The Bull Yard

"Booker, catch!"

Booker DeWitt caught sight of the small blue phial sailing through the air even before he heard Elizabeth cry out. He grabbed the salts and tumbled behind some crates just in time to miss catching a back full of lead. The Vox had him pinned down, but he had a plan.

Chugging down the contents of the phial Booker felt the pain of jet back feathers sprouting from his skin. Ignoring the pain he instead called out to Elizabeth. On cue a tear opened just to his right, revealing a large freight crane. Booker dashed out of cover and felt the strangely familiar, yet utterly spine-crawling sensation as a murder of crows seemingly manifested themselves from nowhere and swarmed the Vox Populi soldiers. Ignoring the cries of agony he leaped into the air and latched onto the crane with his skyhook. One, two, three, four, with each shot of his pistol he dispatched the Vox with a lethal shot.

Booker dropped down off the crane and leaned on a nearby crate to catch his breath. Elizabeth, seeing that they were no longer in danger ran up to Booker and began to fuss with his wounds. A scraped elbow and a cut across the knee, but she wouldn't listen to his protests and insisted on cleaning and dressing even the most minor injuries.

Wincing slightly Booker righted himself. "Alright, let's find a place to lay low for a bit."

"Do you think we'll run into any more of those Vox Populi?" Elizabeth inquired. Her tone expressing a desire, rather then a legitimate uncertainty.

"Count on it, but for now I think they're more concerned with the Founders." Booker replied, holstering his gun.

Navigating the Bull Yard proved to be a challenge in and of itself. It was true, the Founders and the Vox were far too busy with their war to concern themselves with the two of them. But in the process the conflict had wrecked the Bull Yard. Ruined skylines, a crashed airship, and missing walk-ways slowed their progress to a crawl. But it was when they were passing by a collection of small shelters that they stopped entirely.

Booker instinctively whipped his head towards Elizabeth as he heard her gasp in horror. Tracing her line of sight he saw a large bloody bear trap. He had seen more then one of these traps set around the Bull Yard, probably used to trap scouts or couriers. Founder or Vox, it didn't matter. What mattered was that there was a small boy caught between the steel teeth. Thirteen at the oldest and a Sioux, judging from the looks of him.

Elizabeth clung to Booker's shoulder as the two of them approached the boy. When the boy finally took his focus off of his ruined leg and noticed the two approaching figures a look of fear spread across his face, but stopped short of screaming when he noticed the girl.

Elizabeth ran over to the young boy. "Booker, we've got to do something."

"Elizabeth, look away."

"What, why?"

"Elizabeth, I can't save that leg. Just look away, you won't like what's coming next."

Elizabeth leaned against the side of the shack and closed her eyes tightly and held her breath. The sounds were bad, but the smell was something she couldn't even put into words. Finally Booker told her it was okay to turn around. Booker had just finished disposing of the evidence and was wiping his brow with the back of his hand, still bloody and red-hot from the use of one of his Vigors. The boy was silent, his leg cauterized just below the knee. She guessed that he must be in shock.

"God, Booker. How can he be so quiet?"

"I sure wish he'd cry or something." Booker said, crouching down to make eye contact with the boy. "Táku eníciyapi he?"

The boy seemed to brighten up at the question. "Kohana!" He exclaimed.

Booker barely suppressed a grin as he replied. "Mitakuyepi Booker."

Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise at this exchange. "Booker, I didn't know you spoke..."

"Sioux." Booker said, finishing her sentence.

"Sioux, where did you learn that?" Elizabeth asked with hand on hips, tickled by this revelation.

Booker's tone took a turn for the sour. "Let's just say I had a lot of experience dealing with Indians in the military."

"Oh..."

Suddenly Booker stood up and brushed himself off. "Listen, we've done about all we can for him. It's time to get moving."

Elizabeth stared, aghast at what Booker proposed. "You mean we're going to just leave him here?"

"And what would you suggest?" Booker asked, but he could already tell her answer from the stern look on her face.

"Elizabeth..." But she remained steadfast, her arms crossed and eyes glaring.

"Elizabeth!" Booker protested, his voice taking on a quality not unlike that of a weary father.

Sighing deeply Booker scooped up the young boy with one hand. The boy looked up at him appreciatively. The things he did for that girl.

"Doe key ya lay hey?" The boy asked, tilting his head slightly.

"That's a damn good question." Booker replied.