9. The Unforgiving Heart

A little over a day after Deacon, Whisper, and Nick left the underground bunker, MacCready’s trail went cold. The trio had made good progress at first, stumbling across a dead campfire fairly quickly as they followed the river to Cutler Bend. The ashes were cold and damp, but it was clear that the fire had been made recently. Footprints surrounded the site, two distinct sets that continued downriver for a half mile or so before fading out. After that, they’d been unable to pick up much of a trail at all.

Over the next few days, they did what they could, sweeping the area carefully as they followed the river. But it was difficult to tell if they were following MacCready or getting further away from him, especially as the days continued. With every passing hour, their chances of finding the mercenary faded away.

Deacon frowned as he scanned the tall grass along the bank for broken blades. Whoever had left the second, smaller set of footprints was likely smart enough to erase any sign MacCready might have left behind for them to track. If that were the case, the fire itself might even be a false lead. They might not have followed the river at all. The two of them -- if it was only just the two of them -- could be anywhere.

The spy glanced over at Whisper. She was scanning the map on her Pip-Boy, trying to find landmarks to travel by. The woman sighed dejectedly, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

“No luck?” Deacon asked.

She shook her head. “There’s just too many places they could be. It seems like the southern part of the Commonwealth’s just a maze. Even if we went back for Dogmeat, I doubt we’d be able to get much of a trail. We’ve been following the river for hours now. If they were still nearby, I feel like we’d have found them already.”

“Yeah, that’s my take too,” the spy replied. “So if they went inland, where do you think they’d go?”

“I guess that depends on who Mac’s with, right?” she mused, her brow furrowing. “I mean, if he’s traveling with an obsessed mass murderer like we think he is, I think there’s a pretty good chance that she’s got some idea of where she’s taking him. Trouble is, unless we can get in her head, we aren’t going to understand the logic of her actions. And we just don’t know anything about this woman, except that she’s ruthless and weirdly focused on whoever Lucy is.”

Deacon sighed. “Look, it’s not my place to tell you this, which is why I haven’t. Hell, MacCready hasn’t even told me about Lucy. But as you know, information’s my business. It’s amazing what you can piece together if you’re patient.”

“Are you going to keep me in suspense all day, Deacon, or can you fill me in?” Whisper muttered.

“Lucy’s Mac’s wife. Well, was. She’s been dead for longer than I’ve known him. From what I can tell, it was a pretty horrible death, too. I haven’t gotten the specifics, but I think Mac was there when it happened.”

Whisper paled, her emerald eyes welling with tears. “Oh, God. Poor Mac. Why didn’t he tell me? When we’ve been travelling together, I’ve gone on and on about Nate...I’m such an idiot.”

Deacon closed the distance between them, taking her hand gently. “Hey. No. No, you’re not. Look, Whisp, you had no way of knowing if he didn’t tell you.”

“But I should have noticed!” she retorted, sniffling. “Damn it, he was always so sympathetic when I needed to talk. I should have realized that he understood. There’s nothing as terrible as losing a spouse. I should have...I should have been there for him, too.”

The spy felt his heart clench. Part of him wanted to tell her that he understood, too. But she already felt so guilty about Mac. He couldn’t burden her with his pain as well. Besides, why would he ever tell her the truth? He didn’t tell it to anyone, and there were plenty of people he’d known longer who deserved to hear his story first. Who was Whisper, after all? She was just a wounded animal Deacon had rescued, a tool to serve the Railroad’s purposes, just like him. Letting her see him for who he really was, wanting anything more from their relationship than what they currently had... those desires were dangerous and unwelcome. So instead of sharing his own grief with her, Deacon just stood there, holding her hand gently as she choked back tears. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could give her. “I’m sure you were there for him more than you realize,” he said softly.

Whisper squeezed his hand before releasing it, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous.”

“No,” Deacon replied, smiling back at her kindly. “You’re being human. But that’s enough of that. Try being something else. Like an airboat. Then we could just zoom right across all this swampland and find Mac in no time.”

Whisper snorted. “Or I could just call down a vertibird, and we could search from the air.”

Deacon gulped. He hated heights. “Oh, yeah. Great plan. I’m sure the Brotherhood would be thrilled if you brought Nick on one of their death machines. How many seconds do you think we’d be up there before they tossed him out?”

“That’s a good point,” she replied, frowning. “I understand where the Brotherhood’s coming from. But sometimes, I wish they’d be a little more flexible. Not everything that isn’t human is evil. Nick’s proof of that. He helped me find out where Shaun is, and didn’t even charge me for it. Something about not wanting to profit off of misery or something.”

“Fee’s due when you get your son back, doll,” Nick piped from a few feet away. “You’d better not be skipping out on me. I’m a good guy, don’t get me wrong. But if I don’t get paid, I don’t get to keep the lights on and annoy the neighbors.”

Deacon grinned. “Hell, if it’ll piss off crazy old Myrna, I’ll donate to that. That woman’s a menace.”

“That she is. But right now, she’s not our concern. This is.” Nick crouched beside a patch of moist earth, his yellow eyes scanning the ground.

“Did you find something?” Whisper asked, running over to him.

The detective nodded. “Look. Boot prints. Pretty fresh ones, too, made within the last week. Given how close we are to the river still, I’d say odds are pretty good that they’re from your merc, our killer, or someone else after them.”

Deacon crouched down as well, tracing the faint print with his fingers. “Yeah, these are definitely MacCready’s prints. See that railsign across the heel of the print, with the ally mark in the middle? I carved it there a few months ago while he was sleeping.”

Whisper stared at him. “You carved a railsign into Mac’s shoe?”

Deacon grinned. “Well, I meant it as a bit of a joke. I never expected it would come in handy like this.” He pointed to the top of the footprint. “Print’s not too distorted, unlike the ones back at that camp. That means he wasn’t running. If we move quickly, we might actually be able to catch up.”

“But if we keep heading in this direction,” Nick replied, “there’s nothing but swamp for miles. I don’t know about you, but the Institute didn’t exactly equip me with bloodhound senses. If they changed direction once they hit the swamp, they could be anywhere by now.”

Whisper shook her head. “Not just anywhere. Let’s think about this rationally, detective. If we assume Mac isn’t being coerced, since we haven’t seen any more signs of a struggle, he’d probably choose the easiest route through the swamp. Deacon, you know how much he hates getting wet.”

The spy nodded. “Yeah. It’s hard enough getting the guy to bathe once in a while. You’d think he was allergic to the stuff. Mac would probably try to find the shallowest parts to cross. If we keep our eyes peeled for any broken vegetation around those areas, we might get lucky.”

Nick sighed. “Well, it’s certainly better than just standing around out here. Let’s fan out and each take a different path through the swamp. That’ll increase our chances. Myra, you take the left. I’ll take the right. Deacon, you think you can handle the middle?”

“I’ve always wanted to wade through a radioactive death bog!” Deacon joked. “How did you know?”

“Like I said,” Nick replied dryly, “I think the muck suits you.”

Whisper chuckled, kicking at a pile of decaying leaves. “Come on, guys. Let’s save the teasing for after we find MacCready. You know he’d be sad he missed it.”

“It’s safe to say there’s plenty more where that came from,” Deacon replied. “But you’re right, Dorothy. As per usual. Come on, Tik-Tok.”

“Are you really making an OZ reference right now?” Whisper asked with a frown.

“Hey, what can I say?” Deacon replied. “When books are hard to come by, you read the ones you can find.”

“I feel like I’m supposed to be insulted,” Nick muttered. “But I never had much patience for children’s books. Now, Shakespeare, or a good crime novel, that’s another thing entirely. You ever read any Chandler?”

Whisper rolled her eyes. “Guys. Please. We don’t have time for this. Just save it for the trip home.”

Deacon sighed. She was absolutely right. He was stalling, and getting Nick riled up was a good distraction. But he had every reason to delay. Although he desperately wanted to find MacCready, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to see what they were going to find. Given the circumstances, there might not be much of their friend left to recover. It was easier just to pretend that they were out for a really unpleasant stroll than to face the ugly truth.

::::

Hours passed as they slogged through the thick mud, and Deacon’s eyes stung from the strain of the search and the stench of decaying plant matter that filled the air around the bog. He’d never particularly enjoyed spending time in nature, not even when he’d been a farmer. He’d always felt more at home in the city, fading in and out of the ruined buildings like a ghost. There was an anonymity to an urban environment, a crowd to blend into. No one asked too many questions. But here, in the wilderness, he felt exposed, watched. There were few secrets in the country, and those that had been buried there had a way of getting unearthed in the worst possible ways.

As he pressed grimly forward, he noticed Whisper to his left. She was running, her short white hair blowing out behind her, catching the early evening sunlight like crystal. Her face was grim, eyes focused ahead. He followed her line of sight, picking up the pace as he noticed what looked like a building in the distance. Was that a cabin?

“Nick!” he hissed, turning to his right. “Myra’s got something.”

“Well, all right!” the synth detective replied, changing course. The three of them converged on the structure, moving quickly and quietly as they approached.

Whisper slowed to a crawl as she neared the building, holding a hand up. “Wait!” she hissed. “Let’s be smart about this. If the person Mac’s with is as dangerous as we think she is, we have to be prepared for a trap.”

Deacon nodded. “Okay. Here’s the plan. Whisp, you and I will go in first. Nick, you stay and watch the door.” He dug through his pack, pulling out a pair of Stealth Boys and handing them to Whisper. “I’ll stall whoever else is in there. You get MacCready out. We’ll meet back up by that stand of trees south of here.”

Whisper shook her head, passing one of the cloaking devices back. “I have a better idea. You take Mac, but stay visible. We’ll lure our kidnappers out, then I’ll come in from behind and catch them off guard.”

Deacon grinned. “So we’re going to use Mac and I as bait, huh? Well, it’s not the worst plan. But if I get shot because of this, I’m haunting you. I won’t even be polite about it. I’m just gonna float around and move all your belongings a few inches off center every time your back is turned.”

“You monster!” Whisper said softly, smiling. “Trust me, Deacon. I think this’ll work.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” he replied. “And neither should you. That being said, good luck.”

“Good luck,” Whisper replied, shaking his hand. She turned to Nick. “Are you ok with this?”

“Yeah, sure,” Nick mumbled. “You know what they say about crowds. I’ll make sure no one sneaks up on you, Myra.”

“Thanks.” She sighed, trying to calm herself down. “Ok. Let’s move.”

The shack had aged poorly, and what remained seemed determined to sag into the swamp. The scent of fresh ash clung to the fire outside the building’s door. Someone had been here, and recently. But there was another smell, too, one that worried Deacon. The metallic, sweet tang of recently-spilled blood.

Whisper nodded to him and Nick before charging into the structure, her laser rifle at the ready. “Oh, God! Mac!” she cried out. “Are you okay?”

That was all Deacon needed to hear before charging in. The spy’s eyes widened as he took in the grisly scene that waited inside. There was MacCready, hogtied to the floor, his face a canvas of bruises. If it weren’t for the position he’d been bound in, the mercenary probably wouldn’t be able to sit up. A pool of blood surrounded him, the product of a dozen shallow wounds, staining his pants and the bottom of his duster. The worst was his left arm, where a deep cut ran the course of it, muscle peeled carefully away from the bone. If it weren’t for the quiet wheezing coming from the man every time he breathed, Deacon would have assumed that he was dead.

Whisper knelt next to the mercenary, slicing through the ropes that bound him carefully. “Hey, MacCready. Talk to me, okay? You’re ok. We’re here. We found you.”

He shook his head weakly, swollen eyes peering hollowly at her. “No...trap.”

Whisper nodded. “Yeah. I figured it was a trap. Still, if we can get you out of here…”

“No!” he said more emphatically. “You...you aren’t real...can’t be.”

Deacon frowned, checking MacCready’s arm. There was a strange residue on the wound, like something had been rubbed into it. He gently swiped a finger across the area before bringing it to his nose. The smell was instantly recognizable, funky and potent like fermented blood and fur mixed with strange herbs. “Whisp, he’s been drugged.”

She sighed. “I guess that makes sense. What is it? Jet?”

The spy grimaced. “Worse. Much worse. It’s Voodoo. Man, I haven’t seen that stuff in years. I didn’t even think anyone still knew how to make it. From the look of things, someone’s been pouring it directly into this wound. That’s...oh, that’s really not good.”

“I’ve never heard of Voodoo,” she said, concerned. “What’s it do?”

“It’s more unpredictable other chems,” Deacon replied. “It boosts your damage resistance for a while, among other things, which might explain why Mac’s still kicking. It also causes pretty crazy hallucinations if you take a lot of it at one time. Real vision quest type stuff. But if you use too much of it, it’s extremely deadly. And we have no real way of knowing how much he’s on.”

Whisper sighed heavily. “So what you’re saying is he’s completely out of it, and even if we get him out of here, he might die anyway?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Well, shit,” she hissed. “What now?”

Deacon thought for a moment. “Let’s try and stay calm. Think, Whisp. If you were a crazy person obsessed with MacCready for some reason, what would you do?”

Whisper’s eyes widened. “There’s no way whoever did this gave him a fatal dose. They’re probably trying to keep him alive for as long as possible.”

“My thoughts exactly. If someone went to all this trouble, they’ve got something more specific in mind. And that means we still have a chance to save him. We’ve just got to move quickly.” He turned to MacCready. “Hey, pal. Think you can walk for me?”

MacCready whimpered softly, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna leave her. Not again. You can’t make me.”

“Who, buddy?” Deacon asked. “Who is she?”

“My…” Maccready slurred, his eyes bleary with confusion, “it’s Lucy...she said we’d be together again. I gotta stay.”

“She’s not your wife, Mac,” Whisper said calmly. “Think about it. Why would Lucy do something like this to you?”

“I…” he murmured, his eyes welling painfully with tears, “No, she’d never...I must have really messed up.”

“No. This isn’t your fault, Mac,” Whisper pleaded. “Please, listen to me. You’re confused. But we’re here to help you.”

“That’s what you said the last time,” he moaned, “and then Lucy...she told me you weren’t real. And I looked, and you weren’t there any more. I was still tied up, and you weren’t there!”

Deacon looked away, unable to bear the anguish on the mercenary’s battered face. His body surged with emotions, sorrow and anger dueling for dominance. He hadn’t felt this irate since the night he’d come for the Deathclaws. If he didn’t get himself under control…

His thoughts were interrupted by a series of gunshots from outside, followed by a cry of alarm from Nick. “Someone’s here!” the synth shouted. “Get MacCready and run! I’ll try and buy you some time.”

“What’s wrong?” a feminine voice exclaimed. “Don’t think you can handle one woman, you piece of junk?”

“Oh, I can handle you, all right,” Nick replied. “It’s the shooting you part that I’m more concerned about. I’m not exactly a fan of violence against women, no matter how loony they are.”

Deacon helped MacCready up, supporting the mercenary’s weight as much as he could. Fortunately, Mac was pretty light, especially with all the blood loss. “Hang on, buddy,” the spy said, slinging MacCready over his shoulder. “This is probably going to hurt a lot, but we’ve got to run, and I’m not sure you can.” He nodded to Whisper. “Let’s go.”

He tore through the door, making his way up the hill beyond the shack. It wasn’t easy going, but he knew that dry land was a better call with all the extra weight he was carrying. The last thing he wanted was to lose MacCready in the swamp. In his condition, he’d probably drown quickly if Deacon slipped. The spy heard a series of angry shrieks and cries of dismay from behind him, but he just kept running, his eyes focused on the path ahead.

As he crested the hill, Deacon slowed, trying to catch his breath. He cursed his smoking habit as he gasped for air, coughing as his weakened lungs refused to work properly. For now, this was as far as he’d be able to go. Deacon lowered Mac to the ground and looked back at the commotion below.

Nick was locked in combat with the strange woman, doing his best to hold her back as she struggled to follow Deacon. In the fading daylight, her horrifying patchwork face seemed to contort, the death mask of dozens twisted in rage. The spy shuddered as he thought about the surgeon who’d done this to her. Whoever he was, the guy sucked at his craft.

Deacon glanced around for Whisper, but she was nowhere to be seen. That was either a good sign or a really, really bad one. He decided to hope for the former.

The stranger pummeled Nick, scratching at his ragged synthetic flesh. The detective held his own, his robotic arms firmly holding her to his chest. “Calm down, will you? I can do this all day, if I have to. The sooner you quit, the easier this will be for both of us.”

The woman snarled. “You really think I wasn’t prepared to deal with a fucking machine?” she replied, smacking a hand against her upper arm. A tesla coil surged to life from the roof of the cabin, and Nick cried out in alarm as his grip weakened enough for her to squirm fee. She ran up the hill, her face screwed up with rage.

In a moment, Whisper was on her, discarding a spent Stealth Boy as she tackled the other woman, slamming her into a nearby tree. “Really, bitch?” she growled.

“Let me go!” the woman screamed. “That bastard’s mine! After everything I’ve sacrificed, everything I’ve lost…my brother’s blood is on his hands! He deserves to suffer!”

“I know about loss!” Whisper hissed, her emerald eyes brimming with emotion. “I’ve lost more than you can ever imagine. My family, my friends, my entire world is gone. So trust me when I say that I understand your feelings. What I don’t understand is why you’d go to such lengths just to get revenge on one man. Look at you. You’re a monster.”

“He deserves to suffer!” the woman cried again, struggling against Whisper’s grasp, wincing as the tender flesh of her wrist scraped against rough bark. “It’s not just about my brother! Don’t you understand? He’s scum! Look at him. He doesn’t have an ounce of remorse in him for all the lives he’s ruined, all the people he’s killed!”

“That’s not true!” Whisper replied. “That’s not true at all! I might not have known him as long as you have, but I know MacCready, probably better than you do. He’s not a cold-blooded killer. He cares about people. Hell, I’ll bet he even cares about you.” Whisper glanced over at the mercenary, quickly returning her focus to her prisoner as the woman tried to take advantage of her distraction. “And what about you? All those women…” Her voice trailed off, and Deacon could see the anguish in her eyes. Was she remembering the carnage left in the other woman’s wake?

“The doctor said they were necessary sacrifices! Look at me! I look just like her, that woman he loved. He said that I could give RJ back what he’d lost. Then, I’d take it all away, so he’d know what I felt.”

“Lu...Lori…” MacCready groaned. “Please...you don’t have to do this. Just run. I promise, I won’t come after you.”

“It’s too late for that now,” Lori replied. With a flash, she reached down Whisper’s side, pulling a small blade free from the other woman’s belt. With a feral cry, she stabbed forward, plunging the blade into one of the gaps in Whisper’s armor.

Whisper gasped in shock as blood pooled from the wound, and she released her grip on Lori’s arm.

“No!” cried Deacon, running towards her, but Whisper waved him off. She pulled the small blade from her wound with a cry, dropping the knife with a thud as she pulled a larger hunting knife from her boot.

“Protect Mac,” she hissed. “I don’t want him to see what’s about to happen.”

Deacon nodded, returning to MacCready’s side. Whisper was right. With all the chems still flooding his system, there was a good chance that he’d still think Lori was Lucy. He covered the mercenary’s eyes with his hands, blocking his view of the fight.

Whisper charged after the patchwork woman, her blade shimmering reddish-purple in the dying sunlight as it swung downwards. Lori dodged, catching the other woman in the face with her switchblade. Whisper screamed in pain, her left cheek damp with blood, but she did not relent. If anything, the pain seemed to focus her, to make her fight back even more viciously.

“Deacon, what the fu...uh, what’s happening?” MacCready asked, trying to pull the spy’s hands away from his face. “Why won’t you let me see?”

“Sorry, Mac. Whisper’s orders.” The spy thought for a moment. There had to be a way to distract MacCready, to keep him from panicking. “Hey, Mac, did I ever tell you about the time I became best friends with a yao guai?”

The mercenary groaned, still struggling against Deacon’s grip. “Not another one of your stupid stories,” he complained.

“You’re gonna love this one. Promise!” Deacon sighed dramatically. “Let’s see...it was a few years back, when I was tracking down a lead in Salem. Dez hadn’t been in charge for very long, and so I’d only just been allowed back into the fold. Anyways, things went south, and next thing I knew, I was left for dead in a scrap heap just behind the Witchcraft Museum. That’s when I met Bearnadette.”

He glanced over at Whisper, who swept Lori’s legs out from under her with a frantic kick, sending the patchwork woman tumbling to the ground. Whisp straddled the other woman, trying to keep her pinned down. “Just surrender, and I’ll let you go!” Whisper hissed.

“Like hell!” Lori replied, swinging her blade up. Whisper caught her arm, pinning it above the other woman’s head on the ground. Unfortunately, the movement destabilized her, and with a vicious buck, Lori managed to wiggle out from between her legs. She punched Whisper in the head repeatedly until the agent’s grip on her knife arm weakened. With a triumphant cry, the patchwork woman scrambled to her feet, kicking Whisp in the face. Whisper recoiled with a wail of pain, clutching her torn cheek.

Deacon cleared his throat, turning his attention back to MacCready. “She wasn’t exactly my type, you know, since she was a bear, and I was, well...me. But given the circumstances, I was just glad she didn’t eat me. I definitely thought she was going to when she plodded over to me, growling.”

Whisper curled away from Lori’s feet and rolled towards her, knife at the ready. She plunged the blade into the back of the other woman’s boot. Lori screamed in agony as blood dripped from the torn leather.

“I told you,” Whisper panted, “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will, if you make me. Please, just give up.”

“Never!” Lori spat. “Not until I get my revenge. I was promised revenge.”

“I tried to play dead,” Deacon continued. “I thought maybe I’d get lucky and she’d leave. But she licked my wounds clean, dragged me back to her den. It took a while, but I eventually realized that she wasn’t interested in eating me. That bear saved my life.” He smiled as he felt MacCready start to relax. “It took me a while to recover, but she brought me food every day and kept me warm at night. Eventually, I got stronger, and it was time for me to track down the guys who ambushed me. You should have seen the look on their faces when I rode into their camp on Bearnadette’s back, a laser pistol in each hand.” Deacon laughed. “I’ve never seen raiders run so fast.”

Whisper caught Lori by the bandoleer and threw her against a large rock formation, knocking the wind out of her. Whisp towered over the smaller woman, both of them drenched in blood and sweat. “Give...up...already,” she wheezed, her blade gripped tightly in her right hand. “I don’t...want...to kill you.”

“Too...bad,” gasped Lori, her pied skin parting in a sick smile, “because I really, really want to kill you.” She lashed out with her blade, catching Whisper across the chest. “I’m going enjoy ending you!” she snarled. “Maybe I’ll even take those pretty freckles of yours, if there’s enough left to save. Once RJ’s been punished enough, the doctor says he’ll make me a new face. A better one. I wonder if he’ll give me yours.”

“Sorry, it’s not for sale.” Whisper whimpered in pain as a thick line of blood grew across her ruined shirt. “You bitch! I just repaired this shirt!” She grabbed Lori’s wrist, twisting it until the joints gave way with a sickening pop. The smaller woman wailed in agony, dropping the knife.

“So...you care more about...agh...the shirt than you care about RJ?” Lori asked, mustering a smirk. “You might be...as heartless as me.”

“No,” Whisper snorted. “But I’ll admit, it’s kind of the last straw. You murder almost two dozen people, torture one of my best friends, and then you come for my favorite shirt? It’s like you want me to kill you.”

“But I...I didn’t kill those girls.”

“I don’t believe you,” Whisper snarled. “You certainly seem capable of it. And what kind of sick bitch bathes in people’s blood?”

Lori’s eyes widened. “What? No, that’s...I never enjoyed that. It’s disgusting, but the doctor...he said it would make the scars heal faster. I’ve only ever wanted...vengeance.”

“Haven’t you had enough vengeance?” Whisper asked. “Hasn’t MacCready suffered enough?”

“No. And if you care about him at all, you’ll finish me off,” Lori hissed. “Because if you don’t, I’ll just wait for a chance to kill RJ again. And this time, I’ll make sure you aren’t around to stop me.

“I really wish you hadn’t said that,” Whisper sighed, stabbing downward. Deacon closed his eyes as the blade connected with Lori’s throat, but that did nothing to drown out the sounds of gurgling, gasping, wheezing death as it came for her. He clutched MacCready’s head to his chest, covering the mercenary’s ears as best as he could with his body. For all that Lori had done, MacCready didn’t deserve to hear his wife die all over again. Dragging sounds followed, then a splash, and finally, a sickening thud.

“Whoa now!” Nick called. “You okay there, doll?”

Deacon looked to see Whisper passed out on the ground, Nick already injecting her with a stimpack. No trace of Lori remained, save for a bright splattering of blood on the rocks nearby. “Stay here,” he told MacCready before racing to her side. “Whisp?” he asked, patting her uninjured cheek gently. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Nick shook his head. “She’s down for the count, I’m afraid. We’ve got to do something about her injuries, and fast.”

Deacon tore his shirt off, offering it to the detective. “Here. For bandages.”

Nick sighed. “I meant we should keep her comfortable while the stim does its job, you ninny. Still, I guess it’s not a terrible idea to bind her wounds. You got any alcohol to soak the fabric in?”

Deacon nodded, pulling a half-empty bottle of moonshine from his pack. “We should get Mac’s arm too. Everything else is scabbed over already, but we’re going to need to wash the wound out first so the Voodoo doesn’t cause an infection. You don’t want to know what they make that stuff with. You get to work on Myra. I’ll take care of Mac.”

He returned to the mercenary with a couple stims, a strip of stained white cotton, and a can of purified water. “Hey, buddy,” Deacon said softly. “This is gonna hurt, but we’ll get you cleaned up in no time.”

“You...oww!...never finished your story,” MacCready whimpered as Deacon cleaned the grisly wound on his arm. “What happened to...argh!...to Bearnadette?”

“Well,” Deacon replied with a smirk, “I asked her to marry me, of course. A woman like that, you don’t just let her get away. She growled at me, which I think meant yes. We had a happy life together for a while, until she left me for another yao guai. I was invited to their daughter’s baptism last year, so there’s no hard feelings.”

MacCready grimaced as Deacon applied the makeshift bandage. “Thanks. Deacon. That was a pretty good story.”

“And every word’s true.” Deacon added, grinning. He injected Mac with the first stimpack, and the mercenary hissed in annoyance.

“Damn it, I hate those things.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Mac,” the spy said gently, “but there’s more where that came from. That woman did quite a number on you.”

“You can say that again,” MacCready groaned, clutching his head. “Everything’s...really blurry.”

“Yeah, that’s the Voodoo,” Deacon muttered. “You’ll be seeing unicorns and demons for a while. But hopefully it’ll wear off soon. By tomorrow, all you’ll have is one hell of a headache.”

MacCready looked up at the spy, his deep blue eyes suddenly serious. “Deacon. I...I almost died today.”

“Yeah.” Deacon gulped. Now that the immediate danger was over, the reality of the situation hit him like a sack of cement. They’d come so close to losing Mac, and even though it had turned out that it wasn’t Deacon’s fault, he still felt responsible. If he’d only paid closer attention, the people who took MacCready wouldn’t have had an opportunity. His stomach churned as he thought about all the horrors they’d seen in the Grave, everything that woman had done to him…

MacCready touched his arm softly, startling the spy. “But I didn’t,” he continued. “You guys had my back. Thanks.”

“Any time, buddy,” Deacon replied, squeezing his hand. “Any time.”

::::

“Oww! What the fuck, Nick?” screamed Whisper as she came to. “That stings like a bitch!”

“Sorry, Myra,” Nick replied, capping the moonshine he'd splashed on her face. He wrapped the side of her face carefully, trying to avoid catching her skin in his metal hand. “I don’t know why you even bothered with the knife,” he muttered as he finished. “That tongue of yours is sharper.”

“I know, I know. It’s not very ladylike,” Whisper sighed. “Tell me something my father didn’t, why don’t you?”

“I think he and I would have gotten along,” Nick mused.

“Definitely. He was a cop.”

Nick froze. “Wait, around here? What was his name?”

“Martin Taylor,” she replied. “He was the sheriff over in --”

“Nahant,” Nick finished. “I should have figured you were Marty’s kid. You look enough like him. Well, I’ll be.”

Whisper stared at the synth. “You remember my dad?”

“I’ll admit, the details are a little fuzzy,” Nick replied. “But the old Nick, yeah, he knew him all right. They weren’t exactly close, but they worked together a couple times. Always thought he was a pretty stand-up guy.” The detective laughed. “What are the odds? Two hundred years, and I’m out here chasing down criminals with you, of all people. Guess some things never change.”

“Yeah…” Whisper sighed. “Where’s Mac? Is he okay?”

Deacon waved her over. “We’re over here. He’s...well, he’s a little more stable. We need to get him to a doctor, and soon.”

Nick helped Whisper up, and she limped over to MacCready and Deacon, leaning on his shoulder. “How are you holding up, Mac?” she asked, easing herself down beside him with a pained gasp.

“I’ll admit, I’ve been a lot better,” MacCready replied with a low groan. “Whatever Lori...ugh...it sure packs a punch.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you look like crap,” Whisper joked.

“Yeah, it really doesn’t,” the mercenary replied. “And you’re not looking so hot yourself.”

Whisper frowned. “Those chems must really be messing with your vision. I always look hot.”

MacCready blushed brightly. "That's not...I...come on, Myra! That's not fair."

Deacon chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say that I’m the best looking one here.”

Whisper rolled her eyes at the spy. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

He grinned. “Well, I thought it’d be fun to go streaking through the Commonwealth after you got better, but I may have gotten a little ahead of myself.”

“Right,” MacCready muttered. “As if you needed an excuse.”

“Hey! I’m not that easy,” Deacon replied, laughing.

“So, Myra,” MacCready asked softly, ignoring the spy, “did you mean it?”

“Did I mean what?” Whisper replied.

“What you said to Lori? That I’m one of your best friends?”

She chuckled, patting his hand. “Hell yes I meant it. What, do you think I’d go through all this crap for just anyone? Please. You’re not exactly the employee of the month, Mac.”

“I’m not?” he replied with a slight smile. “But I’m not even making you pay me. That’s got to count for something, Myra.”

“I don’t pay Preston, either,” she replied. “Or pretty much any of you, now that I think about it. I guess that means we’re all friends, huh?”

Nick cleared his throat. “I told you, Myra, I’ll be sending you an invoice.”

“Okay,” Whisper said, chuckling. “Nick and I aren’t friends. But you, Mac? Deacon? You guys absolutely are my friends. And I don’t care what kind of trouble you get yourselves into. If I can help, I’ll be there every time. I promise.”

“That’s great and all, and we can have a great big group hug later,” Deacon muttered, trying to ignore the blush that warmed his ears, “But how are we getting out of here? I mean, between you and Mac, we’re not exactly walking out of here. And for all we know, Lori’s gang is still out there.”

Whisper sighed. “Do you think we can make it back to the river? I saw a few boats upstream that we can probably get back to working condition.”

Deacon shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this, but now might be the time to call that vertibird. Nick and I will make ourselves scarce. Don’t worry about us.”

Whisper nodded. “I’ll see you back at HQ when I can, Deacon. Be safe.”

“You too,” he replied. Deacon turned to Nick. “Come on, pal. Let’s go let our people know what we found.”

“Yeah...guess we should,” Nick replied. “I’m not buying it, though. All those girls, and for what? One psycho’s revenge? No way. There’s more to this. There’s got to be.”

Deacon sighed, rubbing his eyes. “You’re right. I don’t think Lori was the only one pulling strings around here. If nothing else, we need to find that surgeon. But right now, I’m completely fried. I need a good meal, some new clothes, and a full night’s sleep. We can tackle the rest of this case tomorrow, can’t we?”

Nick chuckled. “You make it sound like you want to work together on this.”

Deacon shrugged. “Well, my partner’s down for the count.”

“What do you know?” the synth replied. “So’s mine. Well, I guess we’ll just have to make do.”

“Geez, talk about a downgrade,” Deacon retorted. “Well, I guess you’ll make a decent sidekick.”

“Forget it, pal,” Nick muttered. “If anyone’s the sidekick here, it’s you.”

“Oh yeah?” Deacon teased, “Tell you what? First one to crack the case gets to be in charge.”

“I’ll take those odds,” the detective replied with a smirk. “Myra, take care of that merc of yours.”

“I will!” she replied. “Now get out of here before I activate the signal. I’ll send word through Radio Freedom when we’re safe.”

“Oh boy!” Deacon said excitedly. “My very own message on Minuteman FM! There’s another one off the bucket list!”

Whisper grinned at him, wincing as the movement irritated her torn cheek. “Just...ow...just make sure you tune in, okay?”

“You bet, Whisp.” With that, he turned towards the setting sun, Nick Valentine at his side. There was a tourist’s homestead nearby, and if they were lucky, that meant food, water, and shelter. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea of taking Nick along to visit one of his contacts, but he had to admit that the detective was pretty handy to have around. Maybe Deacon was starting to get used to the idea of having someone to watch his back, he thought with a grimace.

When they were a good distance away, Deacon turned back towards the spot they’d left Mac and Whisper. A plume of red smoke drifted above the crest of the hill, catching the breeze and billowing about in strange patterns. He smiled slightly. Whether he liked the means or not, at least the two people he cared about the most were safe. With them out of the way, the spy would be able to do what he needed to do without driving them away. Whoever was responsible, whatever their motives...they were going to pay dearly.