Chapter Text
Mud stuck to Kallus’s boots in thick clumps, and he couldn’t help but hope that he would be able to get out of the cursed valley soon. He had been tracking a group of insurgents for days: his ranger coat stank like a molerat. Instead of fighting off rebels and helping the savages of the wastes, Kallus was stuck fending off radscorpions and picking ammo off of corpses. He had been tracking a specific group of insurgents, from New Vegas to what had been Omaha, then up to Cheyenne. He had managed to corner them there, only for the group to slip out of his grasp. The group, who called themselves the Spectres, had been destroying his reputation as an NCR ranger and had managed to insult just about the entirety of the New California Republic.
And so now sat Alexsandr Kallus, in the middle of nowhere, scraping mud from his standard-issue boots while he tried to figure out a safe way back to Cheyenne. A small NCR base had been set up there a month or two after the Legion had fallen at the Hoover Dam, but it had suffered repeated attacks from raiders and ghouls until a new general had been installed. Lieutenant General Thrawn had been working to eradicate the issues and had been largely successful. Cheyenne now acted as a vital gateway to the east, a trading post for the crop-focused midwest and the Brahmin raised by NCR farmers. The Spectres had been hitting the resupply wagons headed for Cheyenne as soon as the raiders had been stopped by Thrawn, in an attempt to liberate the town from NCR control.
Taking a bite from his republic ration bar, he became lost in thought. He assumed he would be able to intercept the Spectres from the north or northwest, judging from the movements of both groups that made up the Spectres, but he did not have the supplies to fight them now. He needed to stop, resupply, and rest in Cheyenne before beginning his tracking once more. Satisfied with this conclusion, Alexander Kallus stood up and stretched his mud-covered legs.
Picking up his bo-rifle, Kallus sighed and began to make his way toward the roasting asphalt roads that provided the most straightforward path to town. His mask hung from his face in order to avoid becoming sweaty, the sun beating down on the Earth as the dry grasses wavered in the breeze. Kallus was glad to be out of the New Vegas heat, but the sun was just as unforgiving here as it was in the desert. It almost made him wish for a nuclear winter. Looking at his pip-boy, Kallus turned his radio on and attempted to find a signal. He smiled as the NCR station in Cheyenne began to play, music accompanying his trip back.
–
Garazeb Orrelios panted in the heat, the sound of Hera’s footsteps ahead of him and Kanan’s behind comforting. They had just ambushed another supply wagon when the ranger had appeared, firing at them relentlessly. They had made a daring escape, him, Hera, and Kanan running to the west while Chopper, Ezra, and Sabine made their way to the rendezvous in Fort Laramie. The ranger had chosen to chase after Zeb’s group, but had lost them as they crossed unfamiliar territory.
They had taken an interest in Cheyenne after they had heard word in Omaha of something strange being built in the air force base nearby. They had made their way up I-80, and had been intercepted several times by NCR forces. This ranger in particular had been a common occurrence, but they had always managed to slip away with minimal injuries. They had made it to Cheyenne, but had been repelled by NCR forces under the command of a man named Thrawn. However, as they attacked Cheyenne and provided support to those under the NCR, they had managed to pick up Ezra from the streets. The little ghoul had been causing chaos in Cheyenne and had fit in immediately with the rest of the gang, especially Kanan, who was also a ghoul.
So now Zeb, Hera, and Kanan continued through the wastes, taking a path up towards Fort Laramie so they could reconnect with the kids. The plains of Wyoming held many dangers, but ones they had become accustomed to.
“Hera, how much longer?” Zeb asked, his accented voice barely above a whisper to avoid detection from any radscorpions, or worse, the ranger. Even just thinking of the coat and mask made Zeb shiver. His grip tightened on his Bo-rifle, eyebrows knit together.
“I’m not quite sure, maybe another day of walking at this pace” She whispered back, placing her hands on her knees as she took a break before continuing. “I’m pretty confident we lost that Ranger, but I’m sure we’ll see him again.” She finished, pushing her green hair out of her face. Hera had been part of a group of rebels from Mexico who had begun to feel influence from Caesar's Legion. She knew the wastes better than anyone, her skills unmatched as she guided her friends across the plains.
“Think the kids will be fine on their own?” Kanan asked, his raspy voice louder than the other two’s. “They’ve got Chopper, but that mutt might kill them himself.” He joked, getting a laugh from Zeb and an annoyed huff from Hera.
“Chopper’s a good boy! Don’t insult him. He just happened to get an aggressive brain, is all.” Hera defended, a smile developing on her face. The grass of the plains bent gently in the wind, and the setting sun glowed in the horizon.
“They’ve got ‘Bine, they’ll be fine. She knows the NCR better than any of us, and she’s been up there before,” Zeb replied. “But c’mon, Hera, put some music on, will ya? That ranger’s nowhere to be found, the only thing out here are the mole rats and us.” He stated, breaking into a toothy smile as he watched Hera pull out her pip-boy. She selected the NCR station, as it was the only one that functioned this far out, and let the music play during their trip to Fort Laramie.