REWRITTEN 4/8/19 – please give it another read if you read it before then!
Sirens blared in every hallway, filling the corridors with harsh red light and screeching. Broken glass glittered in the light like fresh snowflakes across the floor, mixed with drops of dark blood that it had drawn from oblivious victims, so eager in their haste that they failed to notice the shattered pieces underfoot. The hissing of steam from a burst pipe combined with the scream of the siren, making it near impossible to hear anything around the corner.
There was a man sprinting down one of the hallways. His feet slipped in the blood that dripped from his lab coat, splattering a trail behind him as he ran. He passed some of his colleagues as he turned down another hallway. One had been dragged halfway into an observation room through the window, shredded body dangling lifelessly. Another was still alive, but the situation had broken him; he crouched on the floor, arms wrapped up around his head, silent tears sliding from wide eyes to join the visceral mess on the floor.
The scientist did not slow down. There was nothing he could do for the others; he just had to run, and then maybe he could make it, maybe he could stop any more of those things from escaping.
There was an animalistic scream ahead. A guttural growling, rising up to a shriek and ending in a crack as its target was inevitably slammed into a wall. His steps faltered, eyes darting wildly around like a cornered beast. But there were no other ways out of Section 6.
He eased his way around the corner and dared a look. One of the creatures was crouched in the hallway ahead, leaned over the still body of Dr. Norman and tearing away generous mouthfuls to swallow whole. The thing was grotesque, with a great lumbering body not unlike a tiger, but devoid of hair besides a few spare clumps along its spine. It had an extra pair of forelegs, and all of its legs were thick and corded with muscle, ending in wicked curving claws. Its head was thick and flattened along the top, making for an efficient battering ram as evidenced by Dr. Norman's caved in chest. Overgrown, rodent-like teeth sliced away at flesh, spilling even more blood across the floor.
God, the horrors that had come to life here. In that singular moment, the scientist came to regret every choice that brought him to this place.
Round black eyes suddenly lifted up to gaze at him. Every muscle in the man's body tensed, ready to flee back the way he had come, if only to give himself a few extra minutes of life. But then a guttural snarl crackled in the hallway behind him, and he twisted his head enough to see one creeping towards him, spindly tail lashing like a slow whip as it closed in.
It was then that he remembered: these ones hunted in packs.
Boots scraped over the cracked pavement of the road as Evelyn trudged into Sanctuary, squinting against the day's bright sunlight to peer ahead at the figures up the street. She could feel sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades and adhering her undershirt to her skin, and she wanted nothing more than a bottle of water to soothe her parched throat. Beside her, Dogmeat trotted along at a leisurely pace, tongue lolling and tail wagging as he caught sight of the settlement's residents. With a lunge, the dog took off towards them in a blur of tan and black, loud barking heralding their arrival to anyone within earshot.
Heads turned their way, and several people broke away from their activities to rush Evelyn, shouts of greeting filling the air. Evelyn forced a weary smile onto her face, waving a hand to return the greeting.
"General, glad to see you back!" Preston was the first person to reach her, rubbing a hand over Dogmeat's head and tousling his ears while he spoke. "We heard you responded to the distress call from Greentop Nursery. Is everything okay?"
Evelyn nodded silently to him, even though she knew the blood spattered on her skin and the dirt smears on her clothing would suggest things were not so okay. "Just some raider trouble. They won't be bothering the nursery again," she said coldly, pushing strands of auburn hair back from her sweaty face. Preston looked like he was about to say something, but she didn't really want to go through a debriefing right now, so she latched onto the grinning ghoul approaching them instead.
"I thought you'd still be in Goodneighbor," Evelyn remarked, accepting a hug from Hancock. She embraced him back with one arm; the other was still clutching her rifle, letting it dangle towards the ground.
"You know me. I don't stay long- just enough to remind them who's still in charge," Hancock winked at her playfully, and Evelyn felt an actual smile tugging at her lips. "Besides, who else would keep this place lively without me here?" Evelyn snorted in amusement at that, the smile spreading across her face.
"Yeah, cause this place is a real graveyard without you around," she retorted sarcastically, shrugging her pack off of her shoulder and letting it slide down her arm so she could wrap her hand around the strap. Exhaustion was starting to hit her all at once now, making her limbs feel heavy and her eyelids droop. She needed to get out of the heat and away from all the eyes on her. "I'm going to head to my room and clean up. See you boys for dinner, alright?"
Evelyn continued up the street, leaving Dogmeat to frolic with the settlers. The dog had a tendency to find her wherever she went; he would wander after her sooner or later. Her eyes peered up at the little house in front of her as she approached it, and she swallowed past the familiar lump in her throat as she trudged up to the front door. Eight months out of the vault, and being back at her pre-war house still made her heart feel heavy. She originally had refused to even return to it, but as Sanctuary grew into a true settlement, the need for more space drove her to give up her old bed and move back here. Home.
Not that it was home anymore. After everything that had happened, this place just felt cold and sad. Sort of how she felt, too.
She eased the front door shut behind her, leaving it open a crack for Dogmeat to nose his way in later. She found her feet carrying her to the one room in the house she still hadn't touched: Shaun's room.
The room was in disarray, paint peeling from the walls and debris littering the floor, but the wooden crib still sat on the other side of the room. Shaun's little mobile still dangled above it, only now it was missing a few of its pieces. Evelyn's hand lingered on the doorframe beside where she stood, chest feeling tight.
The image of Shaun- Father now, apparently- flashed into her mind. It had only been two weeks ago that she had made it to the Institute to discover the truth about what had become of her baby boy. She had avoided Sanctuary since then, not wanting to be anywhere near her house or that awful vault. The first few days had been spent holed up in Diamond City, cycling between tears and anger, before she threw herself into assisting her settlements as a distraction.
Now, she just felt numb.
Abruptly, she shoved herself away from what was left of Shaun's room, instead slipping into the master bedroom that she had rearranged to fit what she liked. And to get rid of the ghost of her old life.
She tugged the door shut behind her until she heard it click, tossing her pack onto the small workbench in the corner where it landed with a metallic clunk. Her eyes fell onto the little rusted mirror she had propped up in the corner of the bench, frowning slightly at herself. Dried blood crusted her skin and clothes in flaking blotches courtesy of the raiders who had got up close and personal with her during the fight this morning. A fresh cut marred her jawbone, stretching up across the lower part of her left cheek. Evelyn winced. She hoped that it wouldn't turn into a scar. After using a damp cloth to clean the wound and peeling off the pieces of leather armor that clung to her body, she turned to study the room.
Kneeling at the trunk in the corner of her room, she plucked a bottle of purified water from the corner where she stashed her rations. The feeling of water wetting her dry mouth and running down her throat was heavenly, and she drank half of the bottle in just a few greedy gulps. She slid down to the ground, leaning her back against the wall with a heavy sigh and running a hand through her filthy hair. Using her bottle, she splashed some water onto a piece of cloth and went to work scrubbing blood and grime from her face, wincing whenever she touched at the wound there.
Today had not gone as planned. Evelyn had been up before the sun and set out for The Slog to help them with their settlement defensive systems. She had been in the middle of greasing up turret pieces when the distress call had come in from Greentop Nursery: raiders were moving in for an attack. So she had thrown her supplies back into her pack and sprinted the entire way there with Dogmeat hot on her heels. The raiders had come in larger numbers than usual, and it had been an effort to take them down. Several had come in for close combat, swinging machetes and crowbars or just opting to throw punches instead. It had been a rough fight, and she knew she would have bruises showing up soon enough. But at least the settlers were safe.
Evelyn dropped the damp cloth in her hand, running hands through her grimy hair with a heavy sigh. She almost wished she had headed to the Prydwen instead of Sanctuary; as much as she wanted to avoid Maxson, she desperately wanted a hot shower right now.
Speaking of things she wanted right now… Her eyes drifted to the trunk pushed up against the wall, still propped open and practically inviting her in. Unable to resist the call, she leaned up and stretched an arm out, feeling around until her fingers brushed glass. She caught ahold of it, tugging a bottle free. She used her teeth to pull the cork out before pushing it against her lips, savoring the cool touch of glass and the taste of whiskey she inhaled. She tilted her head back, letting its sharp touch bite into her throat. She relished it.
It was a bad habit, and she was well aware of it. But drowning her thoughts in a bottle was the only way she could dull the ache of her past. And more often than not, it was the only way she could keep herself asleep through the night.
Hours passed, and Evelyn spent them dumping more whiskey and beer into her system. The sun had mostly set, the last few rays peeking over the horizon to bleed deep oranges and purples across the night sky. Evelyn peered out the window on the other side of her room, grinning sleepily at the sight of the few stars already visible. The alcohol tingled, spreading its warm fingers through her arms and legs, wrapping around her head like a snake. A content sigh slid past her lips, and she let her head roll back against the wall behind her.
She must have dozed off like that, because the next thing she could remember was jolting awake at the sound of footsteps approaching in the hallway. Tired and fuzzy from alcohol, she reacted instinctively, scrambling for her pistol and using the wall to push herself up on unsteady feet.
The door opened gently, and Evelyn felt her tense muscles relax when she recognized MacCready. He paused in the doorway, a bowl of food in one hand, and glanced down at the pistol in her hand for a moment before shooting a questioning look at her.
"Sorry," Evelyn apologized, setting the pistol aside on her workbench. "Force of habit," she did her best not to slur her words. She had probably gone a little overboard on the drinking again. Her eyes dropped to the bowl in his hand, a few wafts of steam drifting up from it. "That for me?"
"Yeah," MacCready said, though he was no longer looking at her, eyes roving around the room to take in the collection of empty bottles she had left in her wake. He fixed a disapproving stare on her. "Looks like you need it, too. You missed dinner."
Evelyn frowned back at him, accepting the bowl he offered. "Sorry. Fell asleep," she said simply, stirring the bent spoon through the stew to watch pieces of vegetables and radstag meat swirl around the bowl instead of meeting his gaze. She already knew that her excessive drinking worried her friends sometimes, but she wasn't quite willing to give it up. Besides, she never drank too much out on the road; she saved it for the days when she was safe inside a settlement and could get herself well and truly inebriated in privacy.
MacCready leaned on the doorframe, tucking his hands into the pockets of his worn duster coat that he insisted on wearing everywhere. "You know, you don't have to stay in this house," he remarked. "We'd all understand if you'd rather trade for another room." He knew her story, of course- and he knew what kind of bad memories this place carried.
She raised her eyes finally, feeling a little relieved that he wasn't going to give her a lecture on her drinking habits like Preston had tried to do a few weeks ago. "This is my house," she shrugged her shoulders, finally scooping a mouthful of stew into her mouth. It wasn't the greatest tasting thing in the world, but it was hot and fresh, so it would do. "I'm still not used to it, that's all. It's got bad memories, but there are good ones here, too. Things I want to remember."
It wasn't a lie. She did want to remember it, even if it hurt her more deeply than any gunshot could. She remembered painting this room, shoulder-to-shoulder with Nate, listening to the radio play while sunlight streamed through the windows to light up their workspace. She remembered sitting in the backyard with a newborn Shaun, feet stretched out in the prickly grass while she sang soft lullabies to her baby and Nate cooked hotdogs on the grill.
She remembered the sirens and the screaming of their neighbors as she clung to Nate's hand and they rushed from the house, stumbling and confused as they ran for the vault on the hill.
"Eve?" She started, glancing back at MacCready again. He was frowning slightly, and it occurred to her that he must have said something to her.
"Sorry," she apologized for the third time that night, blinking the wetness from her eyes. She didn't like crying in front of anyone. She didn't like feeling vulnerable- never again. "Too tired and too much to drink." She forced an apologetic smile on her face.
MacCready grunted in agreement, straightening up. "Well, you ought to finish that bowl then. I'll let the others know you're turning in for the night."
"Thanks, Mac," Evelyn said. "Leave the door cracked for Dogmeat, will you?"
MacCready nodded. "Goodnight, Eve." With that, he vanished from the doorway, and she listened until his steps had retreated through the front door before sitting down heavily on the edge of her bed.
Wetness still pricked at her eyes, and she ran the backs of her hands over them, feeling a spark of frustration in her chest. Tears were useless, and she hated how prone she was to spilling them. Choosing to focus on something else, she spooned more stew into her mouth and kept going until she had almost emptied the bowl. She wasn't particularly hungry, but going to bed on a stomach full of whiskey alone wasn't a good idea.
Finally deciding she ought to get some real sleep, she kicked off her combat boots, slid her flannel and jeans off, and stretched out on her flimsy mattress in nothing more than her undershirt and underwear. It was too hot to wear anything else to bed around here most days.
She was drifting in and out of consciousness when she heard nails clicking on hardwood, and she rolled over to smile at the muzzle nudging the door open. "C'mere, boy," she called softly.
Dogmeat weaseled his way into the room and reached her bed in two bounds, hopping up beside her and immediately flopping onto his belly. Dogmeat was her most loyal friend- and also the best body pillow she could ask for in the wasteland.
Evelyn wrapped her arms around his furry neck and fell asleep.
Evelyn's eyes cracked open slowly, squinting against the milky morning sunlight trickling in through her window. She turned her head slightly and winced immediately at the throbbing headache that greeted her. A consequence of her overindulgence last night. Dogmeat raised his head and spread his jaws in a wide, whiny yawn, blinking at her sleepily.
She pushed herself upright, gritting her teeth against the surge of pain and rubbing crust from her eyes. Deep breaths seemed to help, letting cool, fresh air, rush into her lungs and ease the burn in her head.
And yet, the throbbing was still there. No- not throbbing. Knocking? Someone was at her door. She slid out of her bed, tugging on a loose pair of shorts before padding to the door. She swung it open to behold Preston.
"General!" He straightened up, nodding his head once in greeting, but Evelyn could tell something was wrong by the concerned look on his face. "Sorry to wake you, but we need your help. A guard was killed last night."
It was like a bucket of cold water was dumped over her head. Evelyn was fully awake now, and the pulsing pain in her skull took a backseat to the situation before her. "Who? And what happened?"
Preston's eyes were sad. "It was Mason. And we're not quite sure. Nick's out there looking the scene over right now, but… it's like nothing we've ever seen before, General," he said. There was a hint of nervousness in his voice, and that worried her.
"Give me five minutes, I'll be right there," Evelyn promised. Preston nodded, turning to head back downstairs. Evelyn shut the door, leaning her forehead against it heavily for a moment. Deep breaths.
Was this her fault? Had she been so distracted getting drunk last night that she forgot to look over Sanctuary's defenses? Mason had been young and strong- not much older than her. What had killed him before he could even call the alarm?
A surge of rage suddenly smothered her confusion and grief. What coward dared to creep up on a Minutemen stronghold and take a man's life? There would be hell to pay.
Evelyn passed up the clothes from yesterday, instead rifling through her trunk for a loose shirt to slip on over her tank top and a pair of relatively clean jeans. She would forgo the armor; she didn't usually need it in Sanctuary, though this incident may prove otherwise. Stuffing her feet in her combat boots, she snatched up her pack and rifle lastly before rushing out the door.
She almost toppled over Dogmeat as he rushed out behind her, the throbbing in her head seeming to increase tenfold when she tried to look down. She clenched her jaw and kept moving. Maybe later she would seek out Curie for something to help with her hangover, but there was more important business to tend to now.
Preston hadn't specified where Mason's body was, but it was easy enough to find him. A small crowd lingered nearby, giving a wide berth to what they were looking at. It was just past the bridge into town, but a little further from the road as if Mason had wandered towards the stream… or been dragged.
Evelyn bee-lined towards them, eyes narrowed against the light of the rising sun. When the settlers noticed her, they parted to allow her into the crowd. They all shared the same nervous expressions. Someone in the crowd was weeping loudly, and Evelyn remembered that he'd come to Sanctuary with a girlfriend.
Evelyn walked slowly to the body. Nick was knelt beside Mason, studying his slack face with a deep frown. His yellow eyes slid up to Evelyn as she approached.
Mason had been ripped apart; one look at Evelyn was starting to think this wasn't another human after all. His ribcage had been wrenched apart, his body split open from sternum to lower abdomen, organs either shredded or missing. His lower legs looked like they'd been crushed by a boulder; it was bad enough that couldn't look at them for too long. One of his arms was partially severed, and deep gouges marred the skin around the wound. The other arm was missing several large chunks, as well as the shoulders, neck, and thighs. Surprisingly, his head was mostly unharmed- despite a dent in the back and side, probably from hitting the ground hard. The blood around his body had already begun drying, so she figured he must have been dead an hour at least.
"We should cover him up," Evelyn stated quietly, focusing on Nick instead of the body. It was hard to look at; even for all the gore she had witnessed, seeing one of her own men split open and mangled was difficult. Her stomach was starting to churn again.
"Codsworth is getting a sheet for him," Nick said, rising up to his feet and joining her at her side. He looked down at the body again, sighing and shaking his head. "It must have happened at least a few hours ago. Poor guy."
Evelyn felt her fingers tighten around the handle of her rifle. "Do you know what might have done it? Yao guai? Deathclaw?"
Nick was shaking his head still. "Doesn't fit the style. They don't leave wounds like these- not that I've ever seen." He raised a hand to prop under his chin, tilting his head slightly. "This doesn't look like raider work, either, though."
"And super mutants wouldn't leave a body, either," Evelyn murmured. "But maybe whoever left it is trying to scare us?" She glanced sideways at Nick for his opinion.
"Hmm. It's a possibility," he agreed. "These wounds are consistent with an animal attack, not weapons. The arm is a giveaway," he explained, gesturing to the partially chewed off arm. Evelyn didn't want to look at it for too long.
"Super mutants with mutant hounds, then," she suggested. "Trying to terrorize us?"
"Or something we have yet to encounter," Nick met her eyes, a touch of concern on his synthetic face.
Before she could respond, Codsworth hovered into view between the settlers, clutching a dark blue sheet in one robotic arm. "Ah, good morning, mum!" He said- his usual autopilot greeting. The blank faces that greeted him made him realize his mistake, and he shifted the sheet to another arm, puttering in place. "Terribly sorry, that is, mum. A tragedy," he declared, extending the sheet to her.
Evelyn just nodded, accepting the sheet from him and looking to Nick. "Do you need any more time?"
Nick shook his head. "Go ahead. We can move him to the infirmary's extra room for now. I need to look around the scene some more, though."
Evelyn nodded again, then approached Mason's body, whipping the sheet up in the air so it spread out to encompass him before letting it drift down over top of his prone form. Staring down at the covered body, she felt a thick lump of emotion form in her throat.
Hands laid on her shoulders, and she was gently turned around and pulled up against a warm body. It took her a moment to realize it was Cait, and she wrapped her arms around her briefly and inhaled a shuddering breath, glad for the support. Cait was usually a harsher person, but had a soft spot for Evelyn, and the two got along swimmingly. Cait didn't say anything, but patted her back reassuringly.
"We're gonna find out who did this," a voice spoke furiously behind her, addressing the crowd of uncertain settlers still gathered. Evelyn recognized it as Hancock; he must have come over with Cait. "We got the Commonwealth's best detective and our General here. And in the meantime, we're gonna up the defenses around here." It was a promise. Hancock's voice held none of the usual charm and jest. He was angry.
Murmuring rippled over the small crowd, but the settlers seemed to take the cue and started shuffling off to their own tasks. Only a few remained, including Mason's girlfriend who Evelyn remembered as Sandra. The young woman was on her knees beside the body now, shoulders shaking while she cried, while another young woman knelt beside her and tried to comfort her gently. Evelyn had to look away.
Another gentle hand on her back had her breaking away from Cait to meet Hancock's eyes. Behind him, she could see Preston, MacCready, and Curie all looking on. Hancock put his hand on her shoulder, eyes soft.
"I know you're already beating yourself up about this. Don't," he said sternly. He was starting to know her too well. "We'll figure this out together."
There were nods all around from her friends, and she felt a touch of her grief lift away. "Thanks," she said, glancing sideways at Cait and smiling faintly at her in gratitude as well. Cait grinned broadly for her in return. She took a deep breath. Focus. Center herself. Ignore the headache. "While Nick is looking things over, I want to get started on new defenses. No one is going to feel safe until that happens."
She turned her eyes to Preston. "Think you could get Sturges started on some more turrets? We'll help gather some materials up for him." Preston nodded in affirmation, and she looked to Hancock next. "Since you have experience with security, mind getting a new guard cycle started? No one on guard alone, and they stay within eyesight and earshot of each other at all times."
Hancock dipped his head. "Done."
Finally, Evelyn turned to Curie, tilting her head towards the body behind her. "Think you can set up a spot for him in the infirmary's extra room for now?"
"Of course, mon ami," Curie said, her voice heavy with sadness.
"Thank you all," Evelyn let out a tired breath, managing a grateful smile. Hancock clapped her on the back once more before following Curie and Preston up the street.
Codsworth took the moment of silent to hover up beside Evelyn, looking about as ashamed as a robot could. "I'm so terribly sorry, mum!" He exclaimed. "I was so busy clearing out a room in the old Swanson house, I didn't even realize what had happened until I found the poor gentleman this morning."
Evelyn rested a soothing hand against his cool metal exterior. "It's not your fault, Codsworth." It's mine. "I don't think this was a normal attack."
"Nope," Cait agreed, crossing her arms. "I've never seen a body so rip-"
Evelyn shushed her with a hiss, tossing a look back at the mourning settles not far behind them. "Let's leave them to their grieving," she said quietly, heading up the street in the direction of the main buildings. Cait and MacCready fell into step after her, but Codsworth just floated off in Nick's direction instead, probably to offer his assistance as he so often did.
Her headache was subsiding somewhat, at least, but it still sent throbs of pain through her head. Evelyn led the way to the building that served as Sanctuary's excuse for a mess hall, situated on a cleared foundation beside the barracks. There were many settlers clustered inside already for breakfast hour, but the usual chatter was hushed today.
Evelyn gathered up some of the available food, piling it onto a plate and selecting a bottle of purified water before easing down onto an empty bench. Cait slid in a moment later on her left, and MacCready on her right. Her eyes slid sideways to MacCready, watching him from her peripherals. He had been strangely silent all morning; had seeing the body really gotten to him so much?
She stabbed some of her melon with a fork, nibbling at it slowly while she waited to see if her stomach would accept food or not. When it didn't immediately flip over at the introduction of melon, she shoveled some more in.
She was going to figure this out. Hancock was right: Nick was the best detective in the Commonwealth. And she was the General of the Minutemen. She wasn't going to let anyone get away with murdering her men, whether it be man, beast, or something in between.
And so, talking quietly with MacCready and Cait during breakfast, it was decided: they were going hunting.
Author's note: Here we go with a new story! I have big plans for this one, and I'm very excited to be sharing it. Please excuse me if I'm still a little rusty; it's been awhile since I've written much, and this is my first time writing for Fallout.
