Chapter 41 “Not each.”

John walked back along the east road with Carol following. The Deathclaw hadn’t moved. He looked through the forest and found Joanne’s body, clawed and smashed against a tree. He gave Carol the pistol and sent her on a little. He took the dead Ranger in his arms and started walking.

Before long they reached the truck and wrapped Joanne in a blanket. He felt his strength failing but knew he had to press on. Finally John stopped. He weighted the blanket with rocks, walked Joanne out to the centre of the bridge they’d crossed, and slowly let the water take the Ranger home to be with Jolene.

John heaved the armour back onto its feet, Carol had to help. The multi-tool and hammer attachment helped bend and fold back the torn steel from the neck and sides. The T-51 held up well, despite losing pressure in a few pistons. Carol had the sense to bring another blanket from the truck for Billy. She threw it over him before heading back to the truck. He had no idea what to do with him, and none came by the time they’d returned with the truck in tow.

The extra weight didn’t slow John down, the truck kept rolling along the road easily enough. They pulled off a mile out from the Four Corners.

“You sure you’ll be ok?” John asked Carol.

“He’s got it coming. I’ll be fine.” She'd helped John plan and had gotten angrier as the day went on.

“I know you will. I’ll be back soon.” John detached one of the clamp like hands from the armour and slid his holdout pistol up his sleeve. He stepped back into the armour and gripped the other hand onto the horn of the Deathclaw corpse they’d dragged along. Ready to give Don Sal a lot more than what he’d sent them out there to get.

People stared and recoiled as John strode into the Four Corners. Some cheered, some laughed, others patted the thick hide. But most were afraid of the stomping armour and dead monster being dragged alongside.

John went to the rear of the theatre that served as headquarters for the three leaders, finding the door he'd noticed previously. “What the fuck!” Two members of The Family guarded the entrance, identified by formal suits and submachine guns.

“Don Sal is expecting me. Got his new trophy.” John growled, his mean face easily found.

“You killed this thing?” One of them poked at the sharp teeth and John flicked his arm to make it move.

“Yeah. Now I want to get paid and Don Sal wants the Baron to see this.” John knew about the tension between the Baron and Don Sal. The Baron would have to wait for the death he’d earned by killing knights and desecrating their armour.

The doors swung open and John stomped into the theatre, dragging the monsterous corpse behind him. John felt his adrenaline spike as he saw Don Sal stand. The Hunters pounded spears on the ground in approval, while the soon to be dead Baron sat motionless as ever in his steel and bone armour.

“Look what my people have brought me!” Don Sal stood and greeted John as if he had planned this. His gang started praising Don Sal and clapping for him. The short and pudgy Sal approached John, pretending to greet him in the over the top way The Family did. “I told Billy I wanted a live egg, not a dead corpse. I’ll give you half. You’re lucky he’s dead beca—” Sal stopped talking as John grabbed him by the throat with his free hand.

“Lucky!” John yelled. “I’m lucky you sent us into the Baron’s territory without telling us about this thing!” John’s grip tightened as his anger flared. Sal’s eyes began to bulge and John relented just long enough for him to draw in a breath. He shook the head of the Deathclaw to open the jaws and used the strength of the armour to shove Sal’s head into the fang filled mouth. Panicked screams fell silent as John slammed the Deathclaw head down. The crunching impact severing Sal’s fat head and leaving his corpse twitching. The shock stunned the room.

“Shoot this fucker!” Sal’s number two, Gino, yelled. John had used the improvised distraction and slipped the pistol from his sleeve. He fired a burst of fully automatic fire over the heads of The Family, catching them off guard. John felt the nightmare, dreamlike state scratching to get out.

“STOP!” The Baron stood and boomed through his armour’s amplifier, it froze the room. “Don Sal broke our terms. This man saved me the trouble of killing him and is under my protection.” John had been ready to shoot his way out with the carbine wrapped in plastic and stuffed inside the corpse. He’d thought maybe Sal’s number two would take advantage of the open chair but gambled the Baron would offer him protection as a way to get at The Family. The Hunters, whose respect John had earned the moment he arrived, banged their spears in approval. John stared into the empty eye sockets of the mutant skull faceplate and began to back out. He grabbed the tail of Deathclaw as he left, not wanting to leave it for the Baron.

John decided to push the Baron’s offer of protection. If he could rile up The Family they might take out the murderous thief for him. He stomped through the slave market, looking for the best craftsman he could find. There were none of note. The ones that were even half competent waved him away or pretended to be shut. As he left, eager to be rid of this place, a man in a blood stained apron approached him.

“I’m the Butcher.” He waved an arm at the long shop front set into the corner of a building. “Let’s talk.”

John struck a hard fought bargain with the Butcher. He turned down the offer to sell the carcass out right and found a compromise. The Butcher would sell the Deathclaw meat and split the profits with John, who would keep everything else. The hide, the bones, tendons, and the head. John wasn’t going to let it become an adornment for the Baron, which he began to suspect had been the Baron’s intent.

The Butcher set to work, using motorised knives that cut with rotating chains. Rippers he called them. The meat stank and looked tough, all muscle with no fat. Yet the Butcher and his assistants carved it up with ease, half being sold raw, half being cooked on the other side of the shop. It soon became the talk of the town. Raiders would prove their so called might by eating the meat. Hunters with painted faces paid a small fortune for the charred heart. People offered increasing amounts for the head, displayed prominently. John tried a bite of a cooked Deathclaw steak, it tasted like burnt rubber.

He sat behind the counter, trying to stay awake by drinking bad coffee. “Well met Hunter.” A voice called out to John.

“The head isn’t for sale.” John answered without even looking.

“Nor should it be. Only those who can kill deserve a trophy.” John turned at the unexpected answer, seeing a bearded man in a charcoal black fur coat prodding at the Deathclaw head. “A fine kill.” John didn’t answer. “Here, take this. Come find us.” The man threw a stone triangle to John who caught it without thinking. It looked like an arrowhead, with etched markings. John looked up and the man had gone.

“The Lodge.” The Butcher answered John before he asked. “Bunch of lunatics trying to get themselves eaten. You’d fit right in.” John didn’t want to hunt anything, he slipped it into his pocket and forgot about it.

“Listen, you got enough on hand to pay me, I need to get going.” John felt himself speak through his mean face. “I’ve got people to buy and don’t want the best stock gone.” It made John sick to talk like that. The Butcher whispered to his assistant who went into the back.

“I’m a little short.” John had seen enough caps change hands to know the Butcher lied.

“Throw in some rope, and a couple of them rippers.” He pushed to get something useful.

John stood in the slave market, wearing the power armour and letting his new reputation work for him. He beckoned to the wiry slaver he’d intimidated days earlier and had him come down from the raised platform.

“All of them.” Hurled the sack of caps with enough force to knock the slaver back as he caught it.

“You’re light.” The slaver summoned what little courage he had and spoke back to the man in blood stained power armour. John took a single step closer, the torn metal like knives pointed at the slaver.

“When I come back next week, I’ll give you a good price on however many survive.” John’s lie sent a ripple of fear through the caged slaves, and a mistaken look of recognition from the slaver.

“Chain ‘em up, shops closing early.”

John stomped from the Four Corners, still drawing stares. A dozen men and women tied on chains held in one hand, the detonator to the explosive collars on a string around his neck. And a severed head of a Deathclaw gripped by the horn, left with eyes and skin. A trophy the savage people of the Four Corners called it. The sight terrified the slaves further still. Especially as most of them carried heavy bones and thick hide, with the claws and feet left untouched by the Butcher.

Every time someone dropped something, or stumbled, the chain would yank tight and they would all whimper. John hated it, but knew he’d have to keep up the pretence a little longer.

John found the truck in the secluded ruin where he left it hours ago, and no sign of Carol. “I’m here.” A relieved voice shouted and she came from behind a crumbled wall. The flash of red hair made him think of Rosie.

“Help them.” John waited for Carol to take the detonator from around his neck, then all but collapsed out of his armour. He watched as enslaved eyes tracked the detonator. Some, who must have recognised Carol, looked more fearful thinking that she had become the cruel master now.

“Stay quiet and do not run.” Carol instructed, her manner coming from experience. She unscrewed the bottom of the handle made from pipe and let the batteries drop to the ground. “You’re free but you are not safe. Stay quiet and calm while we get the collars off.” Carol used a pair of spanners to lever the first padlock open. It took effort but broke with a metallic snap. The first man she freed took over helping the others and Carol got John some water. “What happened?”

“Sal's dead and the Baron put me under his protection.” John wondered just how much he could trust the word of a murderous thief.

“You heard him speak?” Carol sounded shocked. “I guess he is a person and not cursed amour with a dead body inside.”

“I told you that’s the dumbest thing…” John trailed off as he saw that Carol had baited him. She forced a smile beneath tired eyes.

“What about them?” Carol looked at the people crying and hugging.

“I have no idea, but we need to get Billy home.” John could do nothing else for his friend, and wondered how Roxy would react.

“Everyone.” Grateful, tear filled eyes looked to him. “We are going to Shadowtown. I can get you a room for tonight and some food, but after that…” John couldn’t tell these people they were on their own, but he couldn’t think of another way to put it.

“Sir.” A skinny man in rags stopped clutching a sobbing woman and came forward.

“His name is John.” Carol sounded proud to know the name of their saviour, and hers.

“We have kin in Bakersfield, we...want…” The words seemed strange to the skinny man, but John took it as a good sign.

“Of course, but we can’t spare much food or water.” John nodded to Carol who began rummaging the truck.

“We’ll make it.” The skinny man sounded confident, yet almost like he didn’t expect to be allowed to leave.

“Then good luck to you.” John reached out a hand and the skinny man shook it, then left with the woman. “Any of you want to leave you can, but I’d feel better if you went on a full stomach.” A flurry of whispers and tears spread through the remaining ten.