Journal of Honcho Biggs - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 of the Journal of Honcho Biggs, titled "Fire-Forged Friends".

Fire-Forged Friends
Before we could go out, of course, Niner wanted to stop by some memorial to stop for drinks. I didn't want to waste any time, but Niner was packing a submachine gun, and I needed all the firepower I could get if I was gonna chase the Courier through convict-infested wastes. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?

A lot, that's what can happen. As soon as we got there, we came under attack from a radscorpion. And let me tell you, geckos are one thing, radscorpions are another. My shotgun could barely put a dent into the radscorpion as it chased me around with its stinger. And Niner, guy just ran off, like nothing was wrong! I finally managed to put the radscorpion down, but not before it fucked up my right leg. I hobbled over to the edge of the memorial, a massive cross, memorializing God knows what, and sat down. My leg was festering. I only had a few stimpaks and didn't want to use any before we fought any convicts, but I had to save my leg from poison. I sighed heavily as the needle went into my leg.

And here comes Niner, acting like nothing's wrong. He holds out a flask of whiskey. "Ay man, you picked a good spot to watch the wastes!" I said nothing, wondering if this asshole was so dumb he didn't realize he just abandoned me to become radscorpion food. Nonetheless, free whiskey is free whiskey, and I take it. Don't mean I accept his apology though. "We outta come back sometime and watch the sunset form here," he says, oblivious to the fact I'm incredibly close to ditching him.

When my leg was good enough to walk on, we headed down the road. Only to run into a pack of coyotes. I killed a few, thinking this wasn't so bad, I don't need Niner, until I realized I was only killing pups. Out comes mama coyote, and she chases me toward a cliff. I turn round to face the thing, but sandy is slippery, but next thing you know I'm falling backwards off the cliff. Same goddamn leg braces my fall. I'm swearing in pain when Niner slides down the cliff, holding a dead coyote. "I got the bugger!" He says, full of smiles.

It takes all of my willpower not to tell the guy to fuck off. I try to apply another stimpak, but the pain is blinding, and I accidentally put it through my chest. Shit. Next one gets to my leg, and the pain slowly subsides. Wasted a good stimpak though. Niner helps me to my feet.

That's when we notice two other guys coming out behind sand dunes. Mean folks in raider armor, carrying super sledges. "Friends of Barton," they introduce themselves as. No fucking way, I think. I can barely move, and Niner is apparently only willing to fight the feral equivalent of dogs.

The raiders move on me. I blast one with the shotgun, but it glances off his armor. One sledgehammer slams into my right arm, the shotgun flies away as I hear bones crack. The raider's momentum crashes into me and I fall to the ground. I look up, and take a moment to reflect on how all of my life choices somehow led to this.

But the raider drops the sledgehammer, which falls harmlessly a few feet away from me. Blood pours of his neck as he crumples to the ground. A few more bursts of submachine gun fire and the other raider falls backwards dead. With my good arm, I sit up and survey Niner's work.

"We're friends now, Biggs. Together 'til the end." I could marry that stupid grin.

I inject a stimpak into my arm. Niner pulls out some steady from his sack. "Want a hit?" This many drugs in a single day couldn't be good, but this steady hit is more than just a high. It's a symbol of a fire-forged friendship.

With laser focus, we returned to the memorial and watched the sun set. The next morning, we sold the raider armor for more stimpaks and ammo. Finally, on the road to Primm!