Disclaimer

I claim no rights to these characters, I am just sharing a beloved story, albeit modified, that I think makes a great cross-over to the Fallout fiction world.

A Fallout Christmas Story

This was it, my new home. Grey metal and concrete walls, a communal room with my kid brother Randy. It's 2077 and they still can't give a kid his own room? And the TV; what was this drivel? The latest in Radiation King TV's and all they can come up with for programming is Mr Handy commercials and public service ads on being a good vault citizen? Where was Red Rider, and Black Bart? There weren't even reruns, let-alone new broadcasts of Little Orphan Annie's mystery show on the intercom. Not that I missed it or anything after the whole commercial brain-washing scheme with the secret decoder ring; "Secret decoder ring; Ha!" I'll bet there were plenty of chumps who bought that one...couldn't be just me.

Then there was the whole being squeezed in here with people you didn't want to know. I mean it wasn't like the Bumpkus's were living down the hall with all their smelly, howlling hounds or anything; but jeez, there was no getting away from anyone in this subterranean Alcatraz. A guy couldn't fart without it hitting the grapevine and making you Public Enemy number 1. When that vault door slammed shut with a steelie clap, in one-fell-swoop, it sealed all the good stuff out and all the bad stuff in. I mean come on, how did Scut Farkus make the list? How did Life Buoy soap get a contract with Vault-Tec? It was all some grand conspiracy to keep me alive and tortured for eternity!

It had been six months since the vault door shut out the events that led up to that fateful night; the ranting politicians, the nervous news anchor reporting of escalating tensions. That's about all I heard before Mom hustled me out of the room, but I could still hear the report through my bedroom floor vent. He went on about reports in Alaska and the Chinese.

The old man yelled, "Fratten stickle fifer damn Commies!"

Mom whispered in abject horror, "'Oh Honey, are those starving people in China coming over here?'"

It was two days later that the Vault-Tec letter arrived by special courier. The old Man had won another contest, but this was the big granddaddy of all contests; to see who was chosen to survive the cruel realities of the Atomic age. In no time a bus had arrived to convey us to our salvation, safe in a modern facility. We had been chosen to live out our lives and one day restart the American dream in a glorious future. But just to be sure; I was packin' ol' Blue, to keep humanity safe. Once we pried open that tuna fish can and stepped out into that brave new world, there would be a wasteland to be conquered.

Imagine my horror when Mom said, "Oh Ralphie, you put that back in your room right this instant! They will turn us away at the door if they see you with that thing. They'll be afraid you'll shoot somebody's eye out!"

Of course I objected, but she said. "No Ralphie, in fact you give that to your father so he can put it in the attic while you help me repack your bags before the bus arrives."

With a heavy heart, I handed ol' Blue to the old Man, who stood there with a understanding, but supportive look on his face.

Oh the injustice...all that scheming, all that plotting to secure a Red Ryder carbine-action, 200-shot, range model air rifle; with a compass in the stock, just to have my 2nd Amendment rights violated by some government lackey telling me it's not safe to have a BB gun with all these atomic warheads flying around! Imagine my shame later, at being the only kid in line who didn't have his BB gun! Even the girls had them. I think their brothers had them sneak in extras to sell on the BB gun black market in an attempt to chisel guys like me out of my hard earned money...well, vault credits. My cold blue eyes bored into my Mom's head, but she knew better than to look at me.

Days past, then finally, there was that Klaxon on the intercom, followed by a deep rumbling at zero hour. It rattled the place like an Oldsmobile with flat tire on a dark winter road. Light fixtures blinked on and off, and stuff on shelves rattled and fell to the floor with a life of their own. My family huddled together wondering the fate of the world outside. I only wondered if ol' Blue would survive, and if she did, would she fall into the hands of some Commie, or worse yet, a radioactive henchman!

Soon after, life underground fell into a routine of assigned tasks, duties, and training. The old Man got assigned to the heating and cooling crew, and he would come home with the dust and grime of the ducts and vents smeared all over him. Mom got kitchen duty and seemed to have found her niche as she could cook for an army. Randy and I were assigned books and had to gather with the other kids for daily indoctrination and Vault-Tec films on acclimating to our new future. But even without windows, I would stare into the distance and wonder whatever happened to ol' Blue. I think it was then that I started to plan my escape.

I took meticulous notes of the compounds patrols; I noted duty schedules, personnel, habits; how long they spent in the can, you name it. I volunteered for cleanup in mechanical rooms, computer rooms, recycling rooms; anything that would give me access to the supplies I needed to break out of the joint. Then I started to stash my supplies of water, medicine, and stimpacs in the air ducts. The old Man's stories of his daily duties told me where I could safely stash them until it was time to clean that area again.

By this time, I had everything I needed, but I still hadn't figured out how to get past the blast door. It was time to test out my equipment in case the opportunity presented itself and I had to make a break for it. I retrieved the final piece of my escape plan from the vents. I had hijacked a radiation suit and mask from the recycle bin. It looked a little threadbare but BB gun fervor kept me optimistic. I put the outfit on and duct taped the worn spots, and then taped up the excess material for a better fit. Then I put on the hood and sealed it to the suit. I would still have to find some filters but that shouldn't be too hard. Then I taped over the filter seal and inhaled. I could hear air leaking in all over the place. Guess I had some more duct tape work ahead of me. Then I rummaged through some office desks and found some lipstick, but more importantly a mirror to check the areas I couldn't see.

I looked in the mirror; immediately, my feet began to sweat as the reflection looked like Aunt Clara had finally snapped and sewn together a radioactive bunny suit whose ears had rotted off. I stood there a few seconds then I lowered the mirror and put it back in the drawer, who was I kidding? This suit would be a one way ticket to the great hereafter; I wouldn't last 5 minutes out there.

Tears blurred my eyes, I pulled off the hood and I wiped the tears away. The whistling wind of the wasteland was out there beckoning for a hero like me and ol' Blue to save untold millions on the savage plains. That hero wasn't going to be me; there was no way out of here. No way to open that blast door. I took the supplies and suit and put them in the recycle bin and returned to my quarters; I would need some quiet time alone to allow my red eyes to clear.

Back in the quarters, Mom saw that something was wrong and let me go to my room. I laid there on my bed and tried to let go of my dreams. The old Man came in and sat on the edge of my bed.

"Your mother says you're upset. Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm okay."

He didn't ask more questions, he just nodded in quiet understanding and said, "Your Mother's worried that you're so sad. She loves you, you know."

"I know, I love her too. Just all seems so unfair."

"Life's like that...but at least we have each other right?" He asked, raising his eyebrows, hoping for agreement.

I shook my head to agree he was right, then sat up and hugged him.

"Tell you what, why don't you come to work with me tomorrow. You're not a little kid anymore; you can help me at work. I could always use some help with furnace three, it takes a special touch and I could show you how to keep her running."

With a shrug and a pretend smile, I said, "Sure Dad. That would be great."

The next morning we headed off. He smiled and looked at me proudly and I did feel better; perhaps it wasn't so bad here.

"So this is it," he said, "this is the one. The furnace back home was just practice for this beauty. Takes a real skilled hand to keep her humming. There! Did you hear that?! It's a CLINKER!"

Just like that he was elbows deep in the air vent to the machine, as his voice echoed out complaints about the designers, poor workmanship, and the bad choice of materials.

"I'm glad you're here son, this thing is always coming loose and falling apart. Hand me a screwdriver from the tool box son; hurry up now, this thing could fall apart any second!"

I smiled and dug for the screwdriver.

"A standard?" I asked.

"No a Phillips." he echoed back. "Hurry it's rattling apart in here."

"There's no Phillips in here," I yelled to him.

Suddenly he stopped banging around and looked back over his shoulder.

"Oh that's right-I needed it in here earlier to repair this."

Then he stood up and turned with ol' Blue in his hands.

My eyes got as wide as saucers. I reached out as he handed me the gun. It was true, there was the scratch from where I dropped it. It was ol' Blue!"

And then I said it, "What the Fuuuudddge!" But I didn't say fudge.

I looked up at him and his smile disappeared. The old Man stood there looking at me for a minute, then he said, "'Well, I suppose your not a little kid anymore; but don't talk like that around your mother.'"

Then, he smiled again and said, "'Go ahead, check it out; it's all there.'"

My mouth was hanging open in disbelief, "But how?" I asked.

"Well, when your Mother took you to pack your bags, it occurred to me that government officials probably had bigger things to worry about than a BB gun." he said. "But, I thought maybe I should disassemble it so it didn't look so dangerous and put it in my suitcase, since your Mother had already packed it."

"What'll we tell Mom? What will the Overseer say?"

"Well, I already talked to your Mother, and she agrees with the Overseer. He thinks it might be good practice for our young vault citizens to be trained for the day we have to open that blast door. The world's going to need new heroes, right?"

I hugged him; he was the old man, a title that meant he was the king. I never knew a leader so wise or kind. He ruled his realm with justice and compassion. Something our leaders could have learned from.

That night, I laid in bed with my oiled blue beauty laying next to me. The state of the world outside was unknown, but as I drifted off to sleep, I knew heroes would arise to protect the innocent and bring the Black Bart's of the wastes to justice.

The End

A/N; Got this idea and wrote it in one setting, as a one-shot comedy piece. Comedy is a tricky thing. My hope was to make you smile and laugh, not to upset you. My research was based on past years of watching this timeless classic. Sorry if I got some of it wrong. I hope you enjoyed it; if you did, please check out my other stories and provide a review. It's the only way to know if you liked it, or at least gauge how much polishing this new skill needs. Thanks!