Chapter 9 Robco’s Rest

No sooner than the double gated entrance fully opened, the boy completely deserted his position in the cab. Running off against the protests of his grandfather.

John had given up on even trying to predict what he would see out here in the new, old world, but he couldn’t of imagined this. A single road finishing in a circle. Surrounded by eight houses that appeared similar in shape to the steel frame houses he’d seen. But these were made from tree trunks. Deep black, machine cut and drilled, held in place by lighter coloured wooden pins. Wrapped in steel bracing on the corners.

Each house had a slanted metal roof, red brick towers at one end that belched smoke up into the fallen night. Each with windows made from repurposed glass, no two quite the same. Some lit with electric lighting, others with warm, flickering candle light. John got lost in his own head trying to understand how these cosy looking houses were made when something caught his eye. Something low, fast moving, bounding on four legs from behind one of the houses.

Pointed ears, fur, fangs, a wolf, here in the apparent safety of Robco’s Rest. John froze, his childhood fears manifested before his eyes, and not even for the first time today. He feared for Wallace, remembering the wolves preferred prey from the children’s stories. Frantically he looked for the shiny blue suit in the unfamiliar environment. He saw the boy running straight into the path of the bounding beast. Unaware of the danger, still calling excitedly for his mother.

“Momma? Momma? I’m home, Momma?”

“Robco, it’s a wolf! There’s a wolf, Robco!” John panicked. He reached down for the double barrelled shotgun mounted at his knees, gripping it firmly. Robco lifted his boot and brought it down hard on the gun, pinning it in place. John heard the unmistakable sound of a bolt action rifle cocking from the watchtower behind him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Electricity began to build at the base of his spine and he felt the nightmare, dreamlike state coming. Something cut through it, the older man’s flat, even tone.

“It’s alright, John. It’s a dog not a wolf, the boy is safe, I’m safe, you’re safe. It’s alright son, just breathe.”

John forced a deep breath into his lungs, desperately trying to focus on the words he heard and not what he saw. He couldn’t bring himself to release the grip on the shotgun but he kept breathing deeply. Mercifully subduing the onset of the slowed time and the horror that followed it previously, but it was too late. The boy had seen the fanged beast running at him and stopped, no doubt scared stiff.

The beast leapt into the air pushed by its strong hind legs, landing on the boy knocking him flat. John couldn’t move, held still by fear. John heard the boy scream…then laugh. Quickly getting to his feet, pushing the wolf away from him then hugging it, petting and scratching it gently while it licked his face.

“Who’s a good girl, yes, I missed you too.” John’s grip eased, his rhythmic breathing taking over.

“Wallace.” Robco shouted loud enough for the armed guard to hear. “Take her inside, now.” The infrequent use of the boy’s name cut through the rolling clanking of the truck as it made its way to the centre of the circular dead end road. It’s job almost done for today at least. The boy did as instructed without hesitation. “You might have saved my life John, but if you’d shot the boy’s dog we’d have a big problem.” Robco was only half joking.

“I didn’t think wolves were real.” John said, almost like a child waking from a nightmare.

“Dog, not wolf. Similar but domesticated, shit, man’s best friend, or boy's in this case.” John felt the charge in his nerves drain as the older, wiser, man reassured him of the safety of his new reality.

Robco climbed down, John followed. Unloading the truck of the various containers of junk tools and spare parts. He placed the colour coordinated boxes onto a matching table for the bots to collect. As the older man climbed in to slide the heavier boxes out, John heard a door open and close. Followed by the boy’s voice relaying the events of his adventure, without pause.

“And then Pop Pop shot the ghoul and saved him. He lives in an underground Vault and he’s got his own terminal and he gave me this suit and he never had bread before Momma! Or a Nuka Cola! He’s gonna spend the night so I can look at his tech, I mean so Pop Pop can take him into town tomorrow.” Wallace led his mother by the hand. A slim, pretty woman, a little older than John, with curly brown hair that bounced as she moved. She wore tight blue jeans that looked altered for a better fit. Leather boots up to the knee and laced at the side, matched with a white buttoned shirt. “Momma this is John, John, Momma.”

“Louisa.” The woman informed Wallace of his minor error with a sideways glance as she shook John’s hand.

“Nice to meet you.” John tried to focus on meeting another person for the first time. Still not quite sure how, ignoring the others standing on their porches and milling around the settlement. “Damn, you’re a big one ain’t you, what they feed you in that Vault?” She smiled warmly, trying to ease the stranger’s obvious nerves with a joke.

“Oh no, Momma, the food’s real bad, it tastes like shi..” Wallace stopped himself, his time on the road with his grandfather had come to an end. Along with the leeway he’d enjoyed. “Bad, it tastes bad.”

“Pops, you back there?” Robco jumped down, moving the last of the colour coordinated containers and wooden crates. “Sounds like you had an eventful run. How’d my boy do out there?” Her tone reminded John of the way Wallace rejected any hint of false praise. The boy looked at his grandfather eager for his appraisal. Robco drew in a long breath, slowing his response to the boy's chagrin.

“He did…real well Lou, real well.” The older man spoke with an unmatched pride in his voice, while the boy’s mother put her arm round him approvingly, almost protectively. Her son returned safe, the relief hidden from the boy but neither man. “Why don’t you unhook Buddy while we talk.”

“Any trouble?” Louisa asked in a low voice as soon as the boy was out of earshot.

“Less than some.” John wondered what constituted more than some trouble to Robco. Given the bloodbath outside, and inside, the apartment building.

“How’d my baby do?” She walked over to Rusty, noticing some changes but not quite being able to place them.

“Got two.” She turned sharply to look at Robco who answered her question before she asked. “He flipped a switch Lou, he didn’t see anything.” The boy’s mother appeared saddened, but took solace in knowing he didn’t see anything. “Besides our shiny blue friend here got your ‘baby’ beat by one.” The older man gestured to the new arrival. It didn’t escape John’s notice he hadn’t included the one in the coffee shop.

“You killed three raiders on your first day?” The woman asked with mild surprise.

“No.” Robco turned to John, worried he hadn’t understood his cue. “It was my second day.” John smiled as his hosts laughed.

“Oh Honey, you just earned yourself dinner and dessert.” John didn’t know what dessert was, but hesitated to ask, still holding back his mental flood of questions.

“What does he get if he fixed Rusty’s left arm?” Robco said, trying not to appear to be changing the subject.

“Shut the fuck up!” The woman all but dove into the back of the truck. Rotating the sentry bot torso to inspect the now functioning grenade launching arm she’d written off years ago. “Does it shoot? Is there ammo?” John began to see where Wallace got his habit of persistent, rapid fire questions.

“It does, we took down those doors at Factory Falls in one shot.” Robco said, prompting John to speak up and take credit with a nudge.

“You can definitely stay the night for this!” Louisa heard herself as John looked awkwardly away, “In the guest room.” She smiled at the slip, but it faded fast, replaced with a look John recognised. The hiding of grief, guessing a good deal of the grief had been hers alone for a while now. “Let me take the truck and Wallace with my crew to the Falls in the morning. I want to make sure he’s ok, plus the longer we leave it open, the riskier it gets.” She asked, very much appearing to change the subject.

“What do you say John, it’s not too far, fancy a walk?” Robco asked. John’s muscles still felt underused at best. It had been a day of revelations. Assaults to the senses. Mortal damage to foundations of his character, yet still his muscles felt ready. He wondered if he’d even be able to sleep tonight. He never had trouble sleeping.

“Sure, a walk sounds good.” Even if it didn’t he wasn’t going to say so, he had time, an extra day, week, even a month wouldn’t be a problem. Potentially even longer now that he thought about it. With Rosie’s knack for subtle sabotage level seven could be years away from opening. He thought of the billboard. Only now regretting the selfish, temporary thrill of blasting that cartoon mascot to bits without her seeing it first.

He’d already denied her so much by leaving alone. He wouldn’t deny her more by forcing years trapped in the Vault on her. Trapped in the lie they’d lived. Trapped in the deception they’d seen through all those years ago. Clinging to the thin strands of proof the music provided.

Here he stood surrounded by life. People, houses, undeniable evidence of the lie they told over and over until you believed it. Until it’s false promise of noble duty meant so much you daren’t question it. Guilt forced a fissure in the dam in his mind. He’d hoped it would be a question of if it broke, but it became when. A slender hand touched him on the shoulder catching him off guard.

“I’m guessing this is yours.” The woman smiled, her hand lingering on John’s shoulder as he clipped the wireless four pin back into place. The screen of the jet black pipboy activated automatically with his movement. “That’s pretty neat.” Her hazel brown eyes fixed to the device on his arm.

“Wallace said the exact same thing.” Now John wanted to change the subject, she struck an almost apologetic tone.

“I bet he did, I hope you weren’t planning on getting much peace, if he gets too much just—”

“Limit him to three questions.” John interrupted the boy’s mother with a smile.

“He don’t mean to be rude.” Her apologetic tone replaced with amusement. “He’s gets focused on something and it’s like a laser beam.”

“It’s fine, he’s a bright boy, reminds me of my, a friend.” He knew he couldn’t call Rosie his anything, maybe not even a friend. Louisa saw the stress on John’s face, in his voice, weighing on him, getting heavier the more he looked around at their home. She turned to Robco.

“Is he ident scanned?” Robco nodded. “Good, I’ll hook Rusty up to the home network, push the update out.” With a practised ease she rotated the mechanical torso. She removed locking pins from the base and shoved the deadly, rearmed, robot like merely opening a door. “You sort out what you’re taking to town, Jenny and the Mike’s will load it, I’ll get dinner started.” She twisted then removed the thick black cable at the base of Rusty’s spine. Replacing it with an identical one running up from the ground below. Robco leaned in towards her.

“Make something nice, he’s had a rough stretch of road.” The older man needn’t have bothered whispering, John was lost. Taking in the new smells, new ambient noises of people and music.

The older man spoke into his radio. “Evening all, Robco checking in.” A myriad of voices responded, too many to make sense, “We got a guest for the night, this here’s John, wave hello John.” He waved awkwardly, seeing figures wave back from porches or in widows. And to his relief from the watchtower, rifle now slung over the watchers back. “Now we’ve had a day, so I’ll thank you for a little peace tonight. We got an early trip to town, Lou will brief you in the morning, so I’ll say goodnight.” John breathed a little easier knowing he didn’t have to meet more people. “We got a little to do, but if you want to rest up some you can.” Robco had softened his posture almost immediately after entering the settlement he gave his name to.

“Some work sounds good, but can we take a look around I don’t think I want any more surprises.” John covered the pipboy with his hand, trying foolishly to keep his words from it. Still imagining Wallace’s face if he’d done as intended and blasted the wolf like dog that he clearly loved, and clearly loved him in return.

“I know right where to start, come on.” Robco led John through the settlement. Stopping at the side of a house first to activate three idle Protectrons, sending them to move the cargo.

Behind the house was another wood building nearly the same size. The roof lower, no windows, but the entire side opened up with hinged doors. “That’s my workshop, time for that later.”

Most of the space inside the wall remained filled with living trees, sections cut out to use as and when needed. The wall copied the terrain, supported by box steel supports set in red brick footings. “Here it is, Robco’s Private Reserve.” The older man brought them to a clearing in the fenced in forest. A polished canister made of riveted steel stood in the middle. Work table to one side, simple canvas chairs to the other. Around four foot tall, being boiled by an electrical heating element built into the housing. Controlled by a timer with a digital display. The top tapering then spiralling into a downwards copper coil. Finishing in a small wooden barrel with a tap.

It smelt intoxicating, literally, sickly sweet and bitter at the same time. “First things first.” Robco said, handing John a piece of firewood. “Place that on top of the still,” He paused, remembering who he was talking to. “The big tank, behind the pressure gauge. It’s tradition, shows you come with peaceful intent.” John did as tradition demanded while the older man poured from the tap. Pleased to see the custom passed on to a new person, even if he didn’t understand it.

The older man handed John a tin cup, quarter full with Private Reserve. “A drop of this will set you right, a good meal down you, things will seem brighter, trust me, cheers.” He clinked the cups together and threw back the clear liquid. John did the same, coughing more than with the whiskey. The harshness melting into sweetness. “Not bad, right?” John nodded politely. He’d never tasted alcohol before two days ago, what did he know about good or bad, although it did taste good.

The pair stayed for a moment longer in the woods finishing their drinks. Melting sweetness smoothing frayed nerves. John savoured the deafening silence after the day of clanking noise. Driven back enough by the sounds of people in the distance. “Feeling calmer?” Robco asked, “Because we can sit a while longer.” Out on the road everything had been an instruction, a command. The way John lived his whole life. Here in Robco’s Rest he had a choice. He tried to process the unfamiliar feeling but couldn’t. Ultimately realising the comfort he’d find in occupying himself with something.

“I’m ready when you are.” John said, starting to get up from the canvas chair. Robco gestured for him to keep sitting. The older man leaned forward, trying to phrase his response before speaking as to make it plain.

“Ready, that’s the word ain’t it.” He looked John in the eye, his tone serious. “You’re a brave man, with a good heart, you’re free now.” The older man refilled their cups, but didn’t drink yet. “You understand what that means? You can walk out of here right now and we’d wish you well on your journey, but you ain’t ready, even with that thing on your arm. Let’s get you ready.” He raised his cup, John did the same, clinking then sipping the sweet, bitter, liquid.

The dam began to weaken, bursting at the seams with questions. Heaving at the strain of holding back secrets as new information flooded in. John began to speak but the words stopped in his throat, blocked by a lump of conflicting emotions.

“You remember when Rusty scanned you right?” John welcomed the interruption and the chance not to speak. “Well this is the same thing, just relax, you’re safe, I promise you.” Robco put two fingers in his mouth and belted out a short, sharp, whistle, through the quiet of the fenced in forest.

John heard movement, fast, bounding. He saw the silhouette of pointed ears low to the ground, closing in fast. The wolf like dog emerged into the clearing, padding slowly towards Robco who tapped his leg to draw it in. John froze, but the warm sweetness in his chest kept him calmer than before.

Brown black fur, thick and clean, covered the wolf like dog. Its pink tongue lolling from its fanged mouth as it sat by the older man. A bushy tail swishing back and forth along the ground. “Good girl.” Robco said as he petted the dog. “Dogs are just like people, treat them right, they treat you right. Be calm, like you’re talking to a kid, don’t ask them to do things, tell them.”

He handed John some dried meat from inside his coat, the sharp eyes of the dog following it. “Dexy, shake.” Robco tapped John’s leg and the wolf like dog placed its front paw gently on his knee, docile, almost welcoming. Nothing like the ruthless pack animal from the stories that gave him nightmares. With a new found calm he reached down and touched the heavy paw. Muscle, tendons, power, all instantly apparent under soft fur. John held out the dried meat, trying to hold the very edge of it as the fanged mouth took it from his hand softly. The dog took its reward and curled up at John’s feet, leaning on his boots. John felt a wave of calm wash over him, a fear faced is a fear beaten, his father’s words echoing in his mind.

“See, friendly identified.” The older man used Rusty’s words to get his point across. After a deep, cleansing breath John found himself reaching down. Running his hand along the soft fur back of the friendly creature he nearly killed, relaxing them both.

“In the Vault they told us this story over and over. The three little builders. The first builder built his home from straw and the big bad wolf pack ripped it down and tore him apart.” He still remembered the drawing of the wolves. Red eyed, snarling, killing. The terror amplified by a frightened child’s imagination. “The next builder built a home from glass windows, and the big bad wolf pack smashed through it and tore him apart.” He paused, the simple manipulation obvious to him now. “But the last builder, the clever builder, built his home in the ground. With stone walls and metal doors, and he lived happily ever after.”

John finished his strong drink to wash the lies from his mouth. Something occurred to Robco, but the older man held it back. Opting instead to distract the overwhelmed man with the new, instead of wading through the dark past.

“Come on, whistle stop tour.”