Betsy's Revenge.

Camp McCarran was only a day shy of Vegas, a day closer to "home" as Arcade had called it.  The surrounding area was thick with Fiends, but they kept their distance as we warily crossed the ruins to the fort.  I had hoped that in addition to buying supplies for the Followers (as they selflessly housed me up for the drunken month I spent recovering in Arcade's tent) I could discuss where NCR stood on the Hoover Dam matter.  Traveling through the desert you get a lot of opinions, which is fine, but I prefer to form my own opinions instead of blindly agreeing with others.

So we entered, unpacked, and ate a modest dinner with some of the NCR troopers.  The First Recon unit were stationed there as well.  Boone remained oddly silent to them, though. If there was one group of people I would expect him to open up slightly around, it was the red berets.  However, my sniper seemed more thoughtful than usual while being in the camp, something I left him to.  At dinner, the Captain went into more detail about the Fiend problem, mentioning several more-than-nasty wrongdoers.  Violet, Cook-Cook, and Driver Nephi sounded like nuisances who had caused chaos, but as usual, I wasn't afraid of the thought of going after them.  Boone and Arcade were not foriegn to the idea either, so we struck up a deal; we would spend our final night resting in the comfort of the camp on NCR beds, then sometime in the early morning, go dispose of the hated Fiends.

I pulled Sterling aside halfway through the meal to speak with him more about Hoover Dam, and we retreated to his barrack just as dusk settled.  "Take a seat," he motioned toward the ruined couch, and as I prepared to sit and talk, a familiar piercing barking sounded from nearby.  Peering out of the tent, I saw that one of the NCR Rangers had entered from the Wasteland.  As the large camp doors opened, Rex bolted out.

"Shit," I heard Boone curse from the dinner table nearby.  He stood and jogged out.  The Ranger looked curiously after the dog, and another First Recon sniper piped up, "Do you want me to step out with you to get him?"

"No, should only take a second," Boone replied.  "He probably saw a rat.  I'll be right back."

I stared out into the gathering darkness, and behind me Sterling muttered, "Coulda' been he seen a rat, or coulda' been he seen one of Violet's dogs."

I turned to the other man.  "Rex will come to Boone if he calls."  The uncertainty was plain in my voice, for he raised an eyebrow and said, "We can continue our conversation after you make sure."

"Thanks, I'll be right back," I said, muttering silently in my head about how I was going to tell Boone what a jackass he was for leaving the safety of the camp with so many Fiends outside.  Especially at night.  As I approached the door, Corporal Betsy jogged up to me, grabbing my shoulder.  

"Wait," she said, holding her rifle.  "I was just up in one of the nests, and saw that dog of your beeline it for Cook-Cook's hideout.  He's toast."

"I can't just.......Boone went after him!"  Fiend or no Fiend.  Try and stop me from saving my dog and my sniper.  Try. I opened the door, running out and looking madly around.  Distantly I heard Rex's bark, and two of the First Recon snipers appeared at my side.   Betsy opened the door to McCarran.  

"Let's go.  I've got cover from the towers, they're going to keep an eye on us.  This is the way--"

From the ruins came a high pitched scream, a wail of horror.  It was female.  Utterly confused, I shouldered my own rifle and ran blindly into the night as the voice cried, "Help! PLEASE!"

The maze of once-buildings was impossible to navigate, and I was certain at any moment Violet's dogs would come tearing around a corner.  Though the snipers were fit, I was by far the fastest runner, heading toward what I hoped was the sound.  Tactical -minded, the silent group fanned out around me.  Then gunshots rang out in the night, from the same direction as the screams.  

"Boone!" I shouted, recognizing the sound.  Boone had fired, multiple times, something that in itself alarmed me.  Not one to waste bullets, he wasn't at sniping range for anything in this maze.  Even as I skidded around a corner, certain I was almost within distance, I heard Rex's barks and growls as he fought madly with someone or something.  Then a yelp, and the dog too was silent.

Betsy was parallel to me, and rounded on the hideout just as I did.  The sight was terrible; Boone was laying face down on the pavement, his rifle feet away, his beret off.  Near him and protecting him when he got hit, Rex lay on his side, unmoving.  A naked girl, on her knees, jumped out of my way as I stepped over, clutching at a piece of fabric as she moved behind Boone, and in the midst of all the chaos stood a heavily armored man who was just re-shouldering his incinerator.  

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Boone shoved the girl back behind him so roughly that she landed on her butt, but at least she was saved from the blazing heat of Cook-cook's burner.  Boone wasn't so lucky; rearing back, the monster swung the machine at him, the metal connecting with Boone's head.  He flew backwards over a concrete barrier, his beret flying off, hearing the scream of the girl behind him. Hearing Rex's infuriated growling, Boone knew the dog was attacking.  Despite being almost knocked unconscious the sniper righted himself, Cook-cook dropping the incinerator and brandishing something from his pocket.  Boone fired over and over, seeing his bullets tear through the other's armor.  As the heavy arm flew down for the last blow it would ever give anyone, Boone tried to dodge; it was no good.  Cook-cook's butcher knife landed in his side, embedding itself.  Now the Fiend reeled backwards, fatigued and bleeding from his gunshot wounds, and Boone looked down oddly at the knife.

It stuck out of his side, strange.  His head spun and he suddenly wanted the Courier to be there very badly.  Seeing the downed Rex, Boone grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled it out forcefully.  It clanged to the ground as he lost consciousness, the gray cement swirling into black in front of him.


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I could only look down at Boone in horror; no gunshot wounds were visible through his shirt.  The Fiend I knew must be Cook-Cook wore thick armor, but Boone had gotten him; I saw the wounds through his metal breastplate.  Before I could even react, the wounded Cook-Cook was facing an enraged Betsy.  She leapt deftly over the incinerator, kicking his metal helmet, downing the shot man. Once he fell heavily (VERY heavily, might I say) on his back, she aimed the rifle down, sticking the long skinny barrel through the thin visor on his helmet.  Betsy shot twice, blood and brain matter exploding within the helmet, and I immediately rushed to Boone's side.

The girl who clutched her clothing pathetically hovered.  Covering herself, she said, "He.....the...metal....he was raping me, and he......" pointing to Boone, "....j--jumping in front of him and shoo---"

"How did he get knocked out?" I demanded, my voice far sterner than it should've been with the poor girl.

"He just....wham...he hit him with the, the.........flame....raised it and hit him and then he.......the man who saved me.....rushed him and shot......and he stabbed--"

"Stabbed?!" Boone didn't carry a knife.  At least, not one that he'd ever use to attack someone with.  

She pointed to Boone; as the other snipers rounded in I pulled Boone by his shoulder, forcing him to turn onto his side.  He was no lightweight, his large arms hanging loosely at his sides.  His eyes were closed.  

"No......." I said, horrified, seeing the crimson soaking through his shirt.  "No.........Boone!"

"Get him back to camp, NOW!" Betsy shouted in a strained, choked voice, pointing to the sniper on the ground.  The girl who still wore no clothes meekly handed me Boone's beret from where it had fallen to the ground.  I was still stooped over him, and continued to shout his name.  He always responded when you yelled at him.  Boone was the lightest sleeper I'd ever met.  His eyes were closed and he was on the ground and the world seemed very small.

"Boone, please wake up," I pleaded, pressing on his shoulders, shaking him slightly.  "Boone, Craig!"  

Two men helped the victim to her feet; two others arduously picked up my heavy unconscious cyber-dog.  At the word Craig, Boone's eyes flickered, and he muttered, reaching up with one hand, "Carla?"

I grabbed the hand and pulled it to my face.  "Yes, yes it's Carla," I said hysterically.  "Everything's going to be fine, you're  going to be okay, just.....hang on please."  

"Carla?"  His small voice was beseeching.  Asking me for something.  I threw myself onto Boone, hugging him as though I'd never see him.   

"Yes?" I whispered through tears.

"Where's...."  And, talking to his dead wife, Craig Boone asked for me.