The darkness enveloped Stella as she was pulled from her sleep. Her eyes started to slowly adjust to the black; the only light coming from an occasional spark from Charon sharpening a knife.

"Are you prepared to travel further?" Charon asked, rising and sheathing his knife.

"Yes sir," Stella said, rising and stretching. The pain in her right calf had escalated as she slept, and the muscle had tensed, knotting slightly and making it very difficult to put pressure on her right leg. She gathered her belongings and put on her vest, and looked at Charon. He was staring at her, already ready to go. She walked stiffly, trying to prevent Charon from noticing her weak leg. They walked away from their campsite and headed further into the twisting tunnels.

Twenty minutes into navigating dirty tracks and forgotten maintenance halls, Charon stopped her.

"You're limping."

"Yes," she answered, her chin raised defiantly. She watched the way he walked, able and strong, and she wanted to be like him. If he was hurting, he wouldn't show it. He looked at her for a moment, and she met his stare. He felt a split-second of fury light through him, and he reacted.

"We should go," he said abruptly. He turned on his heel and continued through the railway. Stella was surprised about his reaction, but pleased. She wanted a break, but more than anything she wanted Charon to think that she was actually capable of succeeding, so she kept her mouth closed and walked through the pain.

After another long drought in conversation, they came upon a metro station. Two raiders were keeping watch, one walking along the tops of train cars, and the other pacing along on the mezzanine. Charon turned to Stella.

"Step back and get down," he instructed, and she did as she was told. Crouching down, she took a few paces backward and to the right in order to get behind a derailed train car. Miscalculating her distance from the car, she tripped over its towing hook and fell backwards. The sound of her and her equipment hitting the concrete alerted the raiders.

"Hey! Who's there?" the man on the train shouted, turning toward them. Charon drew his shotgun and pumped it, chambering his round. The man stalked toward them and, reaching the end of the trains, leaned down to look. Charon blasted his face into oblivion. The other raiders, now fully aware of their location, came flooding down the broken escalator from the mezzanine. There were, at the very least, six and they were swarming Charon. Stella began to panic, and ignored his order to stay put. She scrambled to her feet and drew her SMG and walked toward the fight.

Charon was not outnumbered, despite how many there were. Each shot fired from his combat shotgun was a kill shot, and so far he had downed three. One came up behind him, and Charon turned swiftly, kicking him in the stomach. He fell backwards, clutching his waist in agony. At the same time, a female raider was approaching him with a tire iron. Charon shot her in the throat. The man he had kicked began to rise and with his gun out of ammo, Charon grabbed his head and broke his neck in one fell swoop.

Watching this, Stella began to rethink her decision to rush to his aid. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a raider on the mezzanine with a huge weapon, pointing it down toward Charon. He was messing with a large, cylindrical thing, trying to load it into the weapon. She decided to take him out while Charon was preoccupied. She snuck up the escalator on the other side of the tracks, and while he was busy trying to load the weapon, she shot him several times in the back and the back of the neck.

"Gah!" he cried out, falling to his stomach although still alive. He tried to struggle back up to his feet, but she shot him in the back of the head. The thick scent of blood filled the air. As Stella was standing back up, she was knocked back down. Her face skidded on the concrete and the wind was knocked out of her. Her gun slipped out of her hand. She felt a boot under her right side, kicking her to her back. A man with a shaved head stood over her with a baseball bat. He gave her a toothy grin as he raised the bat over his head, and then brought it down against her stomach.

"Oof!" she cried out, crumpling to the fetal position. He laughed maniacally, raising the bat again. Stella closed her eyes and drew her limbs in toward her, hoping that would afford her some protection. Charon's shotgun sounded over her head and blood rained down on her. The metro was suddenly silent as Charon knelt down next to her.

"Why did you move?" he asked. She opened her eyes and tried to talk, but could only cough. He stood suddenly, and walked a few paces away.

"Why did you move?" he screamed out, kicking a trash can. The noise caused Stella to recoil in fear. He walked back toward her and once again knelt down. "Do you realize how close to being killed you came? You jeopardized both of our lives twice! Imbecile!" he snarled. Stella unfurled her arm, and pointed shakily. Charon turned toward the direction she pointed and saw the half-loaded missile launcher. He turned back toward her.

"Give me your hand," he impatiently. She said nothing. He rolled her head in his hands. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slack-jawed. He cringed. He stepped toward a map of the metro system for a moment, formulating a plan. He ran back to the tunnel where Stella had first alerted the raiders of their presence and grabbed their bags. He stopped to reload his shotgun quickly, and then hurried back to Stella. He slowly scooped her up in his arms, completely taken aback by how light she was. She was an injured bird, unable to fly. He pulled her to him, leaning his head on her chest. Her pulse was slow and light. He rushed toward the exit.

The high noon sun bore down upon Charon as he exited the metro tunnels. He thought he felt Stella squirm against him, although it could have easily been his imagination. He took off in a brisk walk east. It had been years since he had been out in this direction, but he knew the way. He knew right where he was going.

A group of ferals were gnawing at something not far from him. It seemed to him that over the last several years the number of Ghouls going feral had increased drastically, and they were spreading out across the wasteland, large groups even congregating to the surface. This group had yet to notice Stella and he, so he tucked her closely into him in hopes that they might not realize that she was human. When he approached, they rose up and sniffed the air, watching him pass. One hissed noisily and he veered away from them.

Watching his shadow grow along the ground, Charon estimated that it was around four o'clock. He spotted a nearby grouping of rocks and climbed them steadily. Peering over the horizon, he noticed his destination about thirty minutes from his position. He checked Stella's pulse again. It felt as though her heart was just under the surface of her skin, and the beat danced erratically. A bit of panic began to overcome him. He feared for her life. He had wanted to be free of her, but her exact order to him was to help her survive. If she died, it would be as though he disobeyed his order. Those were consequences he couldn't accept.

Charon broke out into a light jog, cradling Stella closely to him to keep from jouncing her about and exaggerating any internal injuries that she might have sustained. She seemed unnaturally warm to him, and it made him uncomfortable. He began to run faster.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Charon came upon the place he had been looking for. It had been a long time, but the makeshift shack that he had used for shelter and recuperation while in Ahzrukhal's service was still standing. He shifted Stella so that she could be held with one arm, and then drew his shotgun. He pushed the door open with the barrel of his gun.

The shack was empty, but there were signs of it being recently occupied. He would have to keep on alert in case whoever had been living here came back. He carried her up the stairs to the loft bedroom, and laid her out on it. He checked her pulse again, and the situation was just as dire as it had been earlier. He sat his pack down on a stand next to the bed and opened it, rummaging through the pocket containing his medical supplies. He laid out a few things he knew he'd need, and sighed. He grabbed a bar of soap he carried with him and walked down the stairs to a sink, washing his hands, and then headed back up the stairs.

Charon removed Stella's boots to help increase her blood flow and noticed that her skin was cold and clammy.

"Shit!" he cried out. Quickly, he unbuttoned her vest and pulled it off. He tried to be gentle with her, but time was now of the essence. If it was, like he suspected, she could be experiencing hypovolemic shock, and any wasted moment could bring it closer to becoming irreversible. Charon was uncomfortable with the next thing he had to do, but he knew it was impossible to get around. He slid her shirt up around her chest and then pulled her arms out of their sleeves. It became clear to him immediately that she had severe internal injuries. He gently lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. He filled an IV bag he carried with him with purified water, and mixed some salt in with it. Sealing it tightly, he shook it until the salt was dissolved, then attached a length of surgical tubing to the bottom of the bag. He unwrapped a needle he had sterilized and twisted it onto the tubing and let the solution run through the tubing until the air had left. Locating a vein on Stella was harder than he expected, but he managed to find and puncture one. He hung the bag up on the railing of the headboard and continued to the next problem.

Her stomach and sides were bruised and, in a few places, cut. He pressed on her ribs, hoping to be able to feel any break in the bones or, if there was severe pain, maybe get a reaction from her. She made no movement at all, and luckily her ribcage still felt intact. There might be slight fractures, but that could be dealt with later.

Charon drew a stimpak from his array of medicines next to him and uncapped it. He pressed around on her stomach, feeling for any knotting or anything that might indicate where she might need the medicine the most. Not feeling any indicators, he jammed it into her stomach. Stella's shock was almost definitely caused by internal bleeding, and there was nothing he could do to help her now. They were too far away from any major settlements to get help from a doctor. All he could do was hope that the saline would help nurse away the shock, and the stim would do what it could to close up the wound causing the bleeding.

He looked up at her face. It was scraped and bloodied. He headed downstairs and filled a bucket with water from the sink. He returned to Stella and opened her bag, finding the fabric she was always cutting bits off. He ripped off another section and dipped it in the water, then ran it across her face. Dried blood, dirt, and grime wiped away easily. He rubbed soap on her wounds to cleanse them and prevent infection and wiped her face clean again.

Charon felt her feet to see if the saline had done any good yet. Nothing had changed. He turned back to her face and pulled one of her eyelids open to check her dilation. Her pupils seemed to not be dilated to an extreme, which brought him relief. He got up and pulled a chair up next to the bed to keep watch on her and her IV. As he sat down, his foot hit her bag and some items tumbled out. He went to return them to their place when he noticed that she was carrying a few books. He picked up the one on the top of the stack, an anthology of poetry. The binding was coming apart and the embossed words on the cover were fading. He opened it gently. The pages were soft from wear and age and many were falling out of the book. He caressed the book. He had always loved to read, and in these pages several of his favorite poets were versed.

Charon opened his own pack and pulled out some food. He ate while keeping an eye on Stella and monitoring her IV bag. When he finished, he noticed it was getting low. He let the liquid pump into her veins as long as he could, and then removed the needle. After he bandaged her arm, he felt her feet again. They had warmed up and the clamminess had dissipated. Progress had indeed been made. He grabbed the blanket that was under her feet and pulled it up to her chest to give her modesty and warmth. Making sure he had done as much for her as he could, he sat back, opened her book and began to read.