Chapter 14 “Two thousand four hundred and seventy five metres.”

John woke before six, half asleep and more than half drunk. His head hurt. Operating on habit, he stood by the door waiting for it to open automatically. Ordering him out and onto another pointless shift. It took him a moment to fully realise where he was. Surrounded by wood, not metal. Sunlight, not florescent bulbs, and no one ordering him to do anything.

He laughed to himself, then got back into his warm, soft, bed. He tried to go back sleep, if only to spite the Vault but he couldn’t. Even with the alcohol still in his system, he’d been conditioned for too long. Once he heard movement from the main room the idea of sleeping in felt wrong.

He opened the door, himself, slowly. Trying to stop from giggling. He didn't want to see the look of pity on someone’s face as he told them he hadn’t opened his own bedroom door in ten years.

Louisa sat at the kitchen table, the mounting for the robotic head still bolted to it. At first John thought have might’ve walked in on her changing. She wore a loose vest and shorts that showed her shapely legs. Little more than Rosie wore under her vault-suit, but she greeted him with a smile.

“Morning gorgeous.” John remembered something from the night before. “I’m surprised you’re up, you really put it away last night. You must be hung-over.” John felt groggy, a bit sluggish, but pretty much fine.

“I’m ok, bit of a headache that’s all.” Louisa filled a cup from the tap and dropped a white tablet into it.

"Drink this, it’ll help.” John didn’t feel like he needed medicine but the tablet had already started fizzing away. He swirled it a few times and gulped it down, it had a chalky aftertaste that lingered. “The boys won’t be up for a couple of hours yet, I’m going to go for my run, then I’ll make breakfast.” She got up to leave, tying her curly, brown hair back as she walked to the door.

“Hey, can I come too?” John asked, trying not to notice the woman’s fine figure.

“You sure that’s a good idea, I mean hangover aside, those boots look heavy.” She raised one foot to show John the canvas shoes she wore, that looked like she’d made. Light, rubber soled and bright red.

“Yeah.” John lowered his voice, hoping that Louisa would pick up on his embarrassment. “It’s just that I didn’t really get to do a lot of stuff yesterday, physically I mean, and it feels weird. Plus we didn’t get to run a lot either.” She smiled and rubbed his arm while he stared at his feet.

“Of course honey.”

“It’s about a mile round the fence.” Louisa said as she stretched in ways that made John force himself to look away, not used to seeing this much skin. “I normally do two laps, but why don’t we see how you feel after one.” John nodded and matched her pace as she gradually quickened her speed. Heading towards the wooden fence that surrounded Robco’s Rest.

The settlement turned out to be bigger than John realised. Most of it still covered in fenced in forest or open patches of soft earth. By the time they rounded the first corner John felt better. By the time they passed the second he started having fun. His blood pumping and his muscles working, the lingering effects of the night before had gone.

In the morning light John saw the work that had gone into Robco’s Rest. The water filtration system built from old pipes. Well maintained pumps, and a repurposed tanker trailer that still looked portable.

Outside the still covered greenhouse there were even more crops. tall, thin, light brown stalks that swayed in the soft breeze. Rows of neat metal frames supporting creeping vines that spawned heavy, misshapen fruit. Currently being tended by one of the Protectron robots while another poured feed into the pig pen.

John found it hard to look at the pigs, but he couldn’t look away. Their radiation induced mutations clearly visible in the morning light. The smaller, younger pigs seemed pretty much fine, but the older ones were uneven. Strange lumps, half grown limbs attached to the fully formed ones. One had three eyes.

“Ready for lap two?” Louisa asked through steady breaths as they approached the main gate. John panted as he quickened his pace. Partly to show he could easily handle another lap, but mostly because he wanted to. “It’s not a race.” John laughed as she matched his speed, impressive for someone nearly a foot shorter than him.

They kept pace together. John almost giddy with the sense of freedom it brought to move this fast through this much space. Waving at the handful of people milling around, until they reached the last bend.

He realised Louisa had been humouring him as she found a burst of speed John couldn’t hope to match. She cleared the gate and turned down the only road, stopping at the salvaged truck parked in the centre of the houses. “I told you it wasn’t a race.” She said as he walked the last few feet towards her. “But if it was, I definitely won.” John lent on the truck, trying to catch his breath, not used to intense bursts of activity.

“You win, that felt good though.”

“A little practice, some better footwear, you might have half a chance. Listen,” She shifted uncomfortably. “You know that it’s not like this everywhere right, it’s dangerous out there, and I don’t just mean raiders.”

“I know, well, I’ve been told. I have to try. This is the best option, if I can’t find anything I’ll get Rosie out then…” John couldn’t think of a way to finish his thought.

“Then you’ll bring her home.” She pointed to the half built house.

“Then I’ll bring her home."

John took a leisurely shower at Louisa’s suggestion, fearing he may not get chance for another anytime soon. Then he gathered his clothes, holsters, weapons, tools and his long leather coat. Laying them all out flat. Familiarising himself with the pockets, catches, straps that secured his multi-tool. His pistol with its accessories and extra magazine. The well placed pockets that held his lighter and small notebook, just like Robco’s.

Louisa appeared at the edge of the workshop, two mugs of dark, bitter, coffee in one hand and a canvas bag in the other. “Donations, this duffle bag, a first aid kit, a couple of bandannas and a pair of Big Mike’s jeans.” She tipped the contents of the dark green bag out, “Try them on.”

John tried on every combination of the donated clothes. Settling on the blue jeans, a dark, soft t shirt, and the fine leather coat. Louisa split her focus between improving the duffle bag with extra pockets and a new strap. While making last minute adjustments to the holsters. Securing a sharpening stone and the cord wrapped, throwing knife to offset the weight of the bladed hammerhead. The song on the radio came to an end and a familiar, female voice spoke.

“Good morning children, from The Tower with power, Lady Luck is with you, news just in.” Louisa turned up the radio, drawing John’s attention to it. “Reports from west of the river. Good fortune for a group of soon to be slaves, rescued by brave souls in the night. Who gave those slavers their deserved fate to boot. If you’re listening brave souls, Lady Luck is with you, and this one’s for you. Praise the lord, pass the ammunition and together my children, we’ll all stay free.” The song repeated Lady Luck’s words in a pleasing, harmonious, melody.

“You listen to the news now, Lady Luck she’ll let you know what’s going on.” It felt strange to trust a voice over a speaker after years of lies broadcast at him for years. “When you see her, tell her I said hi.”

“What’s she like?” She laughed.

“Oh she’s something alright, she’ll help you, especially if Pops asks. They go way back.”

A few more awkward minutes passed. Louisa tweaked and finessed the holsters, adjusted the coat she’d made for her husband as John wore it. He felt ready. With the duffle bag hung over his shoulders. The armoured sleeves sitting just right. The holstered pistol and tools on his thighs. John got a feel for the weight he would be carrying. For someone whose clothes never weighed anything he would need to get used to it.

“Alright, try drawing.” John looked at Louisa confused until she clarified. “Your weapons.” With his thumb he easily clicked open the strap that secured the multi-tool. He pulled it free with the bladed hammerhead attached. He tried to imagine using it as a tool rather than thinking about how much damage it could do if he put his arm into a good swing. There was however, no other way to see the rose carved pistol as he drew and aimed it at the wall in one fluid motion.

“Nice stance, elbows locked, feet planted. You sure that you haven’t…” Her intuition told her not to finish that question. “You look good, John, like a new man.” A new man, he liked the sound of that.

“Morning.” A large man stood at the edge of the workshop, coffee in hand, dressed in loose fitting pants and a simple t shirt.

“Morning Big Mike, this is John.”

“Morning.” John said as he shook the man’s hand, enjoying the infrequent opportunity to meet someone as tall as him.

“What’s on today Lou?” Mike asked, treating John like just another person.

“Can you load a cart with the stuff out back, anything else to trade, then link the bots by the truck. We’ll head up to the Falls later, Pops got the door open.”

“Shit, how’d he manage that?” Louisa smiled, knowing Big Mike would appreciate her answer.

“John here got Rusty’s left arm running.” Mike turned to John, surprised, and very pleased.

“Damn, that’s nice work.” He turned back to Louisa. “You know if we could get.” She cut him off.

“Rusty talking to my girls we could target grenades outside the fence, already done.” Mike nearly dropped his coffee.

“You have been busy, how the hell did you pull that off overnight?” She nodded towards John. He knew he hadn’t done more than press a few buttons, but still it wouldn’t have been possible without him.

“Speaking of busy, how long do you think it will take to finish that house?” Louisa changed the subject, giving Mike a look he knew, a look of trust. He stepped out to get a better look at the half built house, his trained eyes weighing up what was left to do.

“Maybe ten days, we getting a new neighbour?” John felt awkward. He’d already pinned his hope on the wooden frame, and the potential life it held. Forgetting that everyone had a say here, a voice, a vote, just because it was named for Robco didn’t mean he controlled it. “Shit, he can stay with us till it’s done for fixing that arm.” Mike seemed as welcoming as the others.

“Thanks, but I’m heading out today.” John said it out loud, to make it real.

“And he’ll be back soon.” Louisa looked John in the eye, filling him with confidence. She tapped her left arm and nodded towards Big Mike. She obviously trusted him, so John eased the armoured leather sleeve up over the pipboy. Scrolling to schematics for the air circ parts he needed. Mike stood wide eyed, caught off guard by hidden advanced technology on the seemingly normal man’s arm.

“This is what I’m looking for.” John hoped to pre-empt any other questions, like why. Mike looked at the screen, trying to concentrate on the images and not the jet black device showing them.

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like that, the plans I mean, well shit, both. The hell is that thing anyway?”

“Parts for an air circ system.” John realised he would need a better deflection. Louisa came to his aid.

“So about an hour then Mike?” He took her cue.

“Sure thing. John, welcome to the Rest, good luck out there.” Mike headed home, trusting his friend would have a story to tell him later.

“Most people are going to react that way.” Louisa spoke as if that had been the main reason for telling Mike. “You’re going to need to be careful who you show that to.” John didn’t know if she meant the pipboy or the plans, both probably.

They sat for a while longer. John practised sharpening his flat knife as he’d been shown. A little gel from a small squeeze bottle matched with alternating strokes on either side.

Robco sat at the kitchen table as they entered, fizzing, medicinal liquid in one cup. Strong, dark coffee in another.

“Morning. Good news John, found you a table.” He ran his hands over the drilled holes in the otherwise smooth wood. “Slightly used.” John half smiled, the older man could undoubtedly fix the few holes but his craftsman’s eye would still see it. John went to sit, still wearing his holsters, but Louisa stopped him.

“No guns at the table John, house rule.” He easily unbuckled the well designed belt and draped it over the back of cushioned leather chairs by the fire. Knowing better than to hang it on the empty peg.

“How you feeling? You don’t look too bad for someone with their first ever hangover.” The older man threw back the chalky tasting liquid and chased it with coffee to cut the taste.

“I feel good actually. Went for a run too.”

“Ah, to be young again. We’ll eat and head out, be in town before noon.” The older man phrased it like a question, giving John an out, he didn’t take it.

They sat as Louisa poured more coffee and cooked something in a shallow pan. Hissing, cracking, with a powerful smell that cut through the other, fuller, earthier scents. Before long she placed a tray of six freshly made bread rolls alongside a plate of thin, crispy strips of red meat.

She parted the still warm bread by hand. Spreading something pale yellow inside, then threw in slices of the thin cut meat. She handed one to John, smiling. He nearly snatched it from her, but controlled himself, taking it slowly and savouring his first bite. The soft bread, mixed with the snapping crisp meat felt amazing, and tasted better. “Bacon.” Robco said before John asked, the look of pity he half expected nowhere to be seen.

“This is bread right?” They both laughed.

“Yes, John, that’s bread.” John ate two more bacon rolls in the time it took Louisa to eat one.

After breakfast John tried to busy himself, waiting for Robco, avoiding having time to think too much about what lay ahead. He checked and double checked his gear. Getting comfortable with the hidden chainmail sleeves. He adjusted the new strap on the old duffle bag. And practised drawing his multi-tool and pistol, then securing them in the handmade holsters.

John noticed Big Mike. Dressed for work in overalls, walking back and forth from outside the workshop. He helped him load the simple wooden cart. Crates of whiskey, buckets of assorted parts, various power cells. Along with the clothing from the alley outside the coffee shop.

He was introduced to Little Mike. A boy of fifteen or so, same blond hair as his father, and looking more like Big Mike than his name suggested.

The four bots that John travelled with were linked in series. Single file, pulling a simple wooden cart towards the gate at Little Mike’s directed arm signals. John thought the cart must be the simplest thing in Robco’s Rest. Were it not for the lightweight design and clever strapping system that looked to be able to secure just about anything.

Before long Robco joined them at the gate, chatting briefly with the Mike’s, then politely moving them on. The older, wiser, man looked John up and down. Amused at the similar coats, similar pistols, worn by the man who had to ask what bread was an hour earlier. “How do you feel?” John answered without thinking.

“Ready.”

“You look ready.” He pointed over his shoulder to the half built house. “Just remember you’ve got a place here no matter what.” Louisa and Wallace came to see them off, the bright boy dressed in the shiny blue vault-suit John gave him. His mother had tied it back so it sort of fit. Awkwardly the boy stepped forward, poorly hiding something behind his back.

“Here John you can take this, but I want you to bring it back ok.” John crouched to see the boy’s last gift to him. A comic book. The muscle bound hero carrying a flaming torch down a dark, forbidding, tunnel towards a huge steel door. “Grognak and the Dungeon of Despair, it’s a good one.” Wallace understood more about the Vault than John realised, perhaps more than the boy realised.

“Thank you Wallace, for everything.” He wanted to promise the boy he’d return, but he just couldn’t do it.

“Good luck on your quest John.” He looked at the boy dressed as a Vault resident, while he'd been outfitted to look like everyone else. To survive like everyone else. All at the goodwill of near strangers. Instead of shaking the boy’s outstretched hand he hugged him tightly, standing as he did. Lifting the boy up despite his feigned protests.

“Go feed Dexy Junior, let the grown-ups talk.” Louisa sent Wallace to play with his four legged friend, more for her benefit than his.

She handed John a plastic container stuffed with things she called sandwiches and then hugged him. Not just the coat, but him this time. The grief the fine garment caused lifted with its new purpose. “Bring her home John, bring her home.” She whispered in his ear as she kissed him on the cheek. The thought of a bright woman trapped weighed on her, even though they’d never met.

“I will.” And with that, the gate opened and John left a home he’d miss for the first time.

The next couple of hours John and Robco walked through cut back forest. Down winding, gently sloping paths. The bots and their cargo lagging behind, all under the endless blue and low sun.

Gradually a stream began to accompany their path. Sloshing and lapping downward, pooling, shifting into larger streams. Another cleverly disguised, long crashed truck opened up and they were back on four lane faded blacktop. Heading west.

Robco nudged John as the cart rattled and clattered onto the road behind them, he pointed up. Just to the left of the road ahead stood The Tower. Close enough now he could see it wasn’t entirely solid, but a massive frame of steel, a skeletal remain of the old world. John couldn’t even imagine being that high from the ground. Never mind the presumably larger apparatus needed to construct something that size. Not only had it stood when new, it stayed standing when so much else had fallen.

Robco started reeling of information pretty much as soon as they left, and hadn’t stopped yet. What to do if it rains, what rain was. Where to sleep. What type of pre-war food was safe to eat. How to dress a wound. What sort of scavenged items were useful, which ones sold for a good price. It felt overwhelming. John tried to take it all in and got about half of it.

While crossing a large, maintained, bridge they stopped. Robco perched on an inert car, John lost, staring into the broad, steady flowing river that stretched for miles south. He sent a mapping pulse, the altered coat sleeve getting easier to move the more he did it. The signal travelled well over the water. Illuminating a curved line on the map screen that went further than John thought. “Green River right? Looks more blue than green.”

“Glows in the dark, algae or some such. Feeds on the rads, cleaning the water, or so they say. You remember what I said about campfire stories.” John nodded, remembering the lesson about blending in.

Robco adjusted a panel on the cart as it arrived to reveal a fold down, cushioned seat. He sat with a sigh, his routine journey nearly at an end, while the young man had yet to really start his. “Not far now.”

The four lane blacktop beyond the bridge stopped abruptly. The road ahead blocked by a long collapsed section of highway. They turned off. Heading through the last remnants of forest as the well-trodden path sloped downwards at a shallow angle. Doubling round again, descending a stone cliff face. Leading to the outskirts of Shadowtown and The Tower itself.

Now on the same level as the massive building, it became readily apparent how the town got its name. An immense wall built around the skeletal old world structure. Wherever you stood inside it, you were in its shadow.

This close, looking at the top made John dizzy. Every step he took brought The Tower closer, looming over everything else. Most levels had walls, windows. The mismatched shapes and materials gave away their scavenged origins. Which only served to make it more impressive.

The area outside the immense wall around the base of The Tower puzzled John. It looked the same as other places. Collapsed buildings, abandoned roads. As he’d seen before, yet something shaped the emptiness with purpose. Nothing over a few feet tall, and not nearly enough rubble to account for the size of the structures that plainly stood here at some point. Then he saw why.

Teams of Protectrons, outfitted with pneumatic hammer attachments, broke down rubble. Others pushing fresh debris away with metal scoops. Dumping it onto powered conveyor belts feeding an old tanker truck cut in half. Mounted on thick log rollers, divided into sections of ten or so, being moved from front to back by even more bots.

“Rock breakers, robot fucking rock breakers.” John spat the words out, filled with contempt. Not for the repurposed automatons, for his own years doing the same thing. Robco pretended to ignore the recognition on John’s face, trying to get him to do the same. Knowing it would do no good to linger on such things.

“Nearly there, come on, lots to get done.” The older man got up from the cart and started walking on. John followed, kicking loose rubble along the ground to vent his anger.

As they got closer to the immense wall, and The Tower behind it, square fields of crops became more frequent. The same tall stalks, some thick green, others thin brown. Metal frames holding bulbous fruit, just like Robco’s Rest, but on a far grander scale.

Past the crops, low chain link fencing penned in more mutated pigs. Milling around, grunting, rolling in the mud. The soft earth must have been deliberately placed in the surrounding concrete.

They passed another pen filled with creatures nearly twice as big. Their size making them more susceptible to mutating effects of radiation that permeated their food and water. Red, blotchy, sore looking skin hung over the animals broad sides. Four thick legs supported the lumbering body. A distended, misshapen, swollen growth hung below that John couldn’t look at. The nearest creature turned to look at him, it had two heads. One live and chewing away, the other dead, lifeless.

“Brahmin.” Robco said without turning. “They ain’t pretty, but they sure are delicious.” John wretched at the thought of eating something that looked so sickly and thanked Louisa in his head for whatever sandwiches were.

“What are those?” John pointed to the small, black, flapping shapes that leapt from the ground and up into the endless blue as they neared.

“Birds, damn pests you ask me, but they have a job to do.” The older man stepped slightly off the cleared, two lane road. Before John could ask Robco turned sharply. “Listen to me John, step back and stay calm.” The older man stood next to him, hand on his pistol, John did the same, trying to breathe slowly.

More birds flew from the ground ahead of them. Startled by someone running across the square fields, someone moving fast, scared.

The runner jumped a fence and sprinted right at them. A man, his simple clothes splattered with bright orange paint. John tightened his grip on the rose carved pistol, ready, as the runner closed in.

Suddenly the orange paint on his chest exploded outwards, knocking the runner flat on his face with a loud splat. Followed by a split second of silence before the rolling echo of a high calibre rifle.

The pipboy screen came to life inside John’s eyes. Absent the adrenaline, mercifully not triggering the nightmare, dreamlike state. Dotted lines, angles, red circles that projected all around them. An impossibly small, highlighted section high up The Tower. “Oh hell, you see that shit! That must of have been over a mile, mile and a half.”

“Two thousand four hundred and seventy five metres.” Robco tried to hide the shock from his face. “It’s ok, I’m ok, if they wanted to shoot us they could have by now.” John hadn’t meant to read the data from inside his eyes aloud, it just slipped out, like he felt Robco needed to know.

“Shrikes got him good.” Robco changed the subject as they started walking again. “Sniper team, in The Tower, you break the rules, you get painted. You can either turn yourself in to the Sheriff or take your chances with the Shrikes.” The older man acted like he’d seen it all before, which John found oddly calming.

“What did he do?” John asked as they left the runner dead on the road.

“Orange, he killed someone, blue for muggers, green for thieves, red for…perverts.” John glanced back, taking one last look at the dead body. A handful of black birds pecked at the soft entry wound, rewarded for doing their job.

John stood in the shadow of The Tower. Dozens of people filtered in towards the seemingly small gate built into the three storey wall. He stared at the mix of old world architecture and new world invention.

The immense wall started from the wreckage of other towers knocked down when the bombs fell. Thick, fused, twisted metal, now serving as a buttress for the barrier behind it.

Red brick buildings interrupted the reused rubble between them. Their design absorbed to strengthen and fortify the protective barrier.

More teams of Protectrons, these supervised by people with traces of paint on them, dragged in half tankers on rolling logs. The people connected them to hydraulic driven machinery that tipped the contents into a pile. Ready to be sorted, taken where needed. Including hoisted up sections of scaffolding.

Not one person doing anything more strenuous than fixing a bot or operating machinery with little to no effort. “Impressive ain’t it.” Robco called to him from the cart, beckoning him to join the slow moving queue. “My father helped build it, solid for what must be fifty, sixty, years now.” Once John got closer the older man lowered his voice. “Look I know this is going to be a lot, but you just stay at the back of the cart and look mean.” That wasn’t going to be a problem.