Chapter 35 “Twelve hundred and thirty eight.” “Clear.” John landed at the back of the house he’d entered when he first left the Vault and made a sweep. Robco still looked queasy. John took point up the hill that felt difficult to walk down once, and to his relief found the Vault door open. “Rick, this is my friend William Robertson.” John stood back and let Rick meet a man of similar age that he’d been taught didn’t exist. “Rick, glad to meet you.” Robco smiled and shook the pale hand. “Follow me.” Rick turned and led them in. The front freight elevator seemed to take a long time, made longer by the silence. A wall of noise greeted them as hundreds worked in the stockroom so big you couldn’t see one end from the other. Sparks burst and fell like rain high above as Rick shouted over the din. “We moved the stock to level six. Gonna melt the shelving down and retrofit residences. Big ones.” John felt a familiar rumble beneath his feet as a ten foot constructor frame lumbered past. Its massive arms heaving wall sections with windows. “How many are here?” Robco asked in the quiet of the lift to level two. “Three thousand four hundred and nine.” Rick knew the number without looking at his pipboy. Robco gave John a nod on hearing that number, a good sign, but John knew better. “How many want to leave?” “Twelve hundred and thirty eight.” Rick knew that number without looking it up too. John wondered which one included Rick. “Level two, family deck.” Rick opened the lift doors and walked ahead. “We’ve disbanded Vault Sec.” John knew then and there that Rosie made the right call in putting Rick in charge. “We've got block leaders now, they report to floor bosses. Everyone is just kind of getting on with things.” John heard children laughing and caught a glimpse of small blue shapes running in a corridor. If you went to level two with Vault Sec, you usually went to the med deck next. People were milling around the former med deck, now turned into a large cafeteria. Plastic tables and chairs, steaming trays of food being wheeled round. “We’ve split the med deck between three and five. We can come back later.” Rick didn’t like the look of all those straining faces at the windows. Neither did John. “We’re running the fabrication deck in six hour shifts.” Rick went back to shouting as silver clad vault dwellers turned valves and unleashed slow streams of molten steel. They hurled hot square blocks along rollers with well practised swings of tongs, straight into the hydraulic presses. John felt himself start to sweat and it only got worse as he caught a whiff of organic recyc in the corridor. “Who’s working in there?” John asked without looking back. “In the riot…some people took the opportunity to settle old scores.” John knew what Rick meant. In the close confines and long hours, grudges would fester like open wounds. “Well now, folks do rash things.” Robco tried to hint at something and Rick shut him down. “Moving on.” The hydroponics bays sweltered like the food in the steam trays. John wanted to take off his coat, but he didn’t think Rick had noticed the carbine yet. “We’ve got apples, potatoes, carrots, I’ll have a sample for you to take. Heated from the steelworks we can grow pretty much enough to feed everyone.” “No protein bars?” John asked, feeling the opaque, gelatinous block slide down his throat, and being grateful for it. Now it made him sick. “Not with this. There’s also enough dehydrated food to last a decade.” John saw the same reaction he had on Rick’s face. He’d lived off those protein bars on level six too. “Most of the old rec deck went to residential, no one lives down here now.” John expected the narrow, dull, oppressively low ceilings, instead the door opened into sound and activity. People worked on removing the walls and floor panelling, coating the stone beneath in clear resin. Others worked at chipping away the stone itself, turning tight four way junctions into open spaces. Beyond the workers half a dozen five a side pitches had been formed from mesh, all of them in use. “I’ll wait here.” Rick pressed the button for the lift to level six, and went no further. John felt his pulse race and his hand slip to the pistol as the lift stopped. The fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed as he shoved the stiff gate open. “We don’t have to go no further son.” Robco picked up on John's tension. “No, I want, I need you to understand.” John pressed on despite his shame. Two lefts and a right brought John to his cell. It was smaller than the bathroom in his new house. He stepped in and found the stone blocks his father carved for him, still in the box his pipboy came in at the bottom of his locker. Robco watched from the doorway, unable to fit inside at the same time. John left for the last time, as he stepped out Robco stepped in. “I want to try and understand. Shut the door.” John did as Robco asked, appreciating the gesture even as he saw the futility of it. He turned and walked the narrow corridor, as he had done like a twice dead ghoul for years. The red green light that once governed his movement flicked to red on automatic and John stopped in his tracks. He shut his eyes tight, fighting his first impulse but following his second. John attached the suppressor to his rose carved pistol and shot the red light dead centre. “I’m alright.” John shouted as the crack from the shot brought Robco to him. He saw the light and worked it out. “It was this or the carbine.” John sat in the new cafeteria, drawing stares as he ate the steamed carrots and baked potatoes that were actually pretty good. Robco smiled and nodded at the gawkers, some even introduced themselves. “So, here’s my idea. I scouted a place. Hidden, clean water, good soil, but…” John trailed off as he tried to explain something he’d never experienced. “Up top,” Robco pushed past the over simplification. “We can’t grow year round. This year’s harvest is ready to take in and there won’t be another one for three months. Winter.” “It gets cold for a few months.” John clarified. “In that time I can set something up. I’ll take a few at a time, give them a week or two in a safe place, then move them on. I know a woman who helps people like us.” “Like us?” Rick asked. “People who lived without freedom. Believe it or not there’s some folk who’d call you lucky.” Robco tried to explain, however much the Vault had changed for the better, and it had, true freedom couldn't be explained. “Which leads me to security.” Robco took off his pack, unfurled the drawing he did at John's instruction, and laid his new looking assault rifle on the table. “This,” John pointed to the drawing as Rick seemed more curious about the paper. “Is what I need you to build outside the door.” John walked Rick through carving tunnels with firing positions, and a stairway up to the top of the ridge the Vault door sat under. “Use the scree to wall up the cave. Anytime that door is open you post two men outside, and two inside. Carrying one of these.” John pushed the assault rifle in front of Rick. He had an idea but didn’t understand. John had taken it for a Chinese assault rifle, like his. Same calibre, same curved magazine, only simpler, shorter and without wooded grips. “Only people you trust Rick. I’ll show you why before I leave. I’m also going to need a full inventory, and time on the fabrication floor.” “See, Rick, up top everything has to be bought.” Robco took a cap from pocket as if that would help. “Anything you make saves us money. That steelworks you got can handle just about anything I reckon.” John took an old three fifty seven revolver, a forty five automatic like his, and a combat knife. “Everyone who wants to leave will need one of these. If you can make them here we can spend money on other things.” John stripped the pistols slowly, letting Rick examine each part. “I reckon we could do that, but I’m not handing out weapons.” John liked Rick's answer “They need them, and they need to be able to trust their life to it. Besides, it's not the guns that kill Rick.” John ejected rounds from the mags and stood them on end. “It’s the bullets, and we’re not giving them to anyone but you.” John saw he handed Rick another burden, and he hadn’t even shot a gun yet. “What do you need Rick?” John sat back as Robco took notes. Rick rubbed his tired eyes. “I need to give people a future.” John hadn’t noticed till now that all the posters that lied about building a future had gone. No announcements on the hour every hour. He saw that eyes lingered on the lighter squares left on the walls. “We can do that.” John thought about what he’d seen, Shadowtown, Farmborough. “Plumbing and electrical is pretty standard. Lot of repair work. It’s not easy Rick, but once people start living out there word will spread.” “And those that want to stay?” John still couldn’t tell whether that included Rick or not. “Let them.” John knew he couldn’t force anyone to stay or go. All except one person. “The work you’re doing is incredible Rick. The stockroom alone is going to change everything. We can at least trade the steel if nothing else, get you whatever we can.” John sat back and let Rick think. “Ladies, gentlemen.” Robco stood and spoke loudly. “My name is William Robertson the third. My father’s father survived The Great War, underground like you. But since then we live outside, what do you want to know?” Murmurs rippled through the cafeteria as everyone stopped. No one said anything, until a young voice carried through the silence. “Are there trees outside?” “More than you can count, my house is made from them. Next?” “What do you eat?” Another voice asked. “What we grow, although not as well as you. We raise animals for meat.” “Is it safe?” A young woman stood at a nearby table, six months pregnant at least, equal parts hope and fear in her eyes. “May I have the honour of your name miss?” “Janey.” John didn’t recognise her till that moment. The girl Rosie punched for jumping in his lap. “Well Janey, there are dangerous places and people. Most live quiet lives in well guarded towns. My only son lost his life to a violent man. But if I faced the choice you do, knowing what I know, I’d leave this place and never look back.” John saw the pain in Robco’s face, mixed with conviction. “I’ve been out there for three months.” John hated being the focus of those sad eyes and pallid faces, yet who else could speak to these people. “I’ve seen it at its worst, and it’s bad. Right now the only person I love is out there, somewhere. And I’d rather have her at risk out there than safe in here.” It hurt to think of Rosie, although the thought of her down here, where he left her, felt tangibly worse. A realisation that came three months too late. John and Robco answered questions for next hour, being honest. On the way up he wondered how that may change numbers. John took a deep breath of fresh air. He kept by Rick’s side as they descended, offering a steady arm where needed. “Wait here.” John drew his carbine and made a sweep, leaving Robco to explain the Vertibird. “You ready?” John asked as he loaded an assault rifle from the bag. Rick clasped his hands to his ears as John let rip a full magazine. “Fuck that’s loud.” Rick took the rifle for himself, he didn’t look pleased about it. A good sign, John thought, and not for the first time. John carried the bag back up, the ripping gunfire hadn’t helped Rick’s balance. “We’ll get you more samples of things to try and make. Take this too.” John handed over the holotape filled with digital books. “What’s it like?” Rick asked, peering round John and out of the cave. “I’d trade my worst day out here for my best day down there.” John saw Rick change his mind, although he still didn’t know which way. “Listen, in the stockroom, did you find any more of these pipboys?” John tapped his arm through the leather and mail. “No, but we didn’t open most of it, just scanned it.” “Is there anything about other Vaults in the Overseer’s files?” John tried to sound clear and calm. “I’ll check.” Rick seemed too busy to consider the impact of the question. He looked more like he added another task to his ever increasing list. “I’ll be back in a week, we’ll rig an emergency contact protocol, get more books.” John covered things already decided, not wanting to hear the words he had to say. “Listen Rick, I don’t know what my friend Dutch wants to do...but he stays. If he asks why, tell to wait for me.” John wanted to throw up. “Till then I’ve given him something to do.” “He told me. We’ll have it up by morning.” John’s stomach settled as he landed back in the Rest. He walked into his new home, finding the fire burning in the hearth, sweet scents and conversation in the air. John hung his coat and guns on the hooks by the door, clearing the folding holdout pistol from the small of his back and handing it to Robco. On the wall by the hook, glass rectangles caught his eye. As he stepped close to block the light bulb’s glare, he saw the drawings Wallace had done for his coat. A person outline repeated three times with different variations. To the right were crude doodles John remembered doing the first time he held a pencil. His name and age written in childlike strokes. It made him smile to think of that night. “Apple pie.” Louisa shouted from the dining table. “The smell. It’s almost done.” He couldn’t remember anything ever smelling that sweet. John, this is Anne.” A small woman with greying hair and glasses over hazel eyes turned and waved. “She brought you some books, and we left the shelf for you to put up.” “Thank you.” John didn’t know if they were joking, but he wanted to put up the shelves. “My dad hand picked them for you, before he…” Anne trailed off, not entirely out of sadness. “He said they were a good start.” “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know him. Thank you.” John stood by the fire, letting the sound and warmth push cold walls and metallic echoes away. “How was it?” Louisa asked both of them. John answered first. “Better.” John watched Robco’s shock and pity transfer to Louisa's face. John stayed quiet. He used a small spoon to eat the single apple, peeled and kept whole, baked to a soft sweetness in a teacup lined with pastry. Robco answering the questions helped John understand things he couldn’t. Louisa would frequently grab his arm as he ate, even at things he didn’t find shocking. “So what do you think?” John asked through a sad hush. Robco scrawled a note and passed it to John. “That’s what it costs to feed thirty people.” “A month?” John asked, not wanting the reply. “A week.” Robco poured him another whiskey as John found a new level of respect for the work put into the Rest. “Now we can supplement that with food from the, that place, but they need to eat real food too. Then there’s clothing, gear, ammo, and those are just the running costs. Got to build the damn place first. Although, from what I can tell, you’ve got that covered. The only way this works is keeping the flow of people moving.” “I’ll need to find a courier. Reach out to Beverly and Sara.” John walked round the crates, finding the history book for the code. “You need to see this Beverly in person.” Robco threw back his drink. “Maybe let her see that place.” “I’ll set it up, three hour flight time though.” John heard the laughs and then understood why. “Take more than three days on foot.” Robco shook his head. “And five days in the truck!” Louisa joked to lighten the mood. “The spare room at ours is made up if you want.” Louisa smiled, waiting for John’s answer. “No, thanks.” John wanted to wake up in his own home, even If Rosie wasn’t here for the first night like he’d imagined.