Land of Monsters

.beyond death. | .hancock.

"That wasn't thund-" Hancock paused, listening to the actual thunder, and waved over Preston, who had come in from his watch, sneaking low.

"Deathclaw," Preston mouthed. Deacon killed the radio, and the group huddled and crouched.

"Got it," said Cait, lifting the trunk's lid gently. Sam crept over to sift through the contents, and quietly pulled out two guns, something leather, and a frying pan. He hefted the frying pan in his hands, then waited with the rest of them.

Preston gave Hancock the go-ahead to check the nearby front window, while Preston kept eyes on the stairs. Sometimes, one of those lizards could squeeze their way up some of the Commonwealth's narrowest staircases, and these stairs were the forgiving sort of residential stairs. Hancock hoped that any ravenous deathclaw would discover the staircase's newest weak spots, and find itself up the crotch in rotting carpet and wooden splinters.

Pebbles of ceiling debris fell on their heads as the building trembled. This had to be a gargantuan deathclaw, the kind that moved the ground and could roar your ears to Nuka-World. Hancock peered out a window, keeping his gun down, hoping the fire didn't cast a shadow that the deathclaw would notice, but it wouldn't do anything now, because the fire had died completely. Saved 'em all some trouble in putting it out, at least.

There. Yeah, it was a deathclaw alright-big, burly, and a wan gray. It lumbered, shambled, really, and looked about the street as though it forgot what kind of neck it had.

Hancock gave the group a signal, and each raised their weapon, though Sam lifted the frying pan instead of the shotgun he'd brought. Being mayor of Goodneighbor, yeah, he'd seen weirder. Hancock steadied his own shotgun, which probably wouldn't do much from here, but it could scare the deathclaw off. He waited for MacCready to take his place. MacCready steadied the barrel of his rifle, aimed, then gracefully took the shot. Blood gushed from beneath the deathclaw's left horn. The deathclaw staggered and shook its head, then stood back up. It turned toward MacCready, who was already lining up his next shot, and it roared, sending both MacCready's and Hancock's hats backward to Cait.

"Here it comes," Preston said.

MacCready missed his next shot as the deathclaw galloped toward the entry point. It gave the building a shake with its thud thud of trying to run up the stairs.

"Shit." Hancock joined Preston and unloaded his shotgun into the squirming, shoulda-been-dead-by-now deathclaw, who roared in pain and in something else aside from anger too. As if it wanted this even less than they did.

In Hancock's hesitation to contemplate the matter of the deathclaw's will, Preston let loose a cranked-up shot. The deathclaw's skin singed and the beast howled, but it continued its suicidal journey up the stairs.

"Fall back!" said Preston.

"I hope you brought some stimpaks," MacCready said, "Because 'fall back' is going to be more like 'fall outta this window.' "

"I'm not really up for a defenestration party," said Deacon, "but I guess I'll manage."

The deathclaw rose from its latest stagger and pushed them into their room, its body pressed hard against the skeletal wooden doorframe that splintered and cracked against the force of the creature's fury.

The radio in the corner turned on with a roar, shocking MacCready, who'd turned his gun on it and nearly shot Sam, the only one of them who seemed to expect that surprise.

Sam readied the frying pan and ran toward the deathclaw, which was happy to invite its next meal into its mouth sooner rather than later. As the snap of the doorframe sounded alongside thunder, Sam walloped the deathclaw with the pan, knocking a ghastly mist from its skin. The deathclaw shuddered into a heap of blood and twitching muscle, and the radio clicked off.