest behind them. For nearly 55 years Doctor Theodore Wright had lived on this island. He had seen the edge of the Fog roll in and out, lapping the forest's edge as consistently as waves that came upon the rocky shores of the island itself. But never before had the Fog receded so far inland. The more he thought of it, never before had he been so far inland either-and for good reason too. The interior of the island was no place for a townie. Sure, like all Harbormen he considered himself tougher than your average mainlander. But as the Far Harbor's physician, he saw firsthand what the Fog could do. Chemical burns to the skin. Bronchitis in the lungs. And whatever the hell it did to the mind. And that was (to his understanding) just radioactive water. Add in the gulpers, the crawlers, the anglers, the crabs...place was a goddamned gumbo stew from hell. Ten years ago, he was almost sure the entire town of Far Harbor would be added to the mix. Fog had swallowed so much of the island and people naturally blamed the rad-worshiping Children of Atom. Tensions got high. Thankfully after the whole Acadia fiasco, things never got as tense as they were back then. But with the Fog recently turning tail so fast after only a matter of weeks...he started to wonder if the blaming fingers might start getting pointed in the other direction…
“If you wanna convince me to stop and sight see with you, better have a souvenir flask handy..Never mind, got my own” Dr. Wright looked back to see Longfellow, -his grin barely hidden by the bottle of whiskey at his lips.
With a roll of his eyes, Dr. Wright resumed his hike. “We truly are too old for this shit”
“Well doc…you owe me one. All them medicinal herbs don't pick themselves. Besides, haven't you ever been curious about what the Island is really like?”
The more he thought about it, the more he had to admit it-he truly was curious. How could he truly consider himself a true islander if he only ever experienced its coasts? But then he saw it -the edge of the Fog. Within its hoary pall was the visage of a derelict Trapper’s fort. He could hear the faint buzzing of flies. He could also detect the faint stench of decaying corpses.
Dr. Wright sighed “I was honestly banking on your liver giving out before the favor would be called in”
“What can I say Doc?” Longfellow said with a chuckle and friendly pat to the doctor’s back “You got healing hands” Longfellow looked deeper into the shadow before them. “You know, even with these Trappers gone, never thought he'd leave the old camp. Much nicer in my opinion.” With a disgusted whiff, he cleared his nostrils. “Certainly smelled nicer”
Dr. Wright squinted his eyes, the cave entrance within the Fog barely visible. He turned to Longfellow. “You know I make no promises, right? This is far outside the realm of my expertise”
“I know”, said Longfellow. “He’s an old friend though. I promised I’d at least try.”
Dr. Wright pulled a bottle of Rad-X from his pocket. With a deftness that only comes with years of popping open pharmaceuticals, he lifted the lid with his thumb and shot a single pill out to land under his tongue. Taking Longfellow’s bottle, he poured a shot into an empty flask, handed the bottle back and raised his flask. “To old friends and bad promises”. And with a smile and a toast, they headed towards the cave in the depths of the Fog.
From the looks of it, Dr. Wright guessed the Trapper corpses had to be at least a week old. Putrefaction had set in. Some early signs of skeletonization. It did seem odd that none of the wildlife had taken hold of more.
“You’d think he’d at least clean house if he was expecting visitors”
Longfellow signed “Like I said doc, something’s not right with him.”
There were right at the cave’s entrance. A sharp crack suddenly took Dr. Wright’s attention. He looked down to see that he had stepped on a partially decomposed human tibia. “Well, I certainly don’t disagree with that diagnosis”
As a wasteland doctor, Dr. Wright never considered himself too far removed from the backwoods shamans of the more remote parts of post-apocalyptia. Perhaps the title "doctor" was putting on airs. Sure, he had a copy or two of the Massachusetts Surgical Journal. A dog-eared copy of the 2076 D.C. Journal of Internal Medicine compendium. But who the hell had a functional “pluripotent stem cell bank,” “targeted liposomal microsonicator and re-aggregator” or “Autodoc rapid qPCR interpretation module” anymore? Pre-war medicine was near magical. What Dr. Wright knew were the things he learned from his father (and likely what his father had learned from the mentors before him): Keep wounds clean. If you see bleeding, apply pressure. Never cut a vessel with a short name. Use all five senses, (and sometimes your gut too). If the Geiger counter clicks come your way, break out a box of rad-away. And when in doubt-stimpak it. Thank God they could still make stimpaks. But psychiatry was a different story. For all of modern science’s advances in twisting nature to its own devices, even the pre-war doctors might just as well have been wasteland shamans when it came to the human mind. At least, as far as Dr. Wright could gather from the pre-war books. He never found much useful there. Sure you could reduce the brain to a bunch of biochemical reactions but what did all that thermodynamic mumbo jumbo mean when it came to a broken heart or melancholy spirit? Drugs could scrub the surface of it and maybe mask things for a time but in Wright’s experience it all came back to talking it out. And when that failed, hell, back to shamanism and pray to whatever power made this cruel world.
When Dr. Wright saw what was in the cave, he certainly made a few quick invocations.
The corpses there were much fresher. For the more intact ones, some even appeared to still be in rigor mortis. But they weren’t human. Emaciated mongrels. Pit bull mixes. What may have been a German shepherd. Bits and pieces of them strewn about the cavern haphazardly as though they had been torn apart. At the far end of the cave between two boulders stood a Super Mutant gowned in a bloodied Yao Gui pelt. It was hard to see completely through the Fog, but Dr. Wright could faintly see the crumpled form of an old dog cradled in the mutant's arms. The mutant was crying uncontrollably.
“Erickson, my god, what happened?” Shouted Longfellow. “Look, just sit down, I brought you a doctor. We can get this all sorted out.”
The mutant looked up at his guests. “They were…imperfect. I couldn’t…fix them. My dreams.” Near the mutant Dr. Wright saw a stack of holotapes. He slowly began to move towards them but he was suddenly caught off guard. A gust of wind blew whistled through the cave entrance behind them, the pressure change suddenly thinning the fog in the cavern. Dr. Wright then realized that the boulders beside the mutant were not boulders, but giant green dogs in sternal recumbency, their glowing eyes piercingly fixed towards the two human newcomers. In unison, the beasts turned their heads to the master between them. There was a sudden resoluteness in the Super mutant’s face. But Dr. Wright could see it beginning to break. A fresh tear began to fall from the mutant's eye.
“You must leave this place” The mutant said firmly.
Their eyes still fixed on their master, the mutant hounds cocked their heads synchronously in curiosity. A pair of growls began to echo throughout the cavern.
“NOW!” roared the mutant. Dr. Wright could only faintly see the two green blurs dart towards each other before he was yanked by Longfellow in the direction of the cave’s entrance. The growling echos in the cavern were suddenly interjected with vicious snarls and the screams of the great mutant in an agonizing cacophony. Then came the cracking of bones. The screams fell silent. Dr. Wright could see the moonlight break through the cave’s entrance, but the echoes of his footfalls along the rock floor reminded him that he was not yet out of danger. Two bone chilling howls shook the walls of the cave as his feet finally met the soft traction of the forest floor. His geiger counter clicked madly as he dove into the depths of the Fog. God he hated psychiatry.