The Journal of George Amenth
April 14th, 2280
Taking control of the Steelyard wasn’t anything terribly impressive, just shooting some trogs as they ran away from our floodlights. Lord Ashur seemed pleased with how things went though, and set the slaves to work right away. Either way, our “victory” gave the men and women under me the morale boost necessary to convince them that we would be looting the Hunt Armory, just a few miles from uptown. The armory, of course, had become home to a number of ghouls and trogs over the years, otherwise it would have been looted a century before I was born, and most men aren’t wont to go to such a place under normal conditions.
A ghoul or a trog can be a scary thing, charging at you down a dark hallway with their inhuman shuffles. Enemy raiders can be scary too, same with radiation. Any of those things might be enough to give a person pause. That is, until you realize what they really are. Just like every other threat in the wasteland, they’re just another way to lose the game. And what have you really lost? You’ve lost the game, that’s it.
Sometimes I’m amazed that it seems like I’m the only one that can see it, as if it’s my own little secret. People have such fear for these things when the worst that can happen is that they’ll lose the game, and it’s shocking. I was able to see the game for what it really was when I was just a boy and raiders caught our carriage outside of Ronto, heading towards the Stretch. It had been during a blizzard; I remember barely being able to see the heads of the brahmin that pulled us through the snow and the loud howl of the wind.
One of my father’s soldiers had nearly ripped the door off the hinges to get us out; he only had time for me though. He threw me clear, into a snow bank deep enough that I could barely move my body. I watched our other guard twitch unnaturally and fall to the ground, the snow turning red beneath him, as the head of the man who threw me disappeared in a red mist.
I saw them drag my mother and Michael from the carriage. They shot Michael quickly enough, which I suppose I should at least be partially thankful for. I’ll admit that I cared for him, being my first brother he had his hooks in me. I’ve made sure to take many more since, and evil ones at that, men like Samson, so that one or two could die without me missing them. But that time, with Michael, it hurt to see.
When they killed him, Mother wailed and screamed, so they slit her throat. I was found what felt like an eternity later by Captain Gagnon, not fifteen yards from my mother and brother. They had thought me dead at first, blue from the cold and without the strength to move. I realize now was stupid then, being only eleven I fought to save them both. But the cold snow had sapped my strength and held me tight. The snow had taught me the game. It let me understand what all those grim and serious warlords who’ve sought to conquer and rebuild have yet to learn. You can only win the game when you understand that it
is a game. Let a man play chess, and tell him that every pawn is his friend. Let him think both bishops holy. Let him remember happy days in the shadows of his castles. Let him love his queen. Watch him loose them all. And I can assure you that most every leader has something that he won’t sacrifice, something that pins him and makes him weak, for Ashur for example, it’s his daughter. I do not have that problem.
So I lead my fifty men, my new brothers, through the streets and half collapsed buildings of the Pitt, towards Hunt Armory. We were only a few blocks away when the rain chose to begin falling, just before the sun set.
“This is a bad idea.” Gagnon nearly had to shout over the rain. “The night. The trogs will be out soon, not to mention the ghouls.” He held his shotgun with both hands, white-knuckled, wide eyes darting over the street ahead of us.
“If you ever stop saying that, then I’ll know that I should start worrying.” I peered through the scope of my rifle as I spoke. And sure enough, through the night, through the rain, scrambling over centuries old debris I saw them coming. I saw their pale bodies moving unnaturally towards us as they started breaking into packs to hunt. Even as the trogs broke into a run, I could see ghouls start their shambling march towards us. I took my first shot down the street.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mel run blind and catch her foot on a piece of rebar, sending her tumbling down the pile of wreckage we occupied. A few of the brothers had the sense to take the path back towards the street from where they could make their way to Haven. Probably about half had the even greater sense to shoot at the mutants.
A fair amount had died or fled by the time the first of them came up onto our mound. The monstrosity’s pale skin had a glow about it, even in the heavy rain. I pulled my pistol quickly and put a bullet in the creatures head before taking the time to look around, only to see that nobody stood with me. Despite the psycho coursing through him Samson ran, screaming like a child. Jefferson looking like the blood had been drained from his body. Even Gagnon, with a horror about him.
I held my arms wide to the rain and felt it beat down on me. With a sigh I fired the rest of my pistol’s clip towards the oncoming troglodytes and pulled a pair of flash grenades from my hip that I kept for just such occasions. I threw them and turned my head as quickly as I could, but even with my eyes closed I could see the blinding flash. When I opened them again the streets were clear, the trogs that didn’t lie dead or dying having been driven off to their holes by the bright light. It always intrigued me that a flash of light could make a coward of something that had been vicious only moments before.
As far as my own cowards, I found them easily enough when I came back over the makeshift fortifications. Gagnon had at least been heading back to me when I saw him, looking like a drowned rat. “You finally found a pair huh?”
“A man without fear is missing a valuable ally, George.” As he spoke a smile found its way to his clean-shaven face. “Running’s not so bad if it’s in the right direction.” He pointed towards Haven in the distance to further his point.
“I’ll pick my ground and my time, but I’m not going to run. You should know that by now” I paused for a moment considering the situation, noticing a few of my men drifting back towards the mound. “Still, most of the brothers are probably halfway to Haven by now; we’ll need to try this again later.”
I left five of my men at the mound to hold off the ghouls and trogs that would no doubt start after us again and began the trek back to Haven, disappointed, but with thoughts of how I would try again already beginning to form in my mind.
