5. The Captive

A sudden jolt brought MacCready to his senses and he groaned in pain, his head throbbing. The smell of lumber filled his nose, the dusty sweetness overwhelming his senses. The mercenary felt about in the occlusion, trying to get his bearings in spite of the darkness that enveloped him. His hands brushed against raw, splintery wood in every direction, and he felt his pulse quicken as the reality of his situation became more apparent. He was in a box, and not a particularly nice box at that.

As the mercenary struggled, he heard muffled voices from somewhere beyond him. He kicked at the wood, trying to alert someone, anyone, of his plight. “Hey!” he shouted. “Hey, let me out! This isn’t funny!”

The wood around him vibrated with a resonant thump as one of the people outside hit it, moving the box several inches with the force. MacCready cried out in pain as his head bounced off the top of the crate.

“Shut the fuck up!” an angry voice declared. “If I hear one more sound out of you, I’ll drop this box in the river, do you understand?”

MacCready frowned. Did the man want him to say yes, or stay quiet? His mind raced as he tried to come up with a solution that wouldn’t lead to being thrown into the water. It was bad enough that he couldn’t swim. Things would be so much worse for him if he was also trapped in a box.

He sighed, deciding to stay silent. This was apparently the best choice, as the man didn’t speak to him again. Instead, the conversation outside continued. MacCready strained his ears, trying to hear anything that could help him out of this mess.

“Sounds like this one’s getting sent to the Grave with the girls,” the man said.

“You’re sure? Finch won’t be pleased,” replied a second voice, softer than the first.

“Hell yes, I’m sure,” growled the first man. “Last thing we need is this shipment going out late. Bad enough we’re short this time. We don’t have time to waste.”

“We could just kill him. Why are we going through all this trouble?”

“Orders from up top. Apparently someone really wants this guy to suffer. More importantly, they want to see him die, so we’ve gotta wait.”

“They wanna watch? That’s sick!” the second man replied. “I love it.”

“Thought you might. It’s a shame we didn’t get the girl too, but…”

MacCready did his best to slow his racing pulse, to calm his panicked breathing. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in this sort of danger, even if the box was a new development. He had to think.

There was one comfort. Since they weren’t planning on killing him right away, he might have a chance to escape. But why had he gotten snatched in the first place? They were talking about revenge or something, about someone else needing to see him die. What the hell did that mean?

His stomach dropped as the crate moved again and he slid head-first against the back wall of the container. Damn it! At this rate, he was going to have a serious concussion. He muffled his cry of pain as best as he could. Orders or no orders, he knew a thing or two about the thugs of the Commonwealth, and they weren’t the best at following directions once they were irritated enough. He wasn’t about to risk dying before he had a chance to escape.

MacCready heard annoyed mooing as the crate lurched forward again. So he was on a pack brahmin. No wonder he was being bounced around so much. He winced, trying not to think about how many bruises he was earning. None of that would matter if he didn’t find his way to safety before he encountered whoever wanted to watch him die.

He tried to focus on the limited information he had at his disposal. Who would want him killed this badly? Unfortunately, he could think of quite a few candidates. Being a gun-for-hire meant making enemies at the best of times, and with his winning personality, there were more than a few folks with personal grudges who’d probably like to watch the light leave his eyes.

The mercenary thought about his friends back in Sanctuary. Would Myra and Deacon have realized he was gone yet? Were they looking for him, or did they just assume he’d left without telling them anything? He had to hope that they were planning a rescue, but he knew he couldn’t count on it. It had been a long time since he’d really counted on anyone.

MacCready wanted to believe that at least Deacon would come for him. They’d known each other for years now, and while he still wasn’t certain if their relationship could be classified as friendship, he wanted to trust in the spy’s apparent affection for him. It was so hard to tell whether Deacon was being serious, with those damned glasses of his always hiding his eyes, but there were times when Mac could almost swear that the older man was sincere when he spoke fondly of the mercenary. And even if he couldn’t really trust Deacon, Mac could at least trust in his skills. If Deacon came for him, he knew he’d be ok.

What about Myra? MacCready still wasn’t sure about her, not really. There were days when she seemed so strong, so capable of whatever she set her mind to. But there were others when she just didn’t seem to give a damn about anyone or anything. How could he rely on someone so changeable, so unsure of themselves? He wasn’t sure, but he sure as hell wanted to. MacCready wanted to believe in her promises, in the fact that she counted him as one of the people she cared about for some reason. But he was a realist. In the grand scheme of things, he knew that she wouldn’t drop everything for someone like him. Not as long as Danse needed her.

He frowned as he thought about the Paladin. MacCready really did hope that Danse was ok. He might not have been the Brotherhood’s biggest fan, but Danse wasn’t the worst Brotherhood member he’d ever met. The man was gruff, stiff, and lawful to a fault, but he did genuinely seem to care about the well-being of the people around him. MacCready had seen it, the way he’d protected Myra, the way he’d protected a stupid young man out on the road for the first time...if there was any good left at all in the Brotherhood of Steel, Danse was part of it. That didn’t mean that the Paladin didn’t bother the crap out of MacCready, though.

There was just something about...well, the whole way the Paladin and Myra were together that really rubbed the mercenary the wrong way. Part of him wanted to intervene, to tell Danse to just stop being so useless and just tell Myra how he felt. But some soft murmur in the back of his mind was almost grateful that the Paladin seemed determined to not acknowledge his obvious affection for Myra. MacCready wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. It wasn’t jealousy, not really. It was a quiet unease rather than a feeling, a bitter taste in the back of his throat. It probably was nothing, a reflex.

MacCready’s thoughts went to Preston, to Zev, to all the people he’d grown close to since he and Myra had met. He wondered if he’d ever see them again. Maybe he should have taken Preston up on his offer and joined the Minutemen formally. Then he wouldn’t be dying alone, failing once again to be a part of anything bigger than himself. MacCready hated himself for that, in some ways. He still had the heart of a foul-mouthed child mayor, protecting his charges with vicious enthusiasm. That had mattered, hadn’t it? He had...he’d done a good job, hadn’t he? But those days were gone, and since he’d walked out of the cave system and into the adult world, he’d never found something to dedicate himself to, not really.

He thought he’d found meaning in Lucy, the naive girl who thought he was a soldier, who loved him unconditionally. But when she’d needed him, he’d failed, and she’d died horribly as a result. He tried to go on living, to be both mother and father to Duncan, but now his son lay dying as well, hundreds of miles away, his last hope quickly fading away. MacCready was powerless, trapped. He couldn’t even save himself. How the hell had he ever expected to save anyone else?

As he lay in the darkness of the wooden crate feeling sorry for himself, MacCready suddenly realized that the jolting motion of the brahmin had stopped. For better or worse, the caravan had arrived at its destination.

“Is this all of them?” a new voice jeered.

One of MacCready’s captors scoffed. “Yeah. Careful with the marked one. That’s a special delivery.”

“Right. An extra pretty one for the boss, huh?” the new voice asked.

“Not exactly. But all the same, hands off.”

“Enough talk!” Growled a lower voice. “Get these crates loaded up. We’ve got a long way to go before we reach the Grave, and we’re behind schedule as it is.”

MacCready groaned inwardly as he felt the crate move again, the two men grunting with effort as they carried his box. They dropped him with an unceremonious thump on something metallic. The mercenary didn’t bother to try and identify it. At this point, it didn’t really matter. He was effectively blind and powerless, at least for now. As a motor chugged to life from somewhere behind his head, he faded into sleep. He needed to save his strength if he was going to make it out of this alive.

::::

The box’s heavy lid was pulled loose, and MacCready blinked at the surge of torchlight that overwhelmed his eyes as he was dumped onto a cold, moist concrete floor. Before he had a chance to react, he heard the clang of a metal door slamming shut, the turning of a key in a lock. It seemed that he’d traded one prison for another.

MacCready gagged at the smell of filth and sulfuric guano that permeated the air. As far as he could tell, he was in some sort of cavern. That, at least, wasn’t the worst news he’d had all day. At least it was an environment he was familiar with.

He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. The chamber was large, even roomy, a bit bigger than Myra’s house from what he could see in the limited light. There was a single entrance, a dented metal door anchored directly into the rock. He couldn’t see what lay beyond.

MacCready tried the door, disappointed but not surprised that it was really locked. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d busted out of a cell because the idiot guards had forgotten to actually lock the door. If he still had his pack, he might have been able to crack the door open, but as it was, he had nothing on him but his clothes and a few splinters of wood from the crate that still clung to him.

He heard a soft whimper from deeper in the chamber, and the mercenary started at the noise. Was there another prisoner in here with him?

“Hello?” he called cautiously, squinting to see the vague shape of a crouching body in the gloom.

“Hello,” a soft voice murmured back. “You’re the new one, huh? Welcome to the Grave.”

That voice. MacCready froze. After all the times it had called his name, he’d know it anywhere. But how was it possible? “Are we alone in here?” he asked, hoping to hear her reply again, to give him more than a few words to compare her voice to his memories. “I mean, the guys who grabbed me said there were others.”

The figure sighed. “I’ve been alone, ever since the last one tried to run. There must be other rooms like this, I think. There were others with me, too, and they didn’t end up here.”

MacCready frowned. If that was the case, this must be a huge complex. How had he never heard of it before? He slowly approached the stranger, keeping his back to the wall. “So you’ve been all by yourself in here? That’s fuc...I mean, that’s really terrible.”

“Yeah. At least I’m not alone any more. You’ll stay, right?”

MacCready knelt beside the stranger. Her ash brown hair was long and ratty, streaked with filth and long-dried blood. But still, he’d know that head of hair anywhere. She looked up at him, and his stomach dropped. No. It wasn’t possible.

The face that stared back at him was pretty, in a normal sort of way, a small, straight nose bordered by round, wholesome cheeks. Her eyes, distorted by anxiety, were a lovely shade of light amber brown, large and innocent. Even the scar on her narrow chin was familiar, right where he remembered it.

“Lucy?” he asked, his voice cracking. “What the...what are you doing here? You can’t be...you’re dead.”

His long-dead wife looked at him in confusion, her brown eyes fearful. “I...I’m sorry. I think you have me confused with someone.”

MacCready sighed. Not this again. He’d thought he’d finally stopped seeing her everywhere. It had been months since the last time he’d caught a streak of dark brown hair, had called her name, only to find himself looking into the eyes of a stranger. Maybe his grief was still messing with him more than he realized. “Hey, it’s ok,” he replied. “My mistake. Can you tell me your name?”

She nodded slightly, taking a shaky breath. “My name...I’m Lori. Wow. It’s been a long time since anyone...since I really had a name, I guess.”

“Okay, Lori,” the mercenary soothed. “And how long have you been here?”

“Days? Weeks?” she glanced around frantically. “I don’t know...it’s all so confusing! What do they want with us?”

MacCready sighed. “I’m not sure. But I’m not going to wait around to find out. Wherever we are, there’s got to be a way out. I know it.”

“Are you crazy?” the woman cried, clinging to his arm. “You can’t escape! Everyone who’s tried since I’ve been here has died. There’s traps everywhere!”

The mercenary winked at her. “I’m not stupid enough to just run. Come on. What do you take me for?”

“Then how…”

“We’ll wait until their guard is down before we attack,” he continued. “Figure out the guard rotation. There aren’t that many guys here. One of them’s gonna make a mistake eventually. We just have to be patient.”

“We?” Lori asked, her eyes wide.

“Yeah. I’m gonna get you out of here, ok? I promise.”

“I…no one’s ever offered,” she replied softly. “Thank you.”

MacCready squeezed her hand gently. Whatever strange twist of fate had brought him here, maybe he was being given another chance. If he could save Lori, maybe... He shook his head. He was getting ahead of himself. “Don’t mention it,” he said. “At least not until we make it out of here. We’ve got a lot of planning to do.”

Lori nodded. “Okay,” she murmured. “Just tell me what we need to do.”

::::

Although it was hard to tell the passing of time in the dark cavern, the mercenary had a few tricks to his name from a childhood spent in similar conditions. With Lori’s help, he managed to create a clock of sorts from a small depression in the cavern floor and the dripping water from one of the cave’s stalactites. It took twenty seconds for a drop to work its way down the spire and fall into the cup. It took about 180 drops to fill the small depression. That meant that the depression would spill over almost once an hour, and they’d empty it with their hands, waiting for the process to begin again. Using this method, MacCready began to time out the guard’s visits, the times between meals, everything. It was boring as hell, and a lot to remember, but it worked.

As the hours turned into days, he and his fellow prisoner spent the time chatting. MacCready told Lori stories about his childhood to keep her calm as they plotted their escape. She in turn told him all about her older brother and all the adventures they’d had growing up.

“Karl, my brother...” Lori said softly, leaning against MacCready’s shoulder for warmth, “I think he would have liked you. The two of you are a lot alike. He was always so kind.”

“Did something happen to him?” MacCready asked, dreading the answer.

She nodded. “Yeah. A couple years ago, he was out hunting with a group of our friends. They were killed, all of them, except one. Him, they left beaten within an inch of his life. From what he was able to tell us before he died, a group of mercenaries were mad that Karl didn’t have enough caps to pay their stupid toll or something.”

MacCready felt a pang of guilt. It sounded like Gunners again. How many people had his old outfit killed, while he just stood by and did nothing? How many men had he killed for them, never having the courage to say no to his boss's demands? He should never have joined the ruthless mercenaries. That was clear to him now. But how much damage had already been done before he’d walked away?

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he managed.

Lori nuzzled against his shoulder, prompting him to wrap an arm around her. She snuggled closely against him, resting her head on his chest. “I know,” she replied softly. “It’s ok. One of these days, maybe, I’ll find the people who killed him.”

MacCready brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “And then what?”

“I...I’m not sure,” Lori replied. “I’d like to say I’d kill them, or make them suffer. But maybe I’ll just ask them why. If the money was really that important, you know?”

The mercenary felt sick to his stomach as he held Lori, the woman who looked and sounded so much like Lucy that it hurt, feeling her tears against his chest as she wept softly. He wanted to tell her that no money was worth another human life, that the men who’d killed her brother were scum, that they deserved to die. But putting a price on human life was his business, had been for as long as he’d been an adult. He had no right to pretend otherwise, to criticize others for the same thing he’d been doing for years. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, stroking her hair. “I’m so, so sorry.” It was all he could do.

They sat like that for what felt like hours before Lori finally pulled away, wiping her tears on the tattered rags she called a shirt. “I’m sorry,” she replied. “I shouldn’t have put all that on you.”

“It’s fine,” MacCready responded, helping her to her feet. “Trust me, I’ve been through worse. I told you about my friend Deacon, right?”

She nodded. “The guy with the sunglasses. Yeah.”

“Well, did I ever tell you about the time he got stuck up in a tree, and I had to help get him down because he couldn’t figure it out?” He frowned, thinking back to the last conversation that they shared. “He...he was just messing with me about the whole being a cat thing. He had to have been, right? There’s no way.”

Lori giggled softly. “Sounds like he’s a real character.”

“He is. When we get out of here, I’ll have to make sure you meet him.”

“I’d like that,” she replied, squeezing his hand. “I want to meet all your friends.”

“Well, good news is there’s not that many,” he replied with a smile. “So it wouldn’t take long. I guess we could--”

“Water’s spilled again!” Lori whispered, interrupting his thought. MacCready nodded, taking a deep breath. It was almost dinnertime. Soon, they’d move to the next phase of the plan.

“You remember the plan, right?” he asked softly. “We have to time this just right. If we mess up, we probably won’t get another shot.”

Lori nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

After a few minutes, their window of opportunity came. The door groaned as the guard eased it open, setting a tray of what might be considered food inside.

MacCready nodded at Lori, who began to scream.

“He stabbed me! Oh, God, there’s blood everywhere!”

The guard froze, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness. “You messin’ with me?” he barked.

“No! I...Ahh! It hurts! Please!”

The guard turned his head slightly, yelling behind him. “Hey! We’ve got a problem down here!”

“Then handle it!” Shouted a reply. “I’m on break!”

The guard sighed. “Fine…” he muttered under his breath, easing the door open further. “Fuck me for wanting backup. I--”

That was all MacCready needed. He was on the man like a flash, dragging him inside. As the guard stumbled into the cavern with a cry of alarm, MacCready grabbed the cafeteria tray, driving the blunt metal edge of it against the man’s throat as he tumbled backwards, crushing his windpipe between the tray and the cold, unforgiving floor.

Lori screamed, for real this time, as the man gasped and gurgled, his throat destroyed. She knelt next to the man, watching the life drain from his eyes, too horrified to look away. “You killed him!” she cried. “You really…”

MacCready nodded. “I’m sorry...but I’m probably going to have to kill the rest of them, too. Otherwise, they’ll come after us, and we can’t risk that. Not when we don’t know where we are or how to get out. Are you...are you going to be ok with that?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide. “I...I guess I don’t have a choice, right?”

“Well, you could stay here, if you want,” he replied checking the man’s body for anything useful. A knife, the keys, a small pistol...he sighed, offering Lori the knife, which she took gingerly.

“No. I’m safer with you. Just…” she looked down at the man, shuddering. “I hate this place. It wasn’t so bad, back on the farm. It was warm, and safe, and I never had to hurt anyone.”

“Well, let’s get you back home,” MacCready offered. “Then you can put this whole mess behind you.”

Lori nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go. Just be careful. I’m pretty sure this passageway is mined or something.”

MacCready leaned out into the passage, checking the floor carefully. Sure enough, there were tripwires aplenty. Great. “Well,” he said calmly, “I hope you’re not a klutz.”

Lori smirked. “Try to keep up, okay?”

With that, they crept out of the room and into a long, rocky passage that slowly wound upward, hopefully towards freedom.