Let's Begin Again: Revived

Chapter 1

Leaving Oregon

1

The skewered gecko spun steadily over the small campfire, not enough meat to feed him for the day, and certainly not enough to get him to where he was going, but the more he travelled south the more scarce food became round here.

His survival skills had been drilled into his head at a very young age - being part of a family of caravaners does that to you. He poked the fire idly with a stick, watching and waiting for the smell of burning. He liked his meat well done. A thought came to him wondering if this journey was going to be worth it. He'd heard from the last town the exact same rumour he had heard in every settlement he'd come across. There was a city, filled with lights and money, women and drink. Like something out of one of those old fairy tales.

They called it New Vegas.

How long had it been out there, he wondered. People said it was filled with buildings that reached up to the clouds, some of them shaped like giant roulette spinners. Must have taken years to build that kind of thing, not to mention the constant stream of raiders that lived all over the wasteland. There had to be heavy protection there, and that was just one of the reasons he'd decided long ago that this was the place he could not only survive in, but live in.

He checked his pack for the third time today, the abundance of caps jangling around his pockets was obvious. His last great haul was a week back, in a little store called the Dancing Deathclaw. Ironic, really, what he had sold to get a couple thousand caps for the journey to Vegas, and to spend in Vegas.

Ironic because, he initially thought he would travel alone to Nevada, but had made a friend that some… or most… would call a monster.

Something scraped against the rocks above him and he looked up. On the top of the outcropping he'd made camp next to stood a creature that was no higher than his hips. Two large, taloned feet scaled the rock swiftly down to his campfire, using its large, hand-sized nails to grip expertly onto unseen crevices in the rock face. When it came a few feet lower it jumped, landing with a thump that could've crushed any lesser beings knees.

It looked up at him with orange, curious eyes. In its draconic chops it held a gecko, a little bigger than the one on the spit. He'd seen teeth like that rip through steel, yet the lizard looked mostly intact. The deathclaw juvenile dropped the gecko next to his boot with a grin, which was wired, because he'd never seen a deathclaw try and smile before.

"Hey buddy," he said, giving the creature a scratch near the base of one of its two bull-horns on its forehead. He'd done this action so much lately that it just came naturally to him. Plus the deathclaw liked it, as was confirmed with the low thrumming he could hear from its throat. Having this thing as a 'pet' was strange and dangerous, but it had imprinted on him in some way, and he appreciated the company. Also it brought him food, which was hard enough to come by.

He grabbed a pair of tongs sitting on the stones surrounding the fire, and pulled off a chunk of gecko and tossed it to his little friend. It caught the meat mid-air, chomped it down with obvious hunger. He pulled off another piece for himself. Crispy gecko tasted as good as it sounds. As he ate his dinner, he thought of how he had come to meet his new companion.

The Dancing Deathclaw trader was paying a hefty sum for the extermination of a pack of deathclaws that had recently moved into the nearby mineshaft. The town of Plush wasn't very populated, and they relied on the mine's resources to get by out here away from any of the bigger settlements. He took up the offer, gathering as much info as he could before heading off. It hadn't been the first time he was on the hunt, but last time he had a team of people watching his back, and they were trying to kill a queen cazador, which was arguably much more dangerous if you've ever seen one up close.

The entrance to the mine was small, teetering on the edge of collapsing, supported only by a few rotting planks of wood and steel. He thumbed off the safety on his rifle and moved inside in a hurry, wanting to get the horrible occupants inside off guard.

He crossed uneven and mined-out terrain, keeping his steps light to avoid making noise on the gravel and rock. One long strip of blackness stretched out before him, no wider than three people. The smell hit him like a wall – blood, rotting flesh, and most dominantly, shit.

His helmet's torch illuminated the darkness ahead, and about half a minute inside, he came across something lying on the ground. He knelt down, keeping his rifle trained on the darkness ahead, and turned the corpse onto its back.

Judging by the clothes he could tell this was no raider, but a fellow adventurer perhaps. Maybe was even on the same job as he was at this very moment, only to meet his end just in sight of the exit. He searched the dead man's pockets, but didn't turn up anything worth noting.

A blanket of dust kicked up just ahead of him, and he aimed his rifle forwards as he stood up and walked past the corpse. The scars on his chest and neck didn't tell him much other than confirming what he already knew was in these caves.

Pressing on, he came upon a large central room, with other paths leading off to deeper parts of the mine. An abundance of picks and shovels and other old equipment lay strewn all over the ground, some of them half buried like they'd just recently been used. Two rickety wooden paths lead up to a second level, where minerals were scattered across the walls, but he didn't need to go up there.

Near the centre of the room, the ground suddenly dipped out of view like a large crater. He approached it quickly, taking note and passing a pair of thick, but rotting, support pillars. Then he stopped, at the lip of the divot, and looked unto a scene not many in the wastes would dare dream of seeing.

The alpha deathclaw and its mate, sitting down there at the base of the hole, resting on a large cluster of eggs. Had either one been awake, he'd surely have been ripped apart by now. He took a moment to examine the both of them. The male was unnaturally brutish, with a dark, armoured body, and huge arms that could rip sentry bots apart. The female was just as big, with creamy blue skin and horns that curled back alongside its forehead. He'd heard and read about pre-war stories of things called 'demons', and was chilled at how similar they looked alike.

Not giving them a chance to wake, he raised the rifle, lined up his sights, and fired. The cave flashed white, a single cartridge fell from the barrel to the floor, and the female died without even waking up.

The male did, however, and he dashed up the hole and swiped in a great arc to try and rip him apart. It was a narrow miss, however, and the survivalist jumped backwards from the divot and behind a pillar.

The deathclaws huge hands gripped the lip of the divot and hoisted its huge body up and prepared to charge. In the interest of saving ammo and before the alpha could get any closer, he gripped his rifle by the barrel with both hands, and swung as hard as he could into the pillar he stood behind.

Instantly the roof came crumbling down upon the both of them, but the deathclaw was caught off guard and suffered the worst of it. Two huge boulders of rock smashed down onto its legs, crushing them. The alpha was easy pickings.

So much for saving bullets, he thought, then the cave flashed white again, but this bullet didn't quite kill the alpha. It lay there, moving its arms sluggishly, a bullet to the head only stunning it. He had to fire once more to get it to go still, and for the lights in its burning eyes to go out.

After he got his breathing back to normal, he took several trips to get all the eggs in the mine back to the trader to sell. By the time he had brought them all back he'd basically wiped the trader out to the point he was giving away NCR dollars, which were not as good a value as caps, but money is money, as he always said.

"Whatcha gonna do with all that, brother?" the trader asked, handing over his last hundred dollar note. The survivalist grinned at him.

"Heard New Reno's got some fine casino's," he replied. The trader's eyes widened.

"Seriously? My brother Alfred works at the New Reno Arms store! If you're going all the way out there could you say hi to him for me? He hasn't been replying to my letters at all lately, I hope he's alright."

"Sure thing."

"Thanks brother, and watch out for those Bishops! Nasty bunch of assholes would screw you over just 'cause they felt like it!"

He thanked the trader for his business, then left town soon after. Not a few hours later did he come across his new friend. He had been prying open a locked car trunk with an old pry bar that had been his father's last gift to him years ago, and it had served him very well these past couple years. Just as he'd overpowered the car lock and began rummaging through some old suitcases within, did he hear scuffling on the concrete behind him. In one swift movement he was crouched, rifle aiming at the source of the sound, which was coming from behind an old burnt out sedan a few feet behind him.

"Who's there?"

Silence for a moment, then a tiny face peered out from behind the rear of the car. The sun was setting behind him, so he couldn't make out the features apart from that the person was very small. His rifle lowered slightly.

"Come out."

He first noticed the taloned feet, clicking on the ground every step. After the moment he realised it was in fact a deathclaw he was stunned, unable to really react at all. Should he shoot it? Ignore it? It didn't seem to be aggressive, which was a first for the species as a whole.

He considered shooting the thing to get this over with, as he'd had enough contact with these things for one lifetime. Its parents might come looking for it, unless of course, it had come from the very same mines he'd just cleaned out. But that couldn't be right, because he had searched the place over just in case and had completely and utterly wiped everything out.

Whatever the case, here it was, now all he had to do was finish the job, and move on. Yet he couldn't squeeze the trigger, because the deathclaw had, of all things, a toy car in its hands. And while his brain struggled to make a choice to kill it or not, it was rolling the toy around like a child, and he found this so bizarre, that he couldn't bring himself to do it, and lowered the gun to his side.

"Wouldn't even call myself charitable," he mumbled, watching the deathclaw play, almost oblivious to his presence anymore. Funny, how much that it looked like her, little Joan playing with her toys back in Seattle. It hurt to think about it, and maybe that was why he couldn't think straight, and let the deathclaw live.

So that's what happened in the end. He walked, and the deathclaw followed him. He thought it would've lost interest before night, but when the time came to set up camp for the night it was still there, watching him. For a moment he thought it would just disappear into the dark and forget about him, or worse, kill him, but it instead simply laid inside the light of the campfire and rested, head in its hands. That night, plus a few more after, he stayed up late, paranoid that it was simply waiting for him to sleep, then it would attack him. But he eventually slept, more out of exhaustion than anything.

Pleasantly surprised the next morning, his friend was still there, sleeping. It was an incredible risk to stay within a hundred feet of one of these things, of course, but remembering Joan had made him careless. Sure, it didn't attack, but it could have. And that was all fate needed to screw him over.

His charitable side decided to spare a little breakfast for his friend, and when it woke up a little later, he could see that it must have been starving the way it gawked down the pre-war beans and bacon. As it ate up a second batch of food, he searched through his pockets, and fished out a small vial. He popped the cap off the vial off with his thumb, and poured out three small white tablets.

Mentats were known throughout the wastes to enhance brainpower for hours at a time. Which was ironic, because, he had been addicted to things since a time he couldn't remember. He really hated himself for eating these things, but if he didn't he got sick. Really sick. So he had a few every morning.

The sound of the tablets rattling in the vial drew the attention of his little companion, who, almost like some loyal dog, tilted its head up at him at an angle one might call cute, if it didn't look like a small demon.

"Want one, buddy? It'll make ya sick."

The deathclaw, it seemed, didn't understand. He saw no harm in giving it one or two – he had made sure he had plenty for the long trip, so what the hell, right? He dropped two Mentats on the ground, and the deathclaw gobbled them up eagerly.

He had no idea at the time if it would even have an effect, good or bad, on his friend. But now, a week later, he definitely noticed some changes in its behaviour. It hunted for food whenever he set up for the night, as was obvious for its bringing of a second gecko, plus it always seemed to grin at him whenever he gave it a pat on the head, or thanked it for its hard work.

He looked up from the spit and followed the highway with his eyes. He planned to head to Vegas from the west, through NCR territory. Rumour had it they had the raiders under control, and had even got something called an 'internet' throughout most of the west coast. The only other way was to head to Nevada from the east, and most of that was under Legion control. And he heard only terrible things about them.

But there was great change coming to all of the wastes. A 'nuclear winter' was passing over most of the country, and some said it was here to stay for months, maybe even years. Already he could feel the cold rising every night, and the days getting shorter. Soon he'd have to use more than his cloak to bundle himself up at nights.

He wasn't sure how his companion felt about this. For one he'd never seen one in a cold environment, so maybe they avoided the cold naturally. He would probably have to find it some clothes too.

Together they devoured the geckos, and afterwards the deathclaw curled up at his feet, resting its head in its hands and closing its eyes. He added some more fuel to the fire, making sure it would last throughout most of the night. Then he rested his head on his pack, and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Next morning was an early one. He stamped out the fire and gathered all his things. They needed to find shelter before nightfall, since camping out in the open had become very cold. His deathclaw was a little harder to convince to get up today, and he noticed it was indeed shivering.

They travelled the highway for a couple hours, looting the cars they passed for anything useful. the deathclaw was handy for this kind of thing, squeezing into and under the car seats and bringing out anything it found. Some beef jerky was one such haul, and other time it came out holding a handgun in its chops while he was searching the trunk.

At around midday the highway drifted back to the north, and he knew that this was the point he'd… or they… would have to cross open country to get to California as quickly as possible. He scaled up a large pickup truck to get a better view of the south. He would've like to just cross right into Nevada, but all the roads were blocked or destroyed, and that part of the wastes was covered in raiders. No lone ranger with his pet deathclaw could survive out there.

He turned is eyes eastward. And all he saw was open country, brown and empty. Just beyond the horizon he made out two large mountains, between them a large divot disappearing out of sight. He planned to travel through that canyon, as it was the quickest route to California.

"Canyon it is, then."

He hopped off the truck, checking his gear one last time to make sure he had all he needed. He liked travelling light, so he could cover more ground, but he still felt very unequipped despite all his prior preparations.

"Maybe you can carry some stuff, eh?" he said to his companion, who was playing with a toy soldier it found a few minutes ago. He tried picturing a rucksack or something on its spiked back, sling and all, and actually succeeded.

Not a bad idea, he thought, stepping off the highway and onto open land. Wouldn't be the strangest thing I've seen.

Yes, he had seen himself befriend one of the most dangerous animals known throughout the wastes after killing off its parents, now that was strange. But he had a feeling his new friend would pay off in the end. Maybe it would grow as big as an alpha, grow huge claws and rip apart anyone who would stand in his way. But until then he would have to protect it, feed it, find it some sort of warmth, act like a parent. And the thing was, he wasn't discouraged at all to do it. That, was probably the strangest thing of all.

Special thanks to Jeffnorsegod, and everyone else who reviewed, wanting this story to be revisited. I'll try to finish it this time. :)