Chapter Text
The details of the job were fuzzy, something that Dina never really liked.
She also despised moving collectibles, another aspect of this particular contract.
Her package was a larger-than-average silver poker chip, stamped with a spade and a 38. An Old World relic that some collector just had to have, she figured.
She'd been following some dried up side-road through the mountains to an even drier little town called Goodsprings, one of the Mojave's many pass-through towns. Long 15 travelers never came up that far, and the side roads were often too dangerous for caravans. The gunshots in the distance solidified that idea.
With the setting sun threatening to blind the courier, she had decided to stop for the night. She built herself a little campfire and dusted off an old tire from the rusty remains of a powder blue convertible to sit on. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars started twinkling overhead, the little valley was painted with long purple shadows, the air cooling about a degree a minute. The flames in front of her danced around each other, sending up little flecks of light, putting off a warm glow and shadows that rose and fell with the fire. An owl cooed somewhere from the safety of a Joshua tree.
Dina sat on the edge of the tire, leaned against her knees, soaking in her surroundings.
"Seems a good night for a drink..."
She poked at the campfire with a stick, pausing to let the end catch flame. She tossed the whole thing in and leaned back against the old car.
"Too bad I've only got you."
Dina looked down at the inhaler of Jet in her hand, already able to taste the bitter, cold drug that it held.
Somewhere in the little valley, there was the sound of something chittering. Her attention snapped up from the inhaler to the dark road. Her hands found the body of the rifle next to her and used it to stand. Dina brought it up to her cheek and stared down the barrel, waiting for something to cross her sight.
There was a flash of blue, a bark, then– bang! –and the thing skidded to a halt in front of her.
Another two geckos came running at her, mouths open, arms flailing. They made it about as far as the first one before two shots rang out and they, too, crumpled. She made quick work of skinning the lizards and harvesting their meat, and had chunks of gecko sizzling in a pan right as the moon poked her pretty face up over the hills.
The meat was unseasoned, and it was tough, but it was food nonetheless. Dina ate six cubes of the bland steak before packing the rest away for later. If she could get her hands on some salt, she could start making herself some jerky. It'd have to wait, though; her cold, bitter dessert was calling her name.
Dina finished off the inhaler in two deep puffs and sprawled out on the tire. It wasn't long before she could feel the rush through her whole body, not nearly as strong as it used to be, but enough that she could start to drift...
She was out within minutes.
The next morning, Dina floated back to consciousness to something tugging at her pant leg. Opening her eyes was a chore, thinking a career.
The coyote at her foot jumped when she pulled her leg back to her chest. Its sides were sunken in, its ribs a series of ridges and valleys beneath mangy fur, red staining its muzzle and paws.
She looked past the fleabag at the remains of the geckos, and saw two more coyotes cleaning up the scene. Dina looked back at the dog, which stared at her with big brown eyes.
"Not sharin', huh?"
Her voice came out raspy from lack of use. She sat up, groaning, and reached for her bag. Dina pulled out a couple pieces of meat and watched as its tail started to wag.
"Here, little guy. Eat up."
She tossed the seared gecko chunks onto the ground in front of the canine. It sniffed around, looked over at its companions, and took to scarfing down the meat. Dina couldn't help but smile.
While the coyotes were eating, she stood herself up, using the hood of the car as a balance, and started packing her stuff; she checked on the poker chip, all wrapped up in a bandana, just to make sure she didn't lose it. She stamped out the ashes of the campfire, fixed her bag across her chest, and hoisted her rifle over her shoulder.
She was just about to walk away when one of the coyotes started barking.
Dina turned to look at the three mangy things, with their bony frames and raised hackles. Her hand found the revolver on her hip.
"Go on, now, git."
The dogs looked between each other, then back at her. She caught sight of a snarling lip and stomped towards them, shouting unintelligibly. They scattered, and she continued on.
The rest of the trip to Goodsprings was uneventful, save for a tumbleweed scratching across the road and a rattlesnake giving her a scare. The town itself was made up of fifteen or so little buildings, some pre-war, some post. Most of the pre-war houses were all boarded up, or had collapsed in on themselves. A Bighorner calf lay in the middle of a dirt path, sunning its rubbery, mangled skin and patches of fur.
Dina passed in front of a house on a hill with an Old American flag flying out front. She climbed the steps of a sad looking general store and went inside, immediately getting hit with the smell of dust and cigar smoke.
Shelves full of knick-knacks, tools, clothes, and food lined the walls, all polished to perfection to catch someone's eye. Dina walked right past them to get to the counter, where she flopped down the three gecko hides.
"How much can I get for these?"
The person behind the counter, a weaselly, dark-skinned man, turned around in his chair and set down his magazine.
"Depends on the quality."
"Can you check, then?"
Dina leaned against the counter, hands splayed out on both sides of her. The man stood and started unrolling the hides to get a look at them. She caught his name– 'Chet' was crudely carved into a sliver of wood and attached to his shirt pocket –and watched him appraise the skins.
"So? How's it lookin'?"
"I can give ya fifteen caps."
Dina perked up slightly.
"Each?"
Chet rolled the last hide back up and laid it on the counter.
"Total." He shrugged and mirrored her stance. "Got plenty of geckos around here, don't need the hides."
Dina swung her bag up onto the counter and started digging through it, pulling out tin cans, her cooking pan, and the remainder of her gecko meat.
"How's this?" She snapped. "What'll this get me?"
Chet looked over her junk, eyes glinting like a kid in a candy shop.
"I can do...fifty for everything. Hides, too."
Dina sighed and nodded. It'd have to do.
"Alright."
The man started counting out caps and handed her a pouch full. Dina didn't even bother to check them before she left, and went straight next door to the town saloon, where she planned to spend the rest of the night, hunched over the bar and ordering as much whiskey as she could.
The saloon felt like an old friend, with the familiar smells of regret, old smoke, and half-forgotten pasts washing over her. She dropped her bag on the floor and leaned her rifle up against the bar, before perching herself on the stool. A woman floated over to her, a resident of the ghost town, but still pretty.
"What can I get ya, darlin'?"
Dina flashed her a little smile and handed her the baggie full of bottle caps.
"However much whiskey this'll get me."
The woman picked through the bag and nodded, tossed it under the counter, and handed over two full bottles. Her favorite brand, too.
Dina gave the woman another smile and thanked her, before popping open one of the bottles and downing half of it in one, long drink.
"Hey, kid, wake up."
Dina grumbled and lifted her head off the countertop, feeling herself sway back and forth.
"Been here long enough."
The bartendress looked impatient, like she'd been trying to wake her for hours. Dina forced herself to nod, swallowing the thick spit in her dry mouth.
"Mmmhm."
She got herself off the stool, using the counter to steady herself, and messily hefted her things back over her shoulder.
"Take it easy out there, yeah?"
The woman called behind her, but Dina was already out the doors.
She tripped over her own feet down the single step, basking in the cold air that feathered across her face. With it came the smell of a campfire, comfortable and warm, with the faintest whiff of frying fat. Fuck, she was hungry.
Dina reached into her bag to pull out a little flask. She popped it open with her teeth and raised it to her mouth to take a swig when a sneering voice called out from behind her.
"Got enough to share?"
She turned to look at the man, wobbling slightly. He was pale and had flames of orange hair drawn up in a mohawk, a bandana around his forehead. Another taller, darker man stood next to him, arms crossed. They had on matching black leather vests with something embroidered on the lapel.
Khans.
Dina grinned and stepped towards them.
"What, think I can't finish it by myself?" She took another drink, keeping eye contact with the ginger one. "Only if y'boys help me with somethin' else."
The two exchanged a look, as if they were thinking about it, before turning back to her. The taller of the two checked around, then nodded back behind them.
"Let's go back this way, huh?"
The two men parted, letting Dina lead the way with her reddened cheeks and blown-out pupils.
"So, boys, who's fir–"
The ginger one grabbed her by the arm, threw her against the saloon's back wall, and pinned her there with his forearm.
"Hah...you Khans are a little rough, aren't'cha?"
The two men exchanged a look. The second man nodded and the redhead turned back to face her.
Dina didn't register that she'd been punched until he was rearing back for a second hit. It landed and a shower of white sparks clouded her already-warped vision. She spat a mouthful of blood, grinned, and watched as the third punch came sailing toward her.
Everything plunged into darkness as she went limp.