Chapter 37 She’s somebody's Rosie. John woke feeling well rested, excited for the day ahead. He’d gotten an early night in the rooms out back, making notes and taking measurements before settling into the half container room for the night. He started exercising as the sun came up, knowing well by now that it would help for the day ahead. As he ran back and forth with a beer barrel John heard a window slide open and Roxy poked her head through. “Don’t stop on my account Sugar.” Her face had a softer look in the morning light. “But if you’re moving them anyway why not swap out the empties from behind the bar.” John laughed at missing the obvious way to be helpful. John heaved two matte silver, pressurised barrels behind the bar. He set them down and began detaching the clean hoses with his multi-tool under Roxy’s supervision. Under the bar he saw a litany of small arms, each with drum magazines and bulky grips modified for robotic pronged hands. John picked up the empty barrels by the handle, curling them like dumbbells, finding the weight just about ideal. “You know you’d get a better workout with your shirt off.” John laughed off what Valkyrie wouldn’t even consider flirting. “Coffee?” John came back into the now quiet bar geared up and ready to leave by o’six hundred. Roxy poured him coffee and smiled as went to pay. “Relax, Billy told me to open a tab for you.” “Thank you.” John reacted quickly, finding that covered gaps in his knowledge most of the time. “Means we’ll charge you another time, it’s not free.” Roxy poured herself a cup and sat next to John, the white robe falling from her crossed legs. “You’ve got a free bath on your tab too. Billy made sure of that.” Something in Roxy’s soft tone made John wonder what she knew about him. He’d told Billy a great deal. “I know what happened in The City.” Roxy seemed to shudder. “All of it.” Then her cold demeanour returned. “If you get my Billy into danger like that again you’ll have me to deal with.” “I got it.” John felt like he could handle four greenskins by himself now anyway. And they would be preferable to Roxy. “Good!” Roxy kissed him on the cheek, her point made and her manner softened. “Breakfast will be ready soon, on the house for men who do what I say.” John ate everything Roxy put in front of him. Toasted bread, bacon fried to a crisp, tato rings in batter. He waited for Billy’s crew to arrive. Hawkins arrived first, short hair and stubble, far too busy checking bags to talk to John. Mitch arrived next, a tall and thin man, who seemed friendly enough. And finally Joanne, or Jolene, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem to matter as either of the female sniper team went by JoJo anyway. After Hawkins finished repacking the bags, making sure everyone had food, water, and ammo, the six strong crew left by the south gate with John on point. To the south of Shadowtown lay a single four lane road. vanishing into a dot on a flat horizon. Nothing higher than the animal sheds and crops, and even they stopped before long. Either side of the road and been systematically stripped of any decent cover. Ruins had been broken down by simple robotic workers, trees had been harvested. Anyone walking the road stood exposed and easy pickings for the Shrikes in the Tower. John kept on point, pressing buttons through his sleeve to send mapping pulses, turning round every few paces like he’d been taught. Every time someone spoke he expected to hear Sara telling him to do something. The chatter carried on about nothing in particular, John didn’t say much and tried to listen mostly. The afternoon came and went. Hills began to rise, the forest appeared and began to edge closer to the road. And a square block crept up from the horizon. “Alright, we’ll meet you on the east side. Find a place to rest up.” Billy handed off his pack, helping John do the same. “You don’t have to go in, it might be tough...for you.” Billy had an unsure tone. “No, whatever it is, I can handle it.” John wanted to see, to understand, yet the look JoJo shared worried him. “You got your caps?” Billy asked. “Yeah they’re right,” John felt his panic rise as patted down his pockets for the pair of five hundred cap pouches, finding them missing. “Shit. I must of dropped them.” Billy laughed and dangled the pouches in front of him. “You better let me hang on to them. Least until you learn how to tell if someone is picking your pocket.” John followed Billy and Hawkins along the road. A figure approached, coming the other way, stopping every so often. He paid them little attention as he dragged his cart along. The man worked a handle on the cart, pumping something up the long pole in his hand and into the cast iron bucket hung from the pre-war street lights. As John walked by, he saw the slave collar around the man’s neck. He tried to make eye contact, but the wizened face stared only up or down. The man wound a crank handle on the pole and a clicking sound ignited the bucket with a whoosh of flame. John looked down the straight road and saw more burning lights, then looked back at the way they’d come. He wondered if the man would manage to light all the buckets before the sun came back up. Beggars began to line the road, most of them too sickly and in withdrawal to be slaves. John couldn’t look at them, and wondered if there might have been another reason Billy took his caps. The tall, square, residential building had been constructed over a major road junction long ago. The walkways between blocks served as battlements over a three storey open gate. Burning torches in sconces and the hands of guards made the Four Corners look like a castle from John’s book. Except they had swords, bows, and a code to live by. Not chems, automatic weapons, and slaves. John walked past traders selling crude armour. Built by slaves in the back, with sharp spikes that seemed designed more to intimidate than protect. Chems were sold openly, paired with rooms sold by the hour. With or without the company of the sickly and vacant men and women outside. Raiders sat outside getting their faces, arms, or necks painted with stabbing needles in the hands of a woman covered in the same. Every step John took inside, every slave he saw get a backhand from a cruel master, every time he spotted a guard too high to react quickly, he had the same thought. Rolling in heavy with the Marauders. Every tactic he knew, every imagined attack he’d trained for, channelled his growing anger into a plan of smashing through the human shaped animals in his power armour. Yet the more he walked, the more snipers in windows he saw. The more machine gun nests he noticed, and the more he knew why Sara wouldn’t come here with twenty knights. We’d probably kill more than we’d save, he thought. They reached the centre as John tried to breathe through his anger, then it became dread and paralysing fear. In the centre a raised platform had been built. Underneath and behind mesh, slaves were examined and tormented at the hands of their would be owners. A wiry man in a tattered suit and tall hat ordered the slavers in the cage to bring up people, then he sold them like scrap. And the pale skin and mop of red hair on the woman brought up made John freeze in terror, then burn with rage. “Stand up straight bitch!” The wiry man grabbed the woman’s red hair, yanking it back. Not Rosie, John thought as he saw hazel eyes and no pipboy. Relief hit him like stepping into a warm shower after a cold day spent outside. It vanished as quick as it came, leaving guilt, shame, and anger. She’s somebody's Rosie, John thought, finding his hand on his pistol. “Give me my caps Billy.” John saw reluctance in Billy’s face and a look that he knew what John wanted them for. “Listen, kid.” Billy tried to calm him, but John could hear the shouts of numbers getting ever higher. “Caps. Now.” John snatched both pouches and barged through the crowd. He heard insults and threats, but ignored them, concentrating on two things. What Crixus taught him about intimidating people with his size, and what Grimm taught him about getting past guards. At the bottom of the staircase stood two slaver guards with shotguns. One of them put a hand on John's chest to stop him walking. John did as Grimm taught him. He grabbed the cruel hand and twisted it back, following with a swift, strong kick at the other guard’s gut and a jab with the edge of his palm to the throat. They went down spluttering and writhing, being laughed at like the slaves while John stomped up the stairs. “Sold.” John snarled, and tossed a pouch at the wiry man. The crowd cheered with sick amusement as John gripped the woman’s upper arm in one hand and drew his pistol with the other. “There’s barely five hundred here!” The wiry man complained as scooped the caps up from the floor. John stepped over to him, putting the man in his shadow as the crowd cheered and whooped at the thought of more violence. “You can make five hundred caps or I can make a mess.” John did his best Grimm impression. “S,s, sold for five hundred.” The wiry man held out a remote detonator for the collar and John snatched it away. The crowd booed, so John took one last look at the wiry man’s face and kicked him backwards just hard enough for him to spill caps over the side. “It’s alright, we’re leaving here soon.” John whispered to the terrified woman he’d just bought as they walked away. “Yes Master.” She whimpered, scared half out of her mind. “My name’s John.” He tried to smile and make eye contact, she wouldn’t look at him. “Yes Master John.” Hawkins had already started ranting at Billy by the time John returned. Billy shook his head but seemed more amused than anything else. “You know you can’t take the collar off right? Not yet anyway.” Billy whispered. “I know, I’ll tell her soon.” John felt a rush of pride as the adrenaline subsided. “You could have gotten us killed.” Hawkins snapped. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” John answered him with a half truth, he wasn’t sorry. “Take this. Buy yourself warm clothes, good boots that fit, a decent pack, plus food and water for three days.” Billy took back the other five hundred and gave it to the woman with his instructions. “Yes Master.” She took off to the quieter parts of the market. Part of John hoped she’d take it and run from this place, but he knew she’d be in this exact spot when they returned. He had no idea what to do after that. Billy led them to a busy building, walking right past the line of people, to an older woman in a windowed booth set between metal doors. “Here to see Don Sal.” Billy informed the older woman. She spoke into something that John took for a radio, but had a coiled wire attached, and they were let inside. Inside mesh fencing had been added to force people through to a guard before going further. “Lose the hardware.” The guard shoved an empty crate at them with his boot. Billy laid down his assault rifle and John did the same, then his weapon belt. Billy got frisked first by the guard who looked competent at the very least. He went through then John stepped forward, Billy glaring at him and trying to keep everything calm. “Easy, I broke my arm last week.” John pulled away as the searching hands touched the pipboy under his chainmail and leather sleeves. He prepared to show the guard, already having bandaged the pipboy, but he didn’t ask and up the stairs they went. Each step on the old carpet felt stickier than the last. Ornate pre-war wall lights gave a soft glow that became interrupted by the bright emergency lights. They went through a double door to a balcony. A few men in suits sat around on old furniture or at the well stocked bar. Billy and Hawkins started making the rounds. Greeting people with overblown hugs and handshakes, teamed with gentle insults. John wandered straight over the balcony's edge, recognising something below. John saw a stage and theatre, like the pre-war movie he’d watched. The raised stage served as host for would be travellers to present tribute to the three gang leaders who controlled a road each. While they looked on from plush seats on raised platforms. Like they were the kings of old. John looked past the groups of men in suits, past the people with painted faces and fur clothing, glaring at the figure sat motionless by the east door. “Only things change round here are the names.” Billy slid next to him a put a double whiskey in his hand. John had to try and keep from breaking the glass with his grip. “One goes down and someone else steps up. These here in the suits, that’s the Family, they got the west. Those lunatics are the Hunters, they got the south. And over there is the Baron.” “The Baron.” John said the name to make sure he’d remember and stared, knowing what fate awaited the murderous thief. Sat alone and still by the east door, the Baron wore a suit of power armour, and had desecrated it further still. To fix the damage that must have occurred when the Baron stole the armour, bones had been grafted on in place of steel. Taloned feet, clawed fingers, large rib cages woven together. Then the real insult. The shoulders had been replaced with what could only be the skulls of mutated hounds. Aside from people, the next most dangerous creature that came from the man made virus were the hounds. Once friendly dogs became savage brutes with thick skulls, crushing jaws and sharp teeth. Loyal only to the Abomination that shared it’s foul scent. The Baron had mounted both skulls intact, still with jaws attached. His face covered with the once human skull that bore the grotesque, overgrown signs of mutation. Somehow John got angrier still as he saw the three bullet ridden power armour helmets adorning his throne. Anyone that killed a sworn knight was designated primum mortis. Sara taught him what it meant, kill at the first opportunity. It might take a month, it might take a year or longer, but eventually someone wearing a winged sword would put the Baron down. As a sworn knight John had standing orders to do exactly that. “He doesn't have back up?” John asked, focusing on his target, as he was trained to do. “No he does, he just doesn't advertise it. Hires people and keeps it quiet, anyone could be working for him. It works too, made a real name for himself over the last year.” Billy seemed impressed, John thought it cowardly, at best. “Just relax, ten minutes and we’re gone.” Billy turned from John as the leader of the Family arrived from downstairs. “Don Sal! Good to see you.” Billy switched on the charm and John turned back to the Baron, hoping for a careless moment to take a shot with the holdout pistol the frisk missed. “John, John?” Billy called him over. “This the guy?” The pudgy man in the neat and clean suit asked. “John this Don Salvatore of The Family.” John shook the soft hand adorned in rings as Billy introduced him. He stayed quiet and looked mean, it came easy. “So where the fuck have you been? Had this job over a month now.” Don Sal reminded him of the bad guy in the pre-war movie about gangsters that ran a casino. “Busy.” John thought that covered things nicely. “He’s the best Don Sal, he goes all over.” Billy tried to talk him up. “So how you gonna open it?” Sal asked as if he knew something about Vaults. “Why would I tell you that?” John tried to deflect. One the larger of Don Sal’s goons stood and spoke. “The Don asked you a question.” John didn’t even look at him, focusing on the pudgy, soft, little man he’d taken an instant dislike to. He made John think of the people on level one, trying to cling to the past. “I’ll tell you how I opened the last vault I found.” John offered a compromise and Sal accepted by raising his fat hand. “Drilled the locking pins with a diamond tipped bit, set thermite charges and melted the lock right off. Got this for my trouble.” John hitched his right sleeve up an inch to show off the antique watch he wore. Robco thought it might be a good idea in case he needed something to trade. “That’s a fine timepiece kid.” Don Sal seemed to be expecting something but John didn’t know what. He felt Billy take the watch off his wrist and give it to Sal. “Please Don Sal, take it as a sign of our respect.” Billy threw John a subtle shake of the head. “Alright, Gino’s got the map.” Sal gave a wave and his second laid out a map on a table. Along with a faded pre-war pamphlet. It showed a large building, clean stone and vibrant lawns. John could make out the word military. “Billy, good to see you. Give Roxy my best.” Sal threw John a smile as if it were a favour, then left with his gang, making a joke at John's expense that they all laughed at. John made note of the entrances and exits on the way out, just in case. “Are these ok Master John?” The red headed woman sounded scared of making a mistake. She’d picked out clothes that almost matched his jeans, check shirt, and boots. “Yes, great, well done.” John didn’t know what else to say. “Come on, lets get the fuck outta here.” Billy breathed a sigh of relief and led them out along the east road. “Wait,” John stepped closer to Billy as they passed a long butcher’s shop front. “I thought the Baron ran the east road?” “He does, which is why The Family is giving us the tip, I can move things through Shadowtown and the Baron doesn't have to know.” Billy seemed pleased with his minor deception. “What’s with you and the Baron anyway?” “I’m going to kill him.” John kept walking, leaving Billy stunned.