My pet project. While reading the Fallout Wiki, I had an interesting idea. If the Vaults are social experiments, why not build one of my own, give them a situation, and watch the chaos unfold? It's rather similar to Stephen King's Under the Dome. So we'll see what happens to the oblivious residents who have absolutely no idea they're being experimented on.
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Vault 5.
Chapter 1: The Door
When the door of Vault 5 closed for real, it made a sound eerily similar to a human scream.
For a few long, agonizing minutes after the four-foot steel door slid into place, that screech was the only thing Clarissa Forrest could hear. It echoed in the aching caverns of her panic-stricken brain. Blood pulsed and pounded in her ears, an added percussion to the symphony of racket around her. It was so long and so loud, Clarissa wondered if the entire world hadn't been consumed by noise as well as nuclear fire. She clutched her two small children to her ample chest, conscious of their struggles to escape her suffocating embrace. Despite the passion with which they fought, she could not hear their cries.
Oh my God, have I gone deaf?
Did nuclear explosions cause deafness? Clarissa wasn't sure. She vowed to ask the physicians in the Vault clinic at the first opportunity. First, though, she had to get up off the floor. It was a very cold, plain floor, metal panels over solid concrete blocks. She remembered the young tour guide telling the excited crowd all the fascinating, important facts about Vault 5 as they stood eagerly in the entry hall, gawking at the futuristic new amenities Vault-Tec had provided.
Was that Independence Day? The Vault Tour?
Independence Day it had been, July 4th of 2077, the day of red-white-and-blue striped bunting that decorated the various chambers within the newly-completed Vault 5, open to the public on a day of celebration in the name of the American Spirit. American flags had been hung everywhere: in front of the Overseer's door, in the windows of the living quarters, the railings overlooking the Atrium. The floor, the tour guide had said, was scratch-proof, unbreakable, easy to clean, and extremely thick. It would block out even the strongest gamma radiation. He had repeatedly stressed the safety of this entire "facility."
Facility. What a depressing word for Clarissa's new home.
The shriek in her ears was not receding. She opened her eyes, face-to-face with the bluish metal floor plates. She blinked and turned her head. Pulsing yellow lights played along the surface of the floor and walls. The warning lights that signaled the blast door closing. They threw amber shadows along the room, illuminating the terrified faces of other citizens. Clarissa's new neighbors. They stood up shakily, some holding hands, others openly weeping, still others on their knees in prayer. There was no other light in the windowless hall. Odd, since the Simu-Sun lamps should have activated by now.
Now Clarissa could hear other sounds: the pulsating alarms that accompanied the yellow warning lights, the thudding of the final locks clicking into place, the hissing of pneumatic pumps. The people were mostly inaudible, except for their terrified breathing and occasional murmurs as they helped one another to their feet. But the screams continued. Where were they coming from?
"Mama," said a muffled voice underneath her, "you're crushing me."
Clarissa raised her body with arms that trembled, revealing the two squashed children lying beneath her. The boy, her son Jacob, sat up eagerly, turning his head in every direction to look at his surroundings with an enthusiasm typical for a boy of seven. His sister remained lying on the floor, arms crossed over her chest, staring at Clarissa with curiously solemn green eyes. Angelique was ten, but sometimes she acted much older. She was a mature, intelligent little girl, yet seemed somehow fragile, as if the price for that intellect was her health and confidence.
"Where's Dad?" she asked quietly. Clarissa had to strain to hear her.
She hesitated, the first tendrils of unease sinking into her belly. "He was right behind me . . . ."
A hand touched her shoulder. She whipped around, and when she caught sight of the person behind her, she felt all the dread leave her as swiftly as a light flashing off. Though there was a light coat of dirt on her husband's face, and a long cut that extended from the corner of his mouth to his temple, he was undeniably alive and safe from the horror outside Vault 5. He smiled and kissed her deeply, pulling her off the floor. Clarissa threw her arms around Jon, her grip not that of a loving wife but one of a drowning woman clinging to a life-preserver. Thank God Jon was strong.
A family. Jonathan, Clarissa, Jacob, and Angelique Forrest. A whole family together in a Vault.
Mere seconds later, two things happened simultaneously: the alarms shut off and the Simu-Sun lights turned on, flooding the room with dim white light. Clarissa peeked over her husband's shoulder at the blast door. It was closed securely, which was a relief. As Clarissa stared at the gate that now separated her from the life she'd known for over thirty years, she beheld the source of the screams.
A young girl knelt by the door, beating tiny fists upon its solid metal surface. Oblivious to all the people now staring at her with a combination of bemusement, pity, and annoyance, she wailed her grief to the unforgiving steel sentinel and wept as if she would never stop.
"Shut that kid up!" someone in the crowd barked.
A man, tall and heavyset, stomped through the sea of milling people. "What the hell are you crying about?!" he bellowed. He leaned over and seized one of her wrists. The child jerked back with a yelp, her hair whipping around her in a cloud. The man shook her vigorously. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he bellowed into her face. Spittle sprayed the poor girl's upturned, tearstained face. "Shut up, brat!"
"Stop it!" cried Clarissa, incensed. Jon's hand crept into hers, a comfort and a warning, but she ignored him. Her patience was endless, but her temper, when roused, could not be matched. She pulled away from Jon and marched through the staring throng. She didn't care that her snotty neighbor, Janet McBride, watched with smug disapproval. For a big man like that to grab a young girl in such a manner was intolerable. She walked straight up to the subject of her anger with her head held high. "Stop that!" she repeated, her furious blue eyes meeting the man's angry, muddy brown ones. "Don't grab her like that. How dare you?!"
Swiftly, the man released the girl. She threw herself to the floor, covering her face with her arms, her cries not in the least bit subsided. The man swore under his breath. "Shut her up if she's your kid," he grumbled. He shoved his hands in his pockets.
"She's not my child, but I have decency," Clarissa retorted. She knelt beside the girl, oblivious to the stares. Gently, she put her hand on the back of the girl's head. "Sweetheart?"
"Father," the girl sobbed, "oh God, whuh-why-uh?! He wa-was right b-b-b-behind m-me!"
"Your daddy was supposed to be here?" Clarissa's voice was calm, but inside, her heart hurt. She took the girl's head into her lap, letting her sob into the soft blue material of Clarissa's new dress. For every family that had arrived here intact, she supposed there were at least two or three that were incomplete, missing fathers and sons, mothers and daughters. Not everyone was as lucky as the Forrests. She stroked the girl's hair with a hand that trembled.
"He w-was th-there," said the girl, "I w-w-was holding his hand, and someb-body p-p-pushed me and—" here she could continue no longer. She broke down into piteous sobs. Clarissa stroked her hair until she quieted. There was a murmur of disapproval in the audience. They seemed to have forgotten entirely about the war going on outside, the technicians awaiting them in the depths of the Vault. They were transfixed by the salacious drama in front of them, even if it was born from the misery of a small girl. Clarissa felt an uncharacteristic surge of hatred for them.
"Where's your mama?" she asked. "Is she here?"
"M-mother left. I-I lived with Father. H-he's all I h-h- have."
Clarissa hesitated. "Sweetheart, what's your name?"
The girl took a moment to compose herself. Slowly her crying died off, leaving only the occasional sniffle. "Antoinette Roux. My f-father is Gérard."
"Sweetie, do you have anyone here to live with?"
"No . . . ."
"Would you like to live with us?"
The girl raised her head, revealing her thin, pale face. Her icy-blue eyes swam with tears. They seemed to sparkle in the overhead lights. "What?"
"You can't live alone in the Vault," Clarissa told her. "I know you're hurting, dear, but you need to think of the future."
"There is no future." Antoinette closed her eyes and sighed. "Without Father there's nothing."
"You can live with us!" piped up Jacob. Clarissa glanced over at him. He was standing with Jonathan, holding his hand. He released Jon's hand and stepped lithely through the cluster of tightly packed bodies. Apprehensive, Clarissa watched him approach. Jacob was a sweet boy, but sometimes he could be a little thoughtless. A display of enthusiasm from him could hurt Antoinette's feelings. She had, after all, just lost her father. But he surprised his mother by kneeling down beside them and adding, "I'll take care of you!"
Antoinette gave him a watery smile. "Cherie, you are too kind . . . ."
"Everybody needs somebody," Jacob said. "We'll be your somebodies!" He offered his hand. The girl took it and stood up, demurely smoothing down her skirt. Clarissa stood too, and put an arm around Antoinette's shoulders. Clarissa caught Jon's eye. He beamed and nodded, just once. She could feel the pride and love emanating from him in waves.
The door into the main entry hall opened. The crowd turned as one, surprised by the sudden hissing of pumps. Standing in front of the door was the Overseer, Jeremiah Leaf, a tall man whose first iron-gray hairs popped up twenty years too early. "There you all are!" he exclaimed. "Everyone else is getting their rooming assignments! Why are you still here?"
The crowd shuffled and muttered. The reality of the situation came down upon them simultaneously. There was a war going on outside, and the Vault was their safehouse, not their stage. Now that the spectacle was over, it was time to get down to business. They began to form lines into the Vault proper, ready to begin their new lives as citizens of Vault-Tec. Antoinette joined the line with the Forrest family. Introductions passed between the girl and the other family members. She held Jacob's hand tightly as the line crawled through the door to the check-in desk.
Antoinette was fourteen. She had lived with her father in a little house outside the city. Gérard Roux worked for RobCo. He'd seen the news reports of the first bombs being dropped on Washington DC and awakened his sleeping daughter. They were out of the house with a few meager belongings before the Vault 5 sirens began to warble, some of the first citizens in line. However, when the bombs began to fall closer to their coast, the others panicked. They stampeded over Gérard and Antoinette, separating the two. Antoinette had been swept into the Vault, but Gérard, stunned by a blow to the head, had not been able to limp to the door before it closed. The last thing Antoinette had seen of the outside world was her father's tormented face.
The check-in desk was manned by a Robobrain. It chirped their names in a monotone voice and issued Vault 5 jumpsuits. The citizens took the folded bundles with dubious expressions. One by one they dispersed into the depths of the Vault to begin their new lives.
The underground city didn't seem so cold and desolate anymore. There were people everywhere: living, breathing Americans, filling the Vault like heat filling a room, warming the barren location. Though Clarissa felt a pang of sadness for the friends she'd left behind, she knew that a place in this Vault was better than dying in fire and agony. Most of the people she cherished had been accepted into various Vault-Tec facilities across the country. The company had provided them a future while the rest of the world burned.
The Forrest family reached the front of the queue. "Name?" the Robobrain said.
"Forrest," said Jonathan clearly. "Jonathan, Jacob, Angelique, Clarissa."
"Welcome to Vault 5, resident!" it declared. Four blue jumpsuits with a vivid yellow 5 emblazoned on the backs popped out of a chute built into the table. "Please re-dress in your Vault-Tec issued Vault suit before proceeding. Once dressed, please proceed down the stairs to the main floor so that you may enter your assigned housing facility."
Temporary changing booths had been set up in the corner. The family quickly dressed and re-emerged in their Vault suits. Jacob tugged at the tough fabric with a look of distaste. The suits were rather tight.
Antoinette stood waiting with an armful of clothes. Clarissa immediately knew there was something wrong. The girl was biting her lip and blinking hard, trying hard not to cry. Clarissa put a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong, honey?" she asked. She kept her voice low so no one else could hear.
"They gave me my father's suit," said Antoinette quietly.
Clarissa hesitated. "I'll take it." She reached for the clothing.
Antoinette shook her head. "It's . . . I can take it."
Brave girl, Clarissa thought with approval. She patted her shoulder. "Let's go talk to the Overseer about you living with us, hmm? We'll take good care of you."
A scuffle behind them interrupted the conversation. Clarissa turned around to see the source of the chaos. The Robobrain was flailing its long appendages, chanting "Name, please," over and over. Jeremiah Leaf and another man, a security guard, were wrestling with a younger boy, probably about sixteen, much to the alarm of those at the front of the check-in line. The boy was shouting and swearing even as he struggled to break free. Jeremiah and the other man attempted to pull him away from the front desk without much success.
"What's going on?!" Clarissa cried. Behind her, Jon groaned and rolled his eyes.
"Come on, Clare, you've already adopted one helpless orphan . . . ."
Thankfully, Antoinette did not hear him.
Clarissa stood before the tussling group. She planted her hands on her admirably slender hips. "What is this?!" she demanded, adopting a stern tone she usually reserved for her children. "Let go of him this instant!"
"This boy snuck into the Vault!" declared Jeremiah. He gave the boy's arm a particularly vicious tug. Knocked off his feet, the kid went sprawling. He landed near Antoinette, who squeaked in alarm and took a tiny step back. He attempted to stand; Antoinette, blushing, helped him up. They stood, not quite huddled together, and watched Clarissa deal with yet another Vault dispute.
"So what do you think you're going to do with him?" Clarissa demanded, staring directly into Jeremiah's bright, angry eyes. Her boldness perplexed him. "Throw him out? You can't open the door! It's suicide!"
"Well he can't live here," said Jeremiah. The patience in his tone infuriated Clarissa. He sounded like an absentminded father acknowledging his young daughter's trivial accomplishment. He was barely five years older than her, an Overseer for only an hour, but already acted like a king in his domain.
"Why not?" demanded Clarissa. "He's an American, not a criminal! He's just a boy! His very life is a gift! After so many have died, who cares whether he paid his way or not? Everybody who cares is just ash now! We've no right to persecute him for saving himself!"
"Clare," Jon said, keeping his voice low, "stop, hush . . . ."
Jeremiah scowled, his face a thundercloud. He drew himself up importantly. "Then you take care of him, Mrs. Forrest! And if he makes a single whit of trouble, he'll be occupying a cell for the rest of his life!"
The Overseer and his guard stomped off together, drawing stares from the line. A dramatic exit, true, yet somehow a dignified exit. They may have been beaten by a housewife, but Jeremiah's dire warning about the boy's behavior would stick. He guaranteed cooperation among the citizens for a while. Clarissa wondered vaguely if she had just made an enemy out of him. Dismissing the idea for a later time, she turned around, a headache beginning to throb in her temples. She hadn't even been in Vault 5 for an hour . . . .
Sighing, she looked her new charge up and down with a critical eye. He was tall and skinny, all arms and legs. He wore a strange assortment of clothes: a pair of dark jeans, motorcycle boots, a clean white tee-shirt, a black leather jacket. She supposed he was trying for the Rebel Without a Cause, James Dean look, but his black hair was too long to pull it off.
"What's your name?" she asked him, trying to keep exasperation out of her tone.
"Maxwell." The boy's voice was almost too light for a boy's. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. Antoinette put a hand on his arm. He looked over at her, tried to smile, and then turned his gaze to the floor. "Maxwell Gibson."
Clarissa sighed. "Well, Max, let's go see where we're going to be living from now on."
The Forrest family, plus two, walked through the Vault to the housing facilities, the new youngsters trailing behind. Jeremiah Leaf reassigned the Roux living quarters beside the Forrests'. They had a larger, two-bedroom home with a living room, computer room, and full bathroom. The Roux dwelling consisted of two beds, a sanitary annex, and a tiny living room.
Angelique and Jacob were agreeable enough about having to share a bedroom. Though it was small, there was plenty of space for two young children and the belongings they had salvaged from home. Antoinette and Maxwell shared the bedroom in the Roux residence. When Clarissa took the girl aside and asked if it was okay, Antoinette nodded. She could take care of herself, she assured the older woman. Clarissa trusted her.
Maxwell proved to be a soft-spoken individual, patient with Jacob's avid questions and the curious, sometimes heated, stares of other Vault dwellers. He helped Clarissa make the beds and stock the dressers when a Mister Handy came by with a week's supply of laundry.
Jon and Clarissa both received their job specifics from the Overseer. He was to be a lab assistant attached to the Vault Master Project. The scientists on his floor would develop new vaccines for the post-apocalyptic world. These vaccines would do everything from resist radiation to stimulate the immune system. She was to be a Vault hairdresser.
Most of the people Maxwell's age had already received their jobs assignments, but a few had missed the aptitude testing day. A class set up two weeks in the future would prepare the eligible residents to take their G.O.A.T. exams.
After settling in and unpacking, the family went down to the Common Room to wait in line for Pip-Boys. Jacob was extremely jealous; he wouldn't obtain a Pip-Boy for another two years. Clarissa received the clunky thing with some doubt, but Jonathan loved his. It fascinated him. The STORAGE function could hold up to 300GB of physical objects, converted into data, in something Vault-Tec called "digital stasis." There was a radio to pick up Vault 5 announcements, a holodisk/music player, a map, a locator, and a self-diagnostics program.
The day ended on a much more peaceful note. Safe from radiation and death, the residents of Vault 5 settled down to their night meal, thanking God for each other, for Vault-Tec, and for their two new family members.
The Forrests had plenty of reasons to be grateful, but they settled into their beds unaware of the greatest one, something kept secret from everyone except Jeremiah Leaf. The Overseer was cursed with the knowledge Vault-Tec provided along with its blast doors, jumpsuits, and housing facilities; a certain document on the Overseer's password-protected terminal.
Jeremiah knew the testing had not yet started on the citizens of Vault 5. It would begin in the morning, when the first scientists activated their terminals and began their work.
Not my best work, but a beginning. I'll redo this probably. I just wanted the idea out there to see if anybody was interested.
Review and leave some constructive criticism please.