Duck and Cover

<Part 1>

I recall how it all happened.
More vividly than I wish I did.
The stench, the horrific stench. It filled my nostrils to the extent that I could almost taste it. Why I am now, for the first and last time, sharing this with other human beings I am unsure. Maybe I feel as if it is something I have to do before the final rest.

When I decided to go there it was out of curiosity more than anything else. You see, for months rumours about the small farming village up north had travelled the wastes, and being an academic I plainly refused to believe the nonsense. So I went there with the intention of dispelling the myths about the place and making a name for myself.
I had recently applied for citizenship in Vault City, and I figured that a deed of this magnitude would surely grant me a place within the walls.
In retrospect I regret that I didn't just take the citizen test.

I arrived to early one morning in June, just as the sun stretched its glowing fingers across the small village. About twenty houses huddled together on the slope of a steep hill which occupied all of my view. The soil here had a slightly darker colour than what was usually seen in the wastes, probably due to some geological oddity I am sure.
The occational tree and bush populated the rest of the slope, and like the soil they differed slightly in colour from those one usually saw. The leaves were paler, as if they had been washed repeatedly. And the bark had a foreboading reddish colour, like the skin of a deathclaw.
As I glanced down at my compass just before I was going to put it away, I noticed that its needle pointed straight towards the hill, and not north as it was supposed to. First I figured that it had broken, but when i tried turning around, so did the needle of the compass. It was the ground here. Probably the same thing that caused the odd colour in the soil.
Nonetheless I put the compass away and continued towards the village, determined to dispell the supersticious myths surrounding it.

Before I continue I should tell you about the rumours. I suppose its only fair. I postponed it until now, since the mere thought of it fills me with terror. Not the rumours themselves, but what I myself later discovered.
Well, you see, what had been told to me by many a weary traveller over a glass of Roentgen Rum at Cassidy's was that this village, this very village, was haunted by the devil himself.
People had gone missing, and were found days later mutilated, eaten, hung up and slaughtered. Women, children, hardened wanderers. Dead.
I was told that over one hundred people had gone missing over the years, but considering how rumors are the true number probably was about one tenth of that. Since it was a poor village, with almost no rescources, ´they had no money to hire bounty hunters. And the problem persisted.
Me, being an educated man, I guessed that what had attacked all those people was probably a rabid deathclaw or some crazed wolf pack no longer fearing man or human settlements. But I felt that these guesses weren't enough, I wanted proof. Rock solid fact.

As I made my way up the rocky slope, following what little road existed, I could feel the wind increasing in strength. Cold and dry air rushed past me, awakening the silent trees, causing their leaves to compose a ghostly symphony together with dry flakes of soil that drummed against the rough bark.
Leaning against the chilled wind I struggled the last few feet into the village which offered some shelter. The houses here were sorry looking sheds, scraped together from what could be foraged in the wastes. Mostly rusted sheet metal on wooden frames, but with an occational clay wall. I felt being watched as I entered the small village square, and I probably was. Strangers weren't that welcome here since it had all started. Or so I had been told. So villagers were most likely watching me from the dubious safety of their shacks.
I followed the directions I had gotten from a traveller to the village tavern and hostel, where I was supposed to meet up with Josh and Thierry, two guns for hire who I had contracted just in case it indeed was a rabid deathclaw that was the source of the disappearances.

They had been very happy to see me. A familiar face in this desolate part of the wastes. I too felt safer in the company of people i recognized. The hike to the village had been a lone road, and I had spent many a night in the company of nothing but my personal deamons. Also, Thierry's Pancor Jackhammer and Josh's Grease Gun did their part in comforting me.
We shared a drink, some food, and news before I paid for rooms in advance for all three of us and we went to bed still warm from the beverages we had consumed.
I dont know when I fell asleep, but I it didnt take long before I slept like a child in his mother's arms, exhausted from my journey.

I still recall what I dreamt thet night. It was a cold dark place. Passages underground. I had explored them, in seach for pre-war artifacts. But there was something else there, something stalking me in the darkness where my flashlight could not reach.

A howl ripped me from my dream. This was not the howl of a deathclaw, I was familiar with those from my many nights in the wild. This was, yes I mean it, ungodly. There is no other way to describe it. It touched something primal in me, and I lay frozen in my bed, wishing for it to go away.
With time, I came to my senses. And I regretted my fear. Indeed, I should have rushed out with my hired guns to get a glimpse of the animal. Surely it was an animal, probably an arctic one that had strayed here from the north. Indeed, what a discovery it would be. I decided that first thing the following day we were going out and search for tracks.

<End of pt. 1>

Get writing another one now!

I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANY LONGER!

snort some coke. shit. shoot it up and tank a keg of best whiskey. breath. snort more. write sweet taunts of the humanity in general. here on DaC humanity support forum.

<part 2>
The next morning we had a steady breakfast at the hostel and packed some food to go since we planned to spend all day in the wild looking for tracks from the creature. I had not yet spoken to the locals about my intentions, I didnt want to alarm them. I had told the hostel keeper, a man in his fifties, that I was part of the Vault City Geological Society and was in town searching for valuable minerals. The unusual soil in the area gave me the idea.
Sooner or later I'd probably have to ask them about the creature, but I decided that that would have to wait until I had gained their trust.
We searched until noon without finding any tracks. Not that suprising I suppose. The soil was dry and hard, not ideal for tracking even in the broadest sense of the word. We ate our brought lunches sitting down, facing the valley below and speaking about last night. Thierry and Josh had heard it too, and they joined me in my opinion that it was no deathclaw.
Just speaking about it made me feel slightly cold, even in the warmth of the blazing June sun.
And then, by pure chance, Josh slipped as he stood up. When he put his hand down for support he cut himself badly on something sticking up from the ground. I, being a doctor, tended to the wound while Thierry carefully examined the thing that had caused the cut. It was, indeed, a nasty wound. It tend to be, when a semi-blunt object rips open flesh. I deemed that it would take at least a month before Josh would have full movement in his arm, but with the support from the bandages, he would probably be able to wield a gun again in two or three days.
Thierry whistled and pointed to the object, which he had poured some water onto to rid it from soil. It was, I concluded after a brief examination, part of a human femur. At first I thought it had been eroded from the harsh weather, but soon I realized that it was not erosion that had made the dents and scrapes that could be seen upon the pale bone. These marks were, and I froze as I realized it, teethmarks. And what was even more alarming was that at first glance they seemed to resemble those of human teeth. I needed to examine the bone further to be sure, so I didn't speek of this to my company, I merely dug up the bone and stuffed it in my backpack.
We scanned the nearby area for more bones, other parts of the unfortunate sod whoose femure we had found, but nothing. This gave me the eerie feeling that the femur had been gnawed clean and tossed where we found it, like some infernal chicken wing. By what? Those teethmarks...
After an hour or two we stopped trying to find more bones, instead we once again began looking for tracks that could help us in identifying the creatures whereabouts, or at least from wich direction it had came. This search turned out to be as fruitless as it had before, and as the sun began to set in west we unanimously decided to head back to the village. None of us were keen on being caught by nightfall out there on the slope.
As we headed back I couldn't get that accursed bone out of my head.

We reached the hostel about half an hour before the sun vanished from the sky. Upon arrival we had a steady warm meal which raised our spirits. Over a bottle of booze we discussed what the next step in our investigation should be.
I recall that night as the most pleasant one during my stay there, it gave me the warm feeling one often get when arriving home to a soft bed after days out in the wild. I felt, for the first time since my arrival, safe.
Later that night, in the light from my flashligt, I studied the bone thoroughly, and the conclusion I came to made the hair in my neck stand. It was, as I had suspected, human teethmarks. And yet they were not quite human. They seemed, somehow, elongated and more protruding than they should be...
When I went to bed that night, I did it with together with fear and doubt. Maybe, I thought, I shouldnt have come. This was no rabid deathclaw, no wolfpack. I had come to dispell a myth and now found myself increasingly believing it. At what time I finally drifted into sleep that night I do not know, but the sleep was not very refreshing. Once again I dreamt.

I was still exploring, but this time I was even further below ground. Below the pre war ruins I had found even older buildings. Ancient stone, inscribed with things I could not interpret. And still the prescence. Something lurking at the edge of my awareness. Waiting. Biding its time. And with a sudden gust of wind my torch died. And now I heard it moving towards me.

The howl awakened me, and again I could feel the fear gripping the very essence of my being, and it held me. I'm not sure how long it took me to move, but it must have been about a minute, but as I did I sprang into action. Within another minute I had put my clothing on and rushed to the dining room where Josh and Thierry were waiting. Josh's arm was still not well, bubt in his other hand he now held a 10mm pistol. And he smiled.
The smile of a man who had faced death so many times that it had become something of an aquaintance. And he was happy to see it again.
Another howl tore apart the silence of the night. This time it was closer, I realized that it must come from inside the village.
I still recall the horror I felt coursing through me with each howl, and even now I can't imagine why Josh was so calm. Thierry was a shade paler than normal, and with a shaking finger he had urged us to keep silent.
He calmly readied his Pancor and slowly made his way to the front door. There he stopped.
Listening.
A few silence filled seconds later he gently nudged the door slightly open with the barrel of the shotgun and glanced out.
Silence again. Waiting.
Thierry crouched and moved halfway out through the ajar door and sat there completely still peering through the darkness outside.
About fifteen minutes passed like that. And during the course of those fifteen minutes noone said a word. Thierry gave up a small cough and seemed to relax, lowering his gun and taking a less strict position.
Five more minutes passed in silence, and then the howl came back. This time it was farther away, and I felt almost glad that we had not seen the creature. I told Thierry that the danger seemed to be over, and that we should all try to get some sleep, but he didn't answer. He just sat there. Relaxed, still peering into the darkness.
With no response had, I went up to Thierry and shook him, eager to get the door shut and barred.
As I did this, he tipped over limply, landing on his side, and once again that night, terror tore through my mind. His throat had been torn open.

<end of part 2>

Dude