Chapter 3: Following in His Footsteps

Following in His Footsteps

Marcus tripped and fell face first almost the moment he entered the cave. At first he thought it was a stick or tree branch, but after turning on his PIPBOY light, he realized he was lying in a pile of bones. A scream escaped his voice as he struggled to stand up. There were over a dozen human skeletons lying at the foot of the Vault's entrance. Among them were faded signs which read: "Let us in motherfuckers!" And, "We're dying assholes!" Marcus was horrified; they had died trying to get into the Vault after the bombs fell.

He continued making his way through the cave. A few feet up ahead he could see a dilapidated wooden door with light peering through its slits: a kind of light he had never seen before. From behind him he heard the Vault's alarm go off again, followed by the sound of the giant cog being pushed shut; then there was silence. Marcus was relieved that they had decided not to follow him, but at the same time his heart sank as the realization set in that he would never see his home again. That he would never see Amata again.

Pushing all of those thoughts aside, Marcus focused on the door in front of him. He braced himself and pushed it open. The sunlight was more intense than he could ever have imagined. The brightest florescent bulbs in the Vault couldn't compare, and it seemed like forever before his eyes finally adjusted enough that he could see clearly. When he did, Marcus could not believe what he was looking at. From his vantage point he could see most of Washington DC in the distance-and it was completely destroyed. Every building was either a blasted out empty shell of its former self, or it was a pile of rubble and twisted metal. Whole sections of the roads and overpasses had been blown apart. Just below him was what used to be a small suburb, and except for a few houses, everything had been burned to the ground. There was no green, no plant life, and every tree that Marcus could see was dead.

Marcus sat down on a rock and took in the view. He had seen pictures of what Washington DC looked like before the war, and he had heard about how devastating nuclear weapons could be; but he never imagined how horrible it really was out here. The term Capital Wasteland was no exaggeration, and Marcus felt sick about it. Whatever it was that compelled his father to leave the Vault and come out here had better be damn important.

Marcus stood up; he knew sitting on that rock was not getting him any closer to finding his father. He looked at his PIPBOY and accessed the scouting reports he downloaded from the Overseer's terminal. It seems there was a small settlement called Megaton north east from the Vault. Marcus stared in that direction and he spotted what looked like a crude looking wall made up of large pieces of scrap metal; some of them looked like they had been wings to an airplane. "Well, I guess that's a good place to start." He said to himself.

Marcus carefully made his way down from the ledge and onto the road which lead into the destroyed suburb. Hoping this road would lead to Megaton, Marcus slowly walked through the burnt out neighborhood, which according to his PIPBOY's old world map was called Springvale. Marcus took a moment to reload his 10mm pistol. He didn't know who or what was out there, and he wasn't about to take any chances. He had barely made it halfway down the road when conformation of his fear showed itself: three armed individuals, wearing spiked armor, appeared from behind a pile of rubble. One was armed with a .38 pistol, the second was armed with a hunting rifle and the third was holding a baseball bat with metal spikes sticking out if it.

"Well lookie what we have here." The Raider with the rifle said. "Alright pretty boy, hand over all your stuff and we'll kill you quickly. If you try anything, we'll cut you up into little pieces and feed you to the molerats."

Marcus didn't like the sound of either alternative. Activating his VATS, he first targeted the Raider with the rifle; he was obviously the greatest threat. Next, he targeted the one with the pistol, and saved the idiot with the bat for last. He locked in the targets and fired. The Raiders with firearms were struck down before they could get a shot off. The one with the spiked bat charged at Marcus, but he only took three steps before a bullet tore through his chest. Marcus breathed a sigh of relieve and lowered his pistol. Pain suddenly shot through his left shoulder as a .308 round slammed into it from behind and exited the front. Marcus screamed in agony and fell to the ground. The two Raiders who had been hiding on the other side of the road were now standing over him. He tried to raise his pistol, but one of the Raiders slammed his boot down on Marcus' arm.

One of the Raiders was armed with a sniper rifle. "Let's just kill this little fuck already!"

"No," the other said. "this bitch just killed three of our guys. Let's take'em back to the school and teach him a lesson!"

They never got the chance. The first Raider's head suddenly exploded, splattering his friend and Marcus with blood and brains. Another shotgun blast rang out, and the last Raider met the same fate.

Just before he passed out from the blood loss, Marcus could see a new face looking down at him: a horrible, deformed face. The man, at least he thought it was a man, spoke with a low, gravelly voice: "Welcome to the Wasteland, smoothskin."

Marcus finally awoke in what appeared to be a make-shift infirmary. As he tried to sit up, pain shot through his shoulder, and he realized that an IV was in his right arm. An African-American man with white hair suddenly appeared from behind the curtain. "Hey now, lay back down!"

Marcus did as he was told. The doctor, at least Marcus hoped he was a doctor, looked over his wound. "You're either the luckiest or stupidest son-of-a-bitch out there, kid."

Marcus didn't quite know how to answer that. If this man was a doctor, he was the rudest doctor Marcus had ever seen. "Where am I?"

The doctor finished checking the wound. "Megaton."

Marcus' eyes were now fully open. "Megaton! The settlement?"

The doctor gave Marcus a side look. "Kid, did you receive a head injury too? Yes, this is Megaton, and I am Doc Church the town's physician." Doc Church began to prepare a stimpak. "You're lucky that Quinn happened by when he did, otherwise those Raiders would have used your head as a decoration."

Marcus flinched as Doc Church injected him with the stimpak just above his shoulder. "Quinn?"

"Right here."

Marcus recognized the deformed face immediately as the one that saved him from the Raiders. Quinn resembled a walking corpse more than a man. His skin (the skin that was left on his face) was yellow with green sores. From what Marcus could see, it looked as though this person had been exposed to an un-godly amount of radiation. "What's the matter, smooth skin? You never seen a ghoul before?"

Marcus looked at Doc Church, then back at Quinn. "Actually, no I haven't."

Doc Church sighed. "I knew it, a head injury."

"No, no, no, it's true; I have never seen-people like you before."

Quinn chuckled. "Funny, not many smooth skins refer to us as people. Where'd you come from, kid?"

"I came from Vault 101."

Both men looked at each other. "I thought I'd recognized that jump suit of yours." The ghoul said. "I haven't seen one in a long time."

Now Marcus was the one surprised. "You've seen people dressed like me before?"

Quinn nodded. "Yep, a few years ago while I was here trading. I've never seen any on the road back to Underworld, though."

Marcus braced himself up on his elbows. "Underworld? What's that?"

"It's a city of ghouls deep inside the ruins of D.C. It's the only place where we ghouls can get a fair break. I'm the only one who scavenges this far west. I bring back what I can to keep the place going."

Marcus was at a loss for words. "Thank you, for saving my life."

Quinn shrugged. "I actually was planning on staying out of it, until I saw how you took down those first three raiders. Never seen shootin' like that and I've been around for a long time."

Marcus took a quick glance down at his PIPBOY. Quinn continued: "So I figured you were someone worth saving."

Marcus was finally able to sit up, despite hearing a grunt from Doc Church. "Again thank you. I'm sorry but I have no way to repay you."

Quinn chuckled again. "Don't worry kid. Besides," he pulled out the sniper rifle that Marcus had been shot with, "I got plenty of loot from those two raiders I greased. I left the loot from the other three over there, it's yours. After all, they were your kills."

Marcus shifted slightly in his bed. Quinn talked about looting bodies like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then again, this was the Capital Wasteland. He shook Quinn's hand. "Thank you, Quinn. I hope to see you again."

"Remember, Underworld is in the old Natural History Museum in downtown D.C. If you're ever in the neighborhood and need a rest, stop by. They let smoothskins in as long as they're 'civil'."

With that, Quinn walked out of the infirmary. Doc Church appeared at his bed side and placed his hand on Marcus' chest. "Now lay back down!"

Marcus did as he was told. "I guess I owe you a thank you as well, Doc."

"You owe me more than that, kid. Unlike that ghoul, I need to replace the supplies I used to save your butt. So some of that loot, I'll be taking off your hands as soon as you're discharged."

Marcus looked up at the ceiling and let out a sigh. 'Welcome to the Wasteland', he thought.

Doc Church released Marcus around four o'clock that day. After the doctor had taken some of the 'loot' off his hands, Marcus was left with a .38 pistol, twelve rounds of ammo for the pistol, a serrated knife and twenty caps. Marcus wasn't sure how useful the caps where, until Doc Church told him they were used for money. As he stood outside the clinic, Marcus took in his first sight of Megaton. The town had been built inside a huge crater, and it didn't take long for him to see what had caused it: a huge un-exploded bomb was lying in the middle of it. No doubt it had been there since the Great War, over two-hundred years ago. There were three levels of catwalks and structures all around the crater, and the metal wall surrounding all of it was at least forty feet high.

Making sure both his 10mm and .38 pistols were secured to his belt, Marcus began exploring the town. He didn't get very far before a tall man wearing a leather duster and cowboy hat approached him. "Name's Lucas Simms, town sheriff. And mayor too, when the need arises."

Marcus shook his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sheriff. My name's Marcus Lincoln."

Simms was surprised. "You mean like the President?"

Marcus chuckled; it wasn't the first time he had to explain this. "No, no relation. A different Lincoln clan."

"Well your polite and well spoken, I think you and I are gonna get along just fine."

"I'm trying to find my father. He's about my height, middle-aged, Caucasian with black hair and brown eyes; people say he looks a lot like me."

Lucas thought about it for a moment. "No, can't say that I have. You might want to ask Moriarty; he runs the local saloon up there." He pointed towards the right corner of the town. "But be careful when talking to Moriarty; that man has ice in his veins. Plus he's got his hands into just about every nefarious business in the Waste."

Marcus stared at the shack with the large sign which read 'Moriarty's', then back to Simms. "Then why don't you arrest him?"

Simms stared down at the ground before answering. "It's….more complicated than that."

Marcus could see that the sheriff was uncomfortable talking about the saloon order and changed the subject. "So, what's the deal with the bomb?"

"Not much to say. It's been there since the Great War. A bunch of settlers who couldn't get into the nearby Vault started to build around it, and well, here we are."

Marcus' mind flashed back to the pile of skeletons he had encountered just outside the Vault's entrance. "Seems like a strange place to build a town."

Lucas shrugged. "I guess they figured most other people would leave them alone."

Marcus nodded. "Well, thank you sheriff."

Simms turned and headed back towards the town's main entrance. Marcus headed off in the direction of Moriarty's saloon. After climbing two catwalks he made it to the entrance and pushed the doors open. The first thing he saw was another ghoul standing behind the bar, hitting the top of a radio. "Goddamn radio won't work! Come on! Why won't….this thing….work?"

A woman, who Marcus guess was a prostitute, was standing next to the ghoul smoking a cigarette. "I told you Gob, it's not the radio; it's Galaxy News Radio. The signal's fucked up."

Marcus took a look around as he sat down at the bar. There were about a dozen people in the place. Most were drinking; some were obviously drunk, while a few others were there for some 'company'. In the corner Marcus could see a man dressed in a rather impressive suit, with a dress hat and sunglasses. Just off to his right was a young woman who didn't look like the kind of person who frequents places like this. She was very attractive, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. She must've thought the same thing about Marcus, because she'd been watching him since he'd walked in.

Marcus decided to start with the barkeep. "Say, Gob was it? How much for a drink?"

Gob looked at Marcus in disbelief. "Wait? You're not gonna hit me? Yell at me? Not even berate me a little bit?"

Marcus was taken aback. "I…wasn't planning on it."

Gob let out a small sigh. "Well, now that's a surprise! I'm used to every asshole smoothskin in this town giving me shit 'cause I look like a corpse."

Marcus took a quick look around. "You mean your boss let's people treat you like that?"

Gob let out a bitter laugh. "Moriarty? Half the time he's the one slappin' me around. Say you're alright kid. Here," he reached underneath the bar and removed a beer, "this ones on the house. Don't tell Moriarty, he'd have my head if he found out."

Marcus took the beer, the first one he'd ever seen, and took a swig. His first instinct was to spit it out, but he didn't want to seem rude or weak. After forcing it down, he addressed Gob again. "Gob, I'm looking for my father. A middle-aged man looks a lot like me."

Gob shook his head. "Nah, haven't seen him. You might want to talk about Moriarty."

As if on cue, the man himself walked up behind Gob and slapped the back of his head. "I don't pay ya to chit-chat with the customers!"

Gob rubbed his head and fought back the urge to say: 'You don't pay me at all, asshole!' Instead he said: "Yes sir.", and scurried away.

Marcus' fist began to clench; he hated bullies, and that's exactly what this Moriarty was. "You're Moriarty, I presume?"

Colin Moriarty turned and faced his newest patron-and nearly fell over. "My god... it's you! The little baby boy, all grown up..." he said with a laugh. "Persistent little bastard, ain't ya? Then and now, it would seem. Oh, how the years fly by… It's been a long time, kid."

"I'm sorry, but we've never met." Said Marcus.

"Oh yeah we have, kid. I met you and your dad back when you were a wee babe."

Marcus nearly jumped off the stool. "You knew my father? Is he here?"

"Oh, yer daddy passed through here, all right. Here and gone. Got what he came for and left."

Marcus' heart sank with disappointment. "What did you mean when you said you met me and my dad before? We were both born in Vault 101."

Moriarty burst out laughing. "Is that… is that, what your father told ya? That he was born in that hole? Oh, the lies we tell to those we love."

Marcus' blood began to boil. "You're lying! My father and I were born in the vault!"

By now everyone in the bar had stopped talking and was now focused on Marcus and Moriarty.

"Ya know, I heard about the brainwashin' that goes on down there. 'All hail the Overseer! We're born in the vault, we die in the vault! And all that other assorted lunacy.' Kid, you've got better programmin' than our own Deputy Weld. Better wise up. Wouldn't want anyone... takin' advantage of ya, hmm?"

Marcus began feeling sick to his stomach. This had to be a lie, it had to be. But somewhere, deep down, he knew this scum was telling the truth. He clenched both his fist and stared down at the bar. There was silence as everyone waited to see what he would do. "Look, could you tell me where he went, please?"

Moriarty crossed his arms. "Well that depends. You see, trade is how many of us here in the Wasteland make a livin', and information is value. And that means it can to be traded."

"What do you want?" Marcus muttered.

"You're a nice kid, so let's say….five hundred caps."

Marcus snapped. He walked around the bar and stood face-to-face with Moriarty. "I'm through playing games!" He drew his 10mm pistol and shoved it in Moriarty's face. Everyone sitting at the bar stood up and backed away. "You tell me, or I'll splatter your brains all over this dump!"

Moriarty raised his hands and smiled. "Kid, you're in over your head."

The beer bottle came smashing down on top of Marcus' head, nearly knocking him unconscious. The two body guards were lying in wait in the back of the saloon. Marcus slammed against the bar and turned, but the 10mm was knocked from his hand. The two men had him cornered and began to punch him in his face and stomach. For a moment, his mind was back in Vault 101, to the many fights he's had with Butch and his Tunnel Snakes gang. He gritted his teeth and swung his right arm, hitting one of his attackers in the head with his PIPBOY. The second attacker threw a punch, but Marcus ducked and the body guard's fist slammed into the wall. As he screamed in pain, Marcus kicked him in the groan, and then smashed a whiskey bottle over his head. But the other body guard had recovered from Marcus' counter attack, and slammed his knee into Marcus' stomach; knocking the wind out of him.

Marcus fought hard, but it was not enough. By the time it was over, Marcus could hardly stand, and the two men who attacked him were holding him up in front of their boss. "By all rights I should kill ya," he said while holding Marcus' 10mm pistol, "but I won't. I'll chalk this little incident up to you being young and rash." He placed the barrel of the gun under Marcus' chin. "I own this town, understand! Not Lucas Simms, me! If ya ever raise your hands to me again I will feed you to the mirlurks. Let go of him."

The two body guards released Marcus, and he was barely able to remain standing. Moriarty punched him so hard that Marcus went flying out of the saloon's main doors and fell flat on his back.

He lay there, in the blistering sun. He could hear people laughing from inside the saloon, no doubt at his expense. A shadow suddenly fell upon him, and Marcus was staring at a man with an eye patch over his right eye. "What happened, kid?" He asked with a smile. "You forget to tip'em?"