Chapter Text
A broken scream tore from Nora’s throat when the barrel of the flamer pressed against her side. Had it been on purpose, an attempt at torture, she could have dealt with the pain better. Her own contrary nature would have endured it. Instead, the men who had her pinned just didn’t care.
“So, you think you can just steal shit from us?” A knee pressed into her arm, a face just above hers, breath heavy with chems.
“I didn’t steal from you.” Nora twisted, but nothing could move the heavy bodies pinning her.
“Yeah, you did. This farm? It’s ours, and you’re fucking with it. Don’t think we didn’t see you giving ‘em guns and shit. You think a few guns would work against us?”
Nora shifted to the left, making the hot barrel of the flamer press harder against her side, but it would be worth it if she could break their hold. “I don’t even know who you are.”
Everything hurt. She’d shown up to check on the small homestead near the northern edge of their territory after giving them a few modified rifles when they’d complained about raider attacks. The place was too small to set up as a real settlement, and she’d have preferred they just move to a properly secured area, but the father had refused.
At first, Nora had scoffed at his stubbornness. She’d lost a child before, she knew what it did to a person. Then the man had broken down and explained his wife had died two years prior, that he couldn’t imagine leaving the home they’d shared, the one they’d had their children in.
Being a soft touch, as MacCready would often sneer, Nora had given in. She’d done the same, hadn’t she? Building up Sanctuary and resuming her place in the home she’d shared with Nate?
So she’d given him weapons, set up a few turrets, and helped install a safe room in a cave for the kids in case the worst happened.
Judging by the home in flames, the worst had happened. The burnt body of the father smoldered, but she saw nothing else. Had the kids hidden like she’d taught them? Were they waiting in that cave for a father who’d never come back?
The oldest was twelve, a girl who mothered the other two, and a set of eight-year-old twin boys. She’d given the girl a map, set the cave with stimpacks, a gun, caps. If anything happened, they were to go to The Slog. A long trip, but she’d trust Wiseman with the kids, with getting them to where they needed to go. There weren’t many she’d trust with kids, not anymore, but Wiseman would take care of them.
“You don’t know who we are? Come on girl, you ain’t that stupid. You just stumble onto one of our hunting grounds and don’t know? Yeah, we might be a little more south than usual, but that doesn’t mean shit.” He laughed as his fingers found a burn that had singed the front of her shirt, near the shoulder. He pressed against the skin, drawing another scream from Nora. “But that doesn’t fucking matter. When we’re done with you, you’ll remember us really fucking well, and you can head out and make sure you tell everyone to stay the fuck outta our territory.” He leaned in and dragged his tongue up the side of her cheek, over another burn, before whispering to her. “You’ll regret ever fucking with The Forged.”
#
The screaming of a woman was a sound Rampart could never ignore. Something in the tenor of it, in the guttural sound, the way it barrelled through the barren lands always shook him. He could ignore a lot of things, did ignore a lot of things.
Getting involved wasn’t fucking worth it. Never mattered anyway, so he let shit work itself out. It always did, in the end.
The scream of a woman though, that did him in every fucking time, and he always paid the price for it. Didn’t matter though, that shit was hard-wired into him.
He picked up his sniper rifle and hauled himself off the rocks by the lake he’d been resting at.
A rest, that’s all he’d wanted. A nice break beside the water before gearing up for another trip to Goodneighbor to sell shit.
Instead, he was hauling his ass up the rocky terrain, sharp bits biting into his hands, all to save some stupid woman who would probably just get herself killed a few days later.
At the top of the small hill, Rampart crouched in bushes. The sight stopped him cold.
It wasn’t random raiders, not the shit he dealt with day in and day out.
When the fuck had The Forged moved this far from the factory? They never went far from their base, and this was a long fucking way from there. He worked at avoiding anything within about ten miles of their territory, but fuck if that seemed to work now.
Flames engulfed a house behind them, the things his nightmares were made of. Not even the fire, but the maniacal laughing from the assholes that blended with the pops of the flames. The scent of burning flesh filled the clearing and had him dry heaving.
Fuck this. Anything else, but not The Forged. He’d barely survived them the first time and if they caught sight of him?
Nope.
He took a step backward until another scream stopped him.
He pulled his rifle and used the scope to survey. Four men and a woman on the ground between them. It didn’t take a genius to figure out their plan, not with how one perched above her, hands fumbling with her pants.
Heroism had gotten him exactly nowhere in his life, but he couldn’t just turn around.
The woman lifted her head, nailing the man on top of her in the nose. So, she had some bite?
The man ignored her pants in favor of tangling his hand in her hair, lifting her head and slamming it against the ground.
Rampart couldn’t let it go on anymore.
He took aim, letting the tension drain from his shoulders, his back. The woman stopped moving. Unconscious? At least stunned. It meant the men slowed, went still.
Easy shots.
He dropped the first two before any could react. The one on top of the woman rolled off, hands going for his pistol. The other still alive dove for cover, but another shot from Rampart had him down, too.
Too easy. Distance was something Rampart had learned well, something he prided himself on. No reason to get in close if you didn’t need to. Getting in close got you killed and gave them too much power.
The last man, the one who’d been on top of the woman, took cover behind a rusted car frame.
“You got any idea the hell you’re pulling down on yourself?” The man’s voice carried over the snap of the fire. All that fucking arrogance didn’t hide the quiver.
“You’re a little far south. You lost, asshole?” Rampart replaced his sniper rifle, exchanging it for something easier to handle as he rushed forward, along the line of trees, until he could get cover behind a boulder beside the woman.
She moved, but not fast. Girl had taken a hell of a hit to the head. Blood matted her hair and some soaked into the dirt beneath her as she shifted on the ground but didn’t move to rise.
“Walk away, and you’ll live,” the man bargained.
A bargain meant he knew exactly how deep into shit he was. Perfect.
Not that Rampart would let that happen. He’d learned his lesson well. Don’t let people escape, not when they could hurt you. He inched to the side of the boulder until he could spot the man behind the car. An easy flank, and The Forged took enough chems to dull the pain of the burns they always had that they rarely had their wits about them. It was one of their biggest failings and advantages. Fuckers were crazy, willing to run in and raze anything, but they were also stupid.
Rampart didn’t try for some quip, for something witty. He raised his pistol and unloaded shot after shot into the Forged raider until he was damned sure the asshole wasn’t getting up again.
Then, because it was the first Forged he’d seen in five years, he drew his leg back and kicked the body once more.
Movement to the side caught his attention. A flash of darkness against the far treeline. Another raider? Rampart pulled his rifle to his shoulder, but they disappeared around the bend in the road.
He should follow them. The last thing he needed was The Forged to know he was there, to send more assholes after him. His face was the sort that a simple description would be enough to identify him.
A whimper from the woman had him stilling, had him unwilling to abandon her there. He cursed at himself, holstered his pistol, and moved over her.
Burns covered her, none too severe, nothing that’d kill her. A stimpack to deal with the head injury, to speed up the healing of the burns, and she’d be fine in a few days.
Course, that meant he couldn’t just leave her there. Where the fuck were her people? Only idiots traveled alone.
Well, idiots and him.
Then again, he had just faced off against four fucking Forged to save some girl he didn’t even know, so maybe he was an idiot.
He could leave her. . .
Maybe her people would show, maybe they wouldn’t. She had muscle on her, enough fat to show she ate, clean enough to say she took care of herself. The weapons to the side of her that weren’t Forged said she’d been armed. She’d be fine.
He took a step backward, but another whine from her had his fists drawn tight.
Fuck it.
Rampart gathered her armor, her weapons, her pack, then lifted her over his shoulder. Thankfully, she didn’t wake because he’d bet he was pissing off every one of her burns.
He’d made dumb mistakes before, but this one? This one might just get him killed.