Megaton's market was buzzing louder than usual when Ash stepped out of his house that morning. Word had already spread—Crow was rolling west with a full caravan, and he was paying double for guards. Raiders were getting bolder on the bridges.
Ash tightened the straps on his coat, feeling the weight of his revolvers at his sides. The new leather-and-metal plating sat snug beneath, hidden except for the armor that covered his shoulders. He looked older than his years now, more like a drifter gunslinger than the orphan boy who had first stumbled through Megaton's gates.
Crow waved him over with a toothy grin. "Drifter! Just the man I was hoping to see. Good coin in this run if you're willing to ride along."
Ash gave a small nod. "Where to?"
"Arefu. Bridge town. Could use steady hands on the road."
Ash was about to answer when Sheriff Lucas Simms appeared at his side, his boots heavy on the dirt. "That caravan'll take you west?"
Ash glanced his way. "That's the word."
"Good," Simms said. His tone was sharper than usual, more lawman than neighbor. "There's a man out that way. Name's Cale Dixon. Gambler. Drunk. Got into a fight last week over caps he couldn't cover. Ended with one of our own dead."
Crow made a sour face. "And he bolted."
"Ran west," Simms confirmed. "Fits too neat to be a coincidence. Word is he's hiding with raiders near the Potomac crossings. If you're heading that way, bring him back. Dead or alive, don't much matter. I want Megaton's folks to know the law still means something."
Ash's expression didn't change, though his eyes narrowed. He'd done a live capture before. This sounded different.
"Alive if I can manage it," Ash said quietly.
Simms gave him a single, firm nod. "That's all I ask."
The caravan set out before noon. Two brahmin groaned under the weight of crates, Crow shouting orders while his hired hands checked weapons and straps. Ash walked a little apart from the others, scanning the horizon the way his tribe had taught him. The wastes stretched out in every direction, burned earth and skeletons of houses, but his eyes were hunting for movement—dust trails, flashes of metal, the shapes that didn't belong.
Hours passed, the sound of brahmin hooves and wagon wheels the only music. One of Crow's men started humming, low and tuneless, before trailing off. The silence was heavy.
Ash finally broke it, his voice calm but carrying: "Word is, raiders been staking claims near the bridges. Anyone here been through Arefu lately?"
A guard spat to the side. "Heard the same. Saw smoke north of the river last week. Don't know if it's Dixon's crew, but someone's holed up."
Ash's hand tapped the grip of his revolver as he walked. Dixon. Somewhere ahead. Raiders too. The road west wasn't going to be kind.
Still, Ash's steps never faltered. The drifter kept walking, the brahmin groaning behind him, as the wastes opened wide.