October 23rd, 2077
Before the bombs, I dreamt of much simpler things.
It's ironic, in a way. While we'd been granted a more complex civilization then—stunning technological advancements matched only by the most grandiose of creature comforts—things had been unfathomably humbler. If you'd been hungry, for example, you could easily take a trip to the market, or head down to the nearest greasy spoon. If you'd worked up a sweat on a sweltering July afternoon, you could take a dip in the nearest watering hole, without fear of the sickness. Hell, if you'd wanted to live, period, you'd need not worry that the very Earth itself was trying to poison you.
Simpler, indeed.
At night, I'd dream of comic book heroes, of pretty faces, and clear skies. I'd hear music, back when it was new, back when it wasn't a luxury. I'd dream of a future—successful, exciting, vivid—that had seemed not only a certainty, but my right, as an educated, hard-working citizen of the commonwealth. Dreaming was easy then, when I rarely had to worry what my tomorrows would hold, let alone if they would arrive at all.
The day the bombs fell, I dreamt of the sea. I dreamt of the Cape Cod summers of my youth. Rich, rolling waves crashing along the peninsula; the other children howling with laughter. My twin sister's back, in her brightly patterned one-piece, as she ran boldly, headlong into the tide. And my own hands, carefully tending to the bucket of washed-up sea creatures I'd collected that morning.
Too soon, I woke to the fussing, hungry cries of my eight-month-old niece permeating my bedroom wall, and swore that the next summer, after I'd completed my doctorate, I would take her there, to Cape Cod. Sarah and I could take a long weekend, rent some cheap, kitschy motel room, and take her to the sea for the first time. If her father, Cal, wanted to join us, I wouldn't argue; but as I woke, that deep blue still visible in my sleep-fogged brain, it seemed important that Sarah and I, together, took her there.
That was months away, however, and Kira was clearly hungry now. Not yet fully conscious, I rose unsteadily with a stretch, my upper back popping satisfactorily. I grabbed my glasses from the nightstand and stepped into the hall.
"Sarah?" I called, wondering why she hadn't come to tend to Kira herself. The prefab was small, and from the doorway of my bedroom, I could see our Mister Handy, Codsworth, hovering over the stovetop, one of his mechanical arms tending to the morning's breakfast, while another managed the coffee maker. Across the hall, Sarah's door was open; the room, however was empty, the bed left unmade. I might have dwelled on it longer had Kira's cries not grown suddenly more persistent.
"All right, all right," I assured her, walking into the adjacent nursery. "You sure know how to get my attention, don't you, Monkey?" As I leaned over the crib, her boo-boo lip was in full-swing. It was stunning how short of a time it had taken her to master that one. Even then, I was convinced she was a genius.
Chuckling, I lifted her onto my chest, bouncing her lightly to calm her fussing, while peppering the crown of her head with tiny kisses. I had not borne that child, but she was still my pride and joy. "You're hungry, aren't you? I don't know where Mommy got off to, but Auntie Cosima is going to take care of you."
As I walked her down the hall, I could see Codsworth already preparing a bottle. "Good morning, Miss Cosima," he called, his robotic voice oddly human in his trademark exuberance. "I am warming Miss Kira's bottle as we speak!"
"Thanks, Codsworth." I'd stopped near the kitchen table to reposition Kira on my hip. She had calmed, but was being grumpier than usual. Typically, she was a joy in the mornings—more so than myself, actually. "Where is Sarah?"
"She went for a walk. Mr. Morrison needed to speak with her."
"Oh." That was as much explanation as I needed. Sarah and Cal's relationships had never been steady, but in the past few months, they had really been putting forth a concerted effort to be a "family". This effort had been working, on and off; but a few days before, they'd had another of their explosive spats. I simply assumed they would work through it. Or, at least, I hoped. I quite liked Cal; however, I also knew just how difficult my sister could be.
Between the two of us, Sarah had always been the more spirited, the more fiery. Or, as our parents had said many, many times, more trouble. Growing up, many had misguidedly thought her to be crass, or belligerent. Those many people, however, simply could not see what I saw, which was the depth to which Sarah's love ran. She was a protector. Nothing frightened her more than the thought of any harm coming to her loved ones. It made her want to fight.
It made her enlist in the army, as soon as she was of age. The Resource Wars had been raging for sixteen long years at that point, with the Anchorage Reclamation beginning shortly after our seventeenth birthday. The Chinese invasion of Alaska had hit the States hard, and enlistment propaganda was practically being force-fed to every able-bodied citizen before they'd even finished high school. It was difficult to ignore. Many, like Sarah, had dropped out the day they turned eighteen. Others, like me, had stayed as far away from the war as possible.
I'd never been a fighter—couldn't imagine myself ever being one. Back then, I didn't even know how to properly hold a gun. But back then, I didn't have any need to. The war was raging, yes, but not in my front yard. Not on the campus of Boston College, where I'd gone on to earn my degrees in biology. I could afford to pretend, at that time.
It's truly alarming, just how quickly you can cut your teeth though, when there's no time left for pretending. And on that morning—the morning the bombs fell—my pretending hours—no, my pretending minutes—were numbered.
"She had hoped to be home before Miss Kira woke," Codsworth continued, pouring a cup of coffee for me.
I waved him off. "I'm sure." A Vault-Tec leaflet sitting on the kitchen table had caught my eye. Only a week before, one of the Vault-Tec representatives had come to speak with Sarah. Her military service had guaranteed the three of us refuge in Vault 111, located just up the hill from our home in Sanctuary, not even a quarter mile away. Of course, that refuge would only be necessary if the bombs fell. And at that moment, not an hour before they did, I thought the concept laughable.
Such breakable creatures we are. So impervious we feel. At that hour, the warheads were already pointed, fingers already poised over the detonators. Had you shown me proof, I likely would not have believed it.
"I'm sure she'll be back soon. But I don't think Kira wants to wait."
"Of course not," he bellowed, with a mechanical laugh. "Here you go, Ma'am."
I accepted the cup of coffee Codsworth offered me, thanking him with a nod. I managed to get in a single sip before Kira began grabbing. "Not for you. Yours is next," I promised her, setting my mug down on top of the Vault-Tec leaflet. Thankfully, he handed me the bottle just a moment later. I moved into the living room, settling on the couch as I gave Kira her breakfast.
The television was already on, tuned in to the morning news. Sarah had likely been watching before she'd left. The day's weather report was promising sunshine, blue skies, pleasant autumn temperatures—the perfect October day, one might say. Disinterested, I changed the channel until I found a children's program. Kira was still too young to comprehend, but I thought the added stimulation might calm her further.
"Do you want the paper, Miss?" Codsworth asked, holding up the Boston Bugle sitting on the kitchen island.
"No, thanks," I replied, focused on watching Kira eat. She watched me, too, eyes drooping slightly in satisfaction beneath her long eyelashes. "I already know what's in there—same old stuff." Somber news of "rising tensions" across the globe had plagued the front page for years now. I could only read the same story so many times before its luster began to wear.
"Breakfast will be ready in five minutes."
"That's fine. As long as the queen eats first," I cooed. Kira smiled, as if she could sense my sarcasm. I couldn't help but snort. With a yawn, I tipped the bottle further for her, and allowed my eyes to drift shut.
They snapped open in tandem with the front door. It hit the wall as both Sarah and Cal strode in, eyes wild, mid-conversation.
"… already a go-bag in the bedroom closet."
"I know," Cal said. He didn't glance at me or Kira, sprinting immediately towards the bedroom.
"Welcome, Mum, Mr. Morrison," Codsworth began, ignored.
Before I could get a word in, Sarah turned to me. "Cos, we've got to go."
Sensing her urgency, and feeling immediately frantic myself at the sight of it, I stood, still clutching Kira. "What's going on?"
Sarah looked down at her daughter, then back up at me, a glimmer of fear passing through her eyes before turning abruptly stony with determination. "Turn on the news. I need to grab a few things."
She ran down the hall as quickly as she'd entered, Codsworth flitting about and calling after her. I couldn't hear him. I couldn't hear Sarah and Cal in the bedroom. I was flabbergasted, truly. After a moment's hesitation, I picked up the remote, flipping back to the morning news.
"… Followed by flashes—blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions. We're, uh, trying to get confirmation… we seem to have lost contact with out affiliate stations. We… we do have coming in… that's, uhm, confirmed reports—I repeat—confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania." At this moment, the newscaster broke, head dropping into his hand. "My God," he whispered, the transmission breaking just a second later.
I was too stunned to move, to even think, until Sarah and Cal came roaring back into the living room, mooring me to our crumbling Sanctuary.
"We have to move," she ordered.
Cal came over to retrieve his daughter, "I'll take her. You just take one of these bags and follow Sarah."
Outside, the sirens had started. I could hear them now. Dumbly, all I could think to say was, "But she hasn't finished her bottle yet."
"Cos!" Sarah was out the door already, waving me forward. Cal placed a backpack in my hands, nodding to me reassuringly. I looked back at Codsworth, at the home that we shared.
This is the point when I stopped having choices.
I ran then, because I had to. It was a short jog to vault 111 from our home; however it was made difficult by the number of other bodies we had to contend with. My last true memory of Sanctuary that day is looking over my shoulder, seeing a tank roll up the street as we trampled across the bridge that would lead us out of town.
It was pandemonium at the gates. I stood among the mass—so many voices hollering in fear and anger, the sound of so many sobs piercing my ears. A gunshot rang out as we approached—a soldier attempting to maintain order. We were pushed and we were grabbed. Cal elbowed them roughly, holding Kira tightly to his chest, beneath his jacket.
Sarah took hold of my hand, the same way she would whenever we'd entered crowds as children. "Hold on to me," she said, leaving out the implied, so I don't lose you. I knew what she meant.
I thought we'd be trampled before we made our way past the gate, but we were ushered through almost as soon as Sarah and Cal could show their military IDs. We were meant to be there. Most of the other civilians, I realized, were not. This was merely their last, desperate ditch at safety before the mushroom cloud rose up, the radiation swallowing them whole.
Even as we were guided onto the vault platform, looking out over our corner of the commonwealth from that lofty perch, it still had not dawned on me what was to come. The weatherman had called for blue skies and sunshine, and that is what we'd woken to, as far as the eye could see.
"It's perfect," I whispered, standing there. Beside me, Sarah looked over. She'd been leaning on Cal, checking beneath his coat to see that Kira was all right. She still hadn't let go of my hand.
"What?" she asked. I opened my mouth to answer, but was silenced by the strange, blinding flash of light that consumed the commonwealth.
In the distance, a sickly green-yellow plume belched into the atmosphere. The Earth rumbled.
There were screams. "Get down," Cal shouted, hitting the floor. At a painful pace—seeming too slow for the dust that raced across the ground towards Sanctuary—the platform had begun to lower.
"Cover your head," Sarah instructed, pulling me into a huddle with her and Cal.
As the Vault-Tec doors closed above, I looked up, taking in my last memory of life as I knew it: perfect blue skies, turning orange.
Next came the cryo-pods.
I'm not sure what I'd been expecting. A few days to get acclimated, maybe—a week would have been nice. I assumed we'd be put on ice at some point. All the literature leading up to this day had explained that in the event of a fallout, humans would be unable to return to the surface for at least twenty years. Until that time, the ecosystem would be tremendously fragile, to the point of volatility. Our bodies would be unable to adapt.
There's no way they could've fed us for twenty years. There were just too many mouths. Instead, we would have to sleep.
But I had thought—hoped, in those precious few moments we'd had as they'd corralled us into 111, taking names, issuing our vault suits—that they would at least allow us the time to process what had happened. Many of us, including me, were visibly in shock.
Processing would have to come later, however. It was only a number of hours before we were led to the stasis chambers, and assigned our pods. My family was the last in line, led to the end of the corridor. Sarah was given the end cryo pod, Kira with her; and Cal was given the pod next to them. I was across from Sarah.
As the operator closed my door, and I settled back into the padding of the pod, I could have sobbed. I was stricken with a sudden panic—the weight of potentially years of empty time—a motionless, unconscious void—bearing down upon me. My heart seized, and I lost my breath. I peered through the porthole, glancing at my sister and niece, and opened my mouth, as if they could hear me. As if it mattered.
I wanted to say, "I love you." I wanted to say, "I'll see you soon."
But before I could, Sarah smiled. With the free hand that wasn't holding Kira, she lifted her fingertips lightly to the glass before giving me a thumbs-up.
I laughed, my eyes brimming over with tears. In our childhood, the thumbs-up, though it might seem like such a commonplace gesture, had become something of a joke for us. Our grandfather always told us that, if the bombs dropped, it would be the easiest, most surefire way to tell if you were safe.
As the mushroom cloud rises, you'd extend your arm, squint your eye, and hold up your thumb. If the cloud vanished, you were safe. The distance was too great. The radiation could not reach you. But if the cloud was still visible… well. You'd better run like hell.
As the freeze initiated, I held up my thumb to mirror hers, squinting my eye.
Sarah remained, smiling; and in her arms, Kira had vanished.
Date Unknown
The Hypnic Jerk.
You've probably experienced it. You're half asleep, perhaps even stumbling into the first vestiges of a dream. The world has grown hazy and bright. You're leaving your body.
But something pulls you back, hard.
It's like falling. Your heart stops, body jerking.
Waking up from cryo, the first time, was like that. Probably because I wasn't supposed to wake up at all.
When I first stumbled out of the vault, I told myself that it had been an error in the computer system—some bug in the technology that caused a hiccup in slumber. For a brief moment, the fog lifted. I was jerked back to life, though only partially. Not enough to escape. Not enough to even raise my voice. Just enough to see.
Through the porthole, I watched as Sarah, too, arose from the deep freeze, her eyes drifting lazily open. Beside her, Cal's pod was already empty. Our gazes met for a single second before they entered—a bald, badly scarred man in a leather jacket, followed by three figures dressed head to toe in white, their faces covered. Shouting over his shoulder, he pointed at Sarah's pod.
I noticed the gun in his hand. My barely woken heart stuttered with alarm.
One of the white-clothed figured fiddled with the terminal, and the pod cracked open, like an egg. Out of instinct, Sarah clutched Kira protectively, shrinking away from the others. She was weak, I think. I know I was.
When the man reached for her—for Kira, specifically—we both rebelled. I opened my mouth to shout, but no words came out. I tried lifting my arms, but they were too numb. Sarah kicked, and the man pointed his gun, shouting. He reached for Kira, and Sarah kicked again, prompting the others to crowd in, to pin her back into the pod. With little struggle, they pried Kira from her feeble arms, the man then hitting Sarah in the temple with his gun. Her body slouched.
Finally, I had enough strength in my arms to raise them. Making small, weak fists, I beat against the glass, hollering my garbled protest. The man turned to my pod suddenly, Kira held awkwardly in his arms. There was both curiosity and surprise in his gaze. Our eyes met, and I shouted again, my voice a bit firmer this time. Shaking his head, he barked an order to one of the others.
Rapidly, the fog descended again. That was when my genius, Kira, vanished for the second time.
AN: Hey, all. If you're reading this, thanks! The plot will include canon elements from the game, but will not follow the main story line. I'll try and make sure Fallout specific elements are explained so it's easy to follow even if you haven't played.
Let me know what you think!