Earlier...
The sun bore down upon the wasteland with such ferocity that the horizon seemed to wobble violently from the heat. Two figures trudged monotonously through the midday sun in silence, boots crunching on the sandy chunks of tarmac. The Mojave desert was unusually quiet, especially around this time; anything that had a shred of common sense had found a scrap of shade to squat under. Aside from the low moan of the wind on the plains, the desert was practically silent, and the voices of the travellers rung out for miles.

The smaller one did most of the talking, slightly muffled under her bandana. Her arms swung jovially with every step, the fabric of her oversized clothing billowing behind her. She was garbed in a mismatch of filthy but colourful clothes, complete with a gaudy vault-tec backpack thumping the small of her back with every footstep. Her movements were upbeat, but her speech was whiny and irritating. “C’moooooon Brooksy,” whinged the lady. “Just a two minute break! My blisters have blisters and this backpack’s gonna snap my spine!”

The taller one had a sloping, heavy gait to his walk. His trenchcoat partially covered the guns and satchels hanging off his stocky body and his features were hidden under the harsh shadows of a wide-brimmed hat. “Two minutes is enough to roast us under this sun, if we keep this up we’ve only got a few more hours of walkin’” Brooks croaked, eyes fixated on the horizon as they continued trudging along.

“That’s Brahmin shit and you know it,” retorted Abigail sulkily.

“All this time and you still ain’t used to wandering’? Long way to go, kid.”

“S’not my fault!” she cried out in protest, tugging angrily on the bright blue backpack straps. She kicked angrily at a pebble whilst walking, not daring to alter the pace - any sudden shift from the steady rhythm would be enough to send a blast of exhaustion through her bony calves.

“Yeah, well you became mine.” Brooks grumbled under his breath, the long walk from early in the morning to late in the midday having lasted longer than he had hoped for, clearly taking its toll on him. Abigail, on the other hand, looked like she was positively bursting with energy. Every single step was lively and animated, and her gaunt features were pinched up into a childish pout.

There was a very long pause where Abigail sank into step next to Brooks, grimacing at her boots. Then she looked over the horizon. “I spy, with my little eye...something beginning wiiiiiith….S.”

Brooks remained impassive as he heard Abigail talk, shooting a “For real?” glance down at her. He eventually caved in and amused her by casting his gaze onto the wasteland, asking: “Snake?”

“Nope, try again.” Abigail peered off into the distance, grinning. “And hurry up, we’re gonna pass it soon.”

A thoughtful sigh escapes Brooks, eyes back on the road as he asks anew “Sand?”

“For once, it’s NOT sand. Wait for it, waaaait for it…” Abigail skipped ahead a few paces, bent over and picked up a rusty old motorcycle mirror that was half-buried in the sand. “The answer is Shiny!” she announced, proudly holding the piece of junk in the air for Brooks to admire.

Brooks’ boots crunch to a stop, staring down at the piece of junk shining under the sunlight. “Shiny ain’t a damn noun, Abbey,” he’d mutter, moving on with his steps and walking past her outstretched frame. 

Abigail was already transfixed by the way the sun glinted off the grimy shards of glass on the mirror. “You’re a noun,” she mumbled distractedly. Reluctantly, she dropped the mirror back onto the dirt and peered up at her companion. “What’s a noun?”

Brooks turned his head slightly, making sure that that Abigail continued trailing after him as he continued, even if distracted. “Like a uh- person, place or thing.”

“Ah shit, you really are a noun then. That’s some reading shit isn’t it? Fuckin’ books-…”

“-Abigail-” Brooks interrupted, “Language, mind it?”

Abigail launched her hands up in the air, smirking. “Awright, calm down…” She stuck her tongue out at Brooks’ back and then caught up with him, matching his pace once more. She bumped against him for a couple of metres before shifting to the side - both of them were too weary and too hot to remain that close for long.

“How long again?” Abigail asked, peering up at Brooks’ dusty collar.

“A few more hours, we’ll be there by night.”

…

The lights of new Reno cut through the bluey darkness of the Mojave like a neon lighthouse. This time, the travellers were practically silent as the creatures of the Wastelands began to resurface and approach the road. 

Abigail was now trailing a few paces behind Brooks, but she has lost all of the energy and enthusiasm from earlier. Her steps had become shuffling stumbles, and the sound of her panting replaced her usual excited joke or idle comment that persisted under the sun. Her body was bent forward as if someone had loaded her backpack with boulders, and her legs shivered every time her boot hit the tarmac.

She said nothing; she had no breath for complaining now.

Brooks came to a halt before the New Reno gates, casting a glance up at the hellishly glowing city. He turned, bending down to zip up Abigail’s jacket for her, noticing her swaying in a drowsy and tired state. “Alright, Abbey. What’d we say?”

She wobbled dangerously when Brooks forced her to stop. Her expression turned into a squint at the bright lights of the city as she rattled off the ‘rules’ monotonously; “Don’t talk to strangers, stick close, don’t take anything.” She pulled down her goggles from atop the battered motorcycle helmet; the reflection of the neon signs hid her drooping eyelids,  transforming Abigail’s sleepy expression into one of casual indifference.

Brooks snaps his fingers in front of Abigail, “Wake up, alright? We’ll get you somethin’ to eat, take that break you wanted.”  and with that he’d stand himself back up with a light groan, turning to enter the city with Abigail by his side.

The two eventually wandered across a bar named “Desperado”, its glowing neon lights matching the surroundings, making it look more presentable. Opening the door and having Abigail shuffle in first, he’d briskly guide her towards a corner-seat, strategically placing her so that he could see her every move while he orders her a solid enough meal at the bar. Abigail busied herself by taking off her backpack first, wrapping her backpack straps around her ankles to avoid getting it snatched from her before fishing out a cigar cutter from her pocket and playing with it. The corners of her mouth twitched into a smirk.

Brooks slumped himself into one of the bar stools, taking off his wide-brimmed hat and slapping it on the counter before him, shooting a quick glance back at Abigail and rolling his eyes with an annoyed groan as he noticed his cigar-cutter in her hands. Ignoring it he averted his attention back to the bar, where the barkeep was busy chit-chatting with a ginger thuggish looking man. Overhearing their talk he’d manage to briefly make out their respective roles, otherwise sticking to his own business.