TITLE: It's a Long, Long Road

CHAPTER: 21

AN: Many thanks to those of you still following the story.

Phade the Courier is the property Dragonsoul1 and included in my story with their kind permission.

Marcus Thresh, aka Spirit, is the property of TheStorybookTree and included in my story with their kind permission.

Elsewhere in the Commonwealth

A wave of sound rolled across the Commonwealth like the clap of thunder, frightening a dozen species of animals. Frightened horses stamped and whinnied, pulling at their stakes. Yao Guais roared and death claws snarled, while the feral dogs and wolves howled and the last glass panes from the old world shattered.

The concussion knocked MacCready from his spot by the campfire. The string of curses that followed made him forget all about the cigarette he was about to bum off a Minuteman. With nothing decent to drink in three days, sitting around waiting for the action to begin drained him. Cigarettes seemed the lesser of two evils. Both forgotten MacCready rolled to his feet in time to dodge a herd of charging radstags.

The second boom echoed across the Commonwealth and MacCready's ear's popped. Two dozen men and women jumped to their feet with the dust churned up by the radstags swirled around them obscuring their view. Over the sound of shouted orders, RJ gathered his pack and brought his frightened horse under control long enough to climb into the saddle. Born and raised in DC and the Commonwealth MacCready knew how to survive in this hostile land, just as he knew the noise of a Mutant's footsteps and how to take one down efficiently and the scratching snarl of a mutant or the warning shout of a Raider.

This was different. MacCready tugged his hat down and leaned over the horse's neck.

South of the Airport, Ten Miles SE of MacCready's Position

Spirit narrowed his eyes against the rising sun and washed the last of his breakfast down with a swallow Nuka-Cherry cola. The warm glow over the Commonwealth lured him into relaxing as he enjoyed the last of his meal. Yesterday, on their final ten miles to the airport, he overheard two Minutemen talking about a place called Nuka-World. The settlers spoke about all the new flavors of Nuka Cola available. Surprised he hadn't already heard of this place he wondered if the stories were true. No one could make something like that up. The idea of visiting Nuka-World pushed all the right buttons. Along with tales of new flavors, came talk of Raider gangs with names he'd never heard of and something about running a Gauntlet appealed to him. No one could provide details because no one who'd ever entered came out alive. Now that was a challenge he wanted to meet.

Not that he share it with anyone, but Nuka-Cola was his one weakness. The exotic-sounding flavors like dark, wild, orange, grape, and quantum enticed him into thinking about a visit. Probably lay off the Quantum, though. Pissing glow-in-the-dark-blue was a bad way to stay under cover in the wasteland. And maybe, when all this was over… Well, maybe he'd come right out and ask Phade to come along. Spirit settled back on the patio chair and crossed one long leg over the other. Soon as this was over, he'n Phade would head west. Maybe ask Jake and Sarah if they wanted to come along. What did they use to call it? A vacation?

Spirit focused his eyes away from the sunrise to the Prydwen floating gracefully against the brightening sky. Why didn't the BOS put that airship undercover when one of those lightning storms hit? It was beyond his ability to figure out how they could be so careless with such a valuable resource. Was it just more BOS arrogance? One lightning strike, just one small crackle of static and that hydrogen balloon would go up in a ball of flame. When the Minutemen owned that airship, he mused, he'd help them recondition one of those airport buildings as a shelter.

Spirit tipped the bottle up to get the last few drops of cola when movement caught his attention. The sound reached his ears quickly across the stretch of water separating them from the Prydwen and the airport. The sound came again, and this time, he watched the airship curtsy deeply. The sound of her moorings snapping reverberated across the water like a gunshot. She twisted twisted, then pulled hard to port with a scream of tearing metal.

Spirit leaped to his feet fast enough to send the patio chair shooting out behind him and the bottle shattered at his feet.

"Mount up!" He shouted running for his own horse.

They hadn't made it a hundred yards before Spirit noticed a small group of people moving their way. One of them was in BOS power armor.

Spirit kicked his horse forward and didn't stop until he slid the horse to a stop in front of Paladin Danse. Leaping from his horse, Spirit carefully took Phade's arm—you could never be too careful about Phade. When she didn't respond he tilted her head up. Glazed eyes met his. What happened?

"Phade! Talk to me. Phade, can you hear me? We must keep moving."

Paladin Danse stepped between them. "She's fine or will be fine when she extracts a few pints of revenge. We patched up their injuries and headed your way."

Spirit studied the Paladin's face before replying. The man frankly looked as if he'd been chewed up by a death claw, and abandoned by the side of the road. Every man had a limit and Danse looked as if he'd just found his.

The Prydwen – Knight Sarah

The guards renewed their grip on their miniguns and waited for orders. Dressed in a suit of power armor Proctor Teagan walked calmly through the main deck, stopping to place a comforting hand the shoulder of a frightened young squire. Advising the other Proctors and Scribes to stand fast and wait for new orders. Until then, they were to hold their position. It's just the wind. No cause for worry, he told them. He smiled at the Galley Scribe as he passed and threw up a hand.

"I'll find out what's going on," Teagan said with a grin meant to reassure. Good thing they couldn't see what was going on inside his belly. Fifty steps to the exit hatch another ten to the point that will change his life forever. He made a mental note of it as he crossed the threshold into the foredeck where Maxson and Knight Sarah stood talking. The tension between them vibrated the air. Maxson kept talking and didn't notice Teagan's approach.

"Knight, I will only say this once. You are making a mistake. An error that will cost you your life and the lives of all those you hold dear. I granted you leeway, my dear, Time to grieve for what you lost, time to adjust and the honor of providing me with an heir. I guided you and gave you all the resources you required. But you've overstepped those bounds, and as much as it pains me to say so, I cannot forgive your betrayal."

"It's over Maxson. Your words are meaningless. Just like your arrogance. You're nothing more than one of those television preachers. Collecting money and spouting useless dogma." Knight Sarah's heated words widened Maxson's eyes.

Teagan was pretty sure no one had ever spoken to him in that tone of voice. Then no one had imaged the courage of this stranger, named Sarah, from another world. Proctor Teagan noticed something he hadn't paid attention to before. Perhaps he should have. Maybe they all should have seen the glassy-eyed mania and the calm demeanor that hid a killer. No, not with his own hands, but through his Knights and the men and women who followed their orders. Something cold and greasy moved through Teagan. With a pain that twisted his guts he knew, if he didn't know before he knew it now.

He wasn't a dreamer or even an idealist. He did his job, enjoyed having a roof over his head, and thus remained loyal to the Brotherhood. Hot bile splashed into his mouth. A hand on his shoulder squeezed hard enough to distract him from the horror of Elder Maxson's mania and Sarah's danger.

"Steady on, old man."

"Cade," Teagan breathed.

The ship yawed, spilling equipment and material to the deck. Glass shattered, and a few of the crew began to panic.

Cade steadied himself, "Looks like we're up to bat, Teagan." Moving unsteadily in a suit of power armor he was no longer accustomed to wearing, Knight Captain Cade followed Teagan into the forecastle until they stood shoulder to shoulder with Knight Sarah.

The Prydwen's Bridge – Knight Jacob POV

I took my eyes off Kells long enough to make sure the bridge crew was still following his orders. The second I looked away, Lancer Captain Kells threw himself against the rudder wheel. The ship groaned, shuddered, and pitched forward. The sound of the moorings snapping startled the bridge crew. They stepped away from their posts and began chattering their voices rising.

"Goddammit, Kells! Do you really mean to kill everyone on this ship? The Commonwealth has no use for this mindless obedience. Listen to me." Here I go again deciding what's best for people I don't even know.

"I'll scuttle the Prydwen before I let you get your dirty traitor's hands on her."

While I tried to think of a way to reach him the Prydwen shuddered, her skin rippled. It's difficult to form a logical argument when the ground under your feet is moving like the waves of the ocean. Not that I actually know what that's like, but it seemed like a good analogy. A breath later, gravity made herself known by taking the deck down a few feet. We all fell to our knees. One of the bridge crew fell hard knocking himself unconscious. One of them screamed.

Kells pulled himself up, righted his cap, and pulled an ancient and functional looking SIG Sauer pistol from his jacket pocket. Are you impressed I recognized this centuries-old weapon? Later for that, I should talk Kells out of committing suicide, cause we don't have much time.

"Kells," I shouted over the din of orders and fear doubting he would listen. "Stop what you're doing and hand me that weapon." The eyes he turned on me were no longer sane. Without a moment of indecision, he chambered a round.

Fuck.

"Knight Jacob, did you know my family name was listed in the Saxon Chronicles and held a family seat in Scotland before the arrival of Duke William at Hastings in 1066A.D? My great great grandfather fought with honor and distinction in World War II. His son, Major-General Clarence Howard Kells earned the Medal of Honor for his service during the Vietnam conflict."

"That's just fucking fascinating, Knight Captain." About the time my trigger finger started itching, The Prydwen dropped again, kicking our feet out from under us. My left shoulder bounced off a console, and I heard the sickening sound of a bone breaking, or maybe it was tendons. I hate that sound. I rolled for the weapon and managed to grab it. Damn, maybe my luck is changing.

"Sir, this is not about failure." My vision blurred from the pain. I pushed thoughts about Sarah and the boys away and pressed on. "This is not about honor. This is about saving the kids on this ship and our innocent brothers and sisters."

We were going down. I didn't want to kill him. Kells was a good man. I gave him to the count of ten then I'd have to kill or the only thing that would come to this day was a whole lot of innocent and meaningless deaths.

~o0o~

"Elder Maxson, you are hereby relieved of command."

Maxson's gaze turned on Proctor Teagan. "That's mutiny, Proctor and punishable by death. Firing squad or hanging…perhaps we'll hang you from Liberty Prime… Yes, yes… leave you there as they did in ancient times when they left the rotting heads of the condemned on pikes at the city gates."

"There's a vertibird waiting for you on the flight deck. You'll be taken to The Castle and imprisoned under the watch of the Minutemen."

Teagan lifted his chin, indicating for Sarah to move away from Elder Maxson. She was already moving when Maxson dove for the combat shotgun in her hands. Before Teagan or Cade could act, she'd spun the weapon around and slammed the butt against his chin. Maxson's eyes rolled back and he began to go down. Cade and Teagan caught him before landed on the deck. With Maxson's limp form between them, they ran for the flight deck. Sarah followed watching carefully for Matt and the boys.

"Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be

What thou art promised. Yet do I fear thy nature;

It is too full o' th' milk of human kindness

To catch the nearest way: thou wouldst be great,

Art not without ambition, but without

The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,

That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,

And yet wouldst wrongly win. Thou'lt have, great Glamis,

That which cries, "Thus thou must do," if thou have it,

And that which rather thou dost fear to do,

Than wishest should be undone. Hie thee hither,

That I may pour my spirits in thine ear

And chastise with the valor of my tongue

All that impedes thee from the golden round,

Which fate and metaphysical aid doth seem

To have thee crowned withal."

Lady Macbeth, Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 5

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Kells, Clarence Howard, Major General

www . houseofnames kells-family-crest