Radioactive - Chapter Eight

Stan was silent for a short while as Rose continued to wrap her wounded leg. As the female Radioactive tied the strip of cloth off and leant back to admire her work, he spoke up again.

“Do you... I mean, are you... do you have a family?”

Rose glanced up at him sharply, eyes flaring briefly in the early morning light. After a moment she seemed to calm, and she lazily pushed a strand of hair – dark blonde, Stan decided finally – behind her ear. She propped herself on her elbows, reclining into a comfortable position before she bothered to answer him.

“Nope,” she said.

“Friends?” Stan asked. “Companions of any kind?”

“Nah,” Rose drawled. “I've always preferred to be on my own. No-one to drag you back that way.”

Stan hesitated briefly. “Do you... do you want a companion? Or, you know... companions?” Rose looked at him with a look of barely concealed disgust on her face. No, scratch that. She didn't bother to conceal her disgust in the slightest.

“Are you asking if you can tag along with me?” she snorted.

“Uh... yeah,” Stan admitted. “I mean, we're both Radioactives. It'd make sense for us to stick together. Normal people hate us, you know.”

“Nah, you think?” Rose spat. She pointed at the scar on the side of her chin. “I got this from a Normal. The bastard was trying to steal my supplies. When he realised what I was, he tried to slit my throat. I managed to dodge, and he failed to kill me. Obviously,” she smirked, “I was far more successful.”

Stan shivered. As a Radioactive, he understood the strange... feelings. The way, when faced with an enemy, he was tempted to just watch them burn. But he'd ignored them from the start, and they'd all but faded away, now no more than faint nigglings at the back of his mind. It seemed that, when one nourished those feelings, they never went away.

No wonder regular humans are so afraid of our kind, Stan thought grimly. Especially if any of them are like Rose.

“Well?” he prompted, breaking the heavy silence. “Do you want some companions?”

“Were you listening to a word I said?” Rose sighed. “I just said, like, thirty seconds ago that I don't want to be dragged back. You seem like exactly the kind of person that would keep me back.”

“I wouldn't hold you back!” Stan protested. Realising how much he sounded like a little kid, he folded his arms, making a conscious effort to look like he wasn't desperate for a companion that was like him. “I'm just a strong as you are,” he added.

“You wish!” Rose sneered. “You're pathetic. You're barely better than a Normal.”

Stan bristled. “I caught you!” he spluttered. Rose snorted disdainfully.

“Only because your Mutoid kept me occupied while you recovered,” she said. “And it had to save your ass when you started dropping like a stone. You're nothing without that thing.”

Craggles growled again at Rose's aggressive tone of voice. His spiny hackles stood up along his neck and Stan shushed the Mutoid gently, stroking his neck-scales calmingly. Craggles glanced at Stan and whined unhappily. Clearly he didn't like his master being so close to what he perceived as a threat.

“Alright,” Stan muttered, “so you're more powerful than me. So what? I'd still not hold you back. Hell, having myself and Craggles around could -”

“Wait, you named it?” Rose interrupted. She snorted with laughter. “And you named it Craggles? What kind of a stupid name is that?” She leant down and patted her knees, eyes sparkling with mocking mirth. “Come 'ere, Craggly-waggly,” she said in a babyish voice. “Good boy, Craggles! Come on, come to Rosie, Craggle Waggle!”

Craggles let out another low growl, as if he knew he was being teased, and Stan's face reddened. “I didn't name him,” he blurted. Immediately, Rose straightened. She raised an eyebrow.

“Then who did?” she retorted. Stan sighed hesitantly. There was no point in keeping Craggles' story from her now.

“He wasn't always my Mutoid,” he said finally. “He was already tame when I found him. That thing around his neck? It was already tied there. And he was carrying around this back-pack full of... stuff. Drawings. I looked through the drawings, and they told a story. A story of a little girl whose parents were killed by a Mutoid, and who befriended another species of Mutoid. She called him Craggles.

“When I... when I found Craggles, he was emaciated and had claw-marks on his hide. He'd been fighting with another creature. I think the girl was killed by a Mutoid, and he'd been wandering since, carrying the back-pack with him wherever he went. He was sheltering by a spring when I found him. He must have been desperate for human companionship, after spending part of his life with the little girl. I decided to keep him around. He could catch me food, and... well, I felt sorry for him. He'd lost his family.” In a quieter voice, Stan added, “Like I did.”

There was silence for a few seconds... and then another disdainful snort from Rose. Stan looked at her sharply. The girl was standing up, shaking her head as she laughed scornfully.

“So, he couldn't even protect one little girl?” she chuckled. “How useless is that!” She laughed again and Stan glared at her and clenched his fists. If this was the way Rose acted, then he didn't want to be her companion. He wasn't that desperate. At least he had Craggles.

“Fine!” he snapped. “You know what? Forget it. Live on your own. Get yourself killed. See if I care.”

Rose chortled, shook her head once again. She gave Stan a mocking salute. “Thanks for the bandage. And, you know, the injury. See ya!” And with that she turned her back on him and shot into the sky. In less than a minute, she was out of sight.

Stan felt an odd sense of yearning loss as he watched the only other Radioactive he had ever met disappear on the horizon. He shook his head to clear it.

“I'm not disappointed!” he muttered sternly to himself. “Not at all. I'm glad she's gone.”

Craggles rumbled and nudged Stan with his snout. Stan sighed and turned to his Mutoid. He rested his head against Craggles' scaly face.

“I'm fine,” he murmured, half to the Mutoid and half to himself. “Come on. Let's go and pack up the camp. It's time to move on.”