Rain
by Excellent

So I can't be the only one to notice that it never rains in the Wasteland. Or if it did, I sure as hell didn't notice. Which is within the realm of possibility. That got me thinking, and that though turned into this. Hope you enjoy.

Dislcaimer: you know the drill...

Intellectually, she knew exactly what was happening. She had learned about it in her science classes back in Vault 101 (science was her forte-- just like Dad). Of course, she had never expected to encounter such a situation while underground, and even when she was expelled from the vault, the thought of rain was last in her mind. It never had occurred to her that sometime, at some point, it must rain, even in the Wasteland. There were other, more pressing things to deal with-- not dying, finding her father, saving humanity. When Barbara saw a bottle of water, and her only concern was how irradiated it was and that, on that day, she wouldn't dehydrate to death. Bottled water was, for her at least, a relatively common commodity, so the only real thirst she had to quench was that of her insatiable god complex. Finally, there came the day on which her quest was completed. The purifier was up and running and the Wasteland as a whole could have free, clean water for the first time since the Great War. Although there was still much to do, all those whom Barbara had helped insisted that she take a break. And that was why she had planned to spend the entire week in Megaton, finally taking time to enjoy the settlement as she never had before. She had taken to the people more than ever, enjoying their friendliness and range of personalities.

That early afternoon, she set out for lunch at the Brass Lantern with Dogmeat, who was looking somewhat reluctant, at her side, but as soon as she stepped off of her "walkway" and onto the sloping main "street", she stopped dead in her tracks and stared with awe at the sky.
In retrospect, when she had briefly left her home that morning, she should have noticed that the people of Megaton appeared unusually antsy (except for the Children of the Atom, who looked to be in more religious fervor than ever). Dogmeat, too, was acting strangely; he was jumpy and refused to leave with her that morning. She never asked, and nobody had said a word.

Standing where she was on the steep path, Barbara could easily see over the low skyline of Megaton, and it felt as though she was face-to-face with the dark, ominous cloud that spilled out in all directions as far as she could see. She could hear the people going about their business nervously; especially noticeable was the sound of hammers on thin sheets of metal as people added them to their poor roofs. A sudden, soft rumble the distance went unnoticed, but a bright white flash that cut through the black sky was jarring enough to bring her back into full consciousness. Dogmeat shifted to lean against her knee.

Gradually, as Barbara watched, it began to rain. Slowly at first, she began feeling drops against her face and absorbing into her clothing. She had seen some pretty spectacular things in her short life: things that were horrific and took her words away, things that were magnificent and left her without breath to speak. Once again she was speechless.

She had read poetry and short stories all about the rain, and had never really understood them. The rain was always portrayed as a small, reoccurring miracle, the giver of earthly life (in all these stories, the Overseer shared this role; she knew now that was not true). She had read that it rained a lot in "springtime", the time of year when plants began growing again after the cold harshness of winter. Rain metaphorically washed away the pain and filth of the world, leaving only cleanliness anew. Where there was fire, there was rain, eventually, to extinguish it. Where there was draught, there was rain, eventually, to solve it. Life would re-emerge from some darkness, some hell, and in so many stories, there was always rain to help symbolize the occasion. All in all, rain was a good thing, and watching it for the first time in her life today, she understood what the authors and poets must have understood.

A flurry of excitement finally pulled her attention from the sky, which was now releasing rain at a steady, light pace. Jenny Stahl peered out carefully from underneath the aluminum awning of her restaurant; little Maggie, who had also been staring with wonder at the clouds, was snatched up and carried away by Jimmy Creel toward their home while the other children scattered to theirs; the man and Brahmin in front of the Clinic were scurrying off to shelter.

And the Children of the Atom swarmed the center of town, arms outstretched and faces turned to the sky, chanting reverently.

It was then that Barbara heard the soft, steady ticking of the Geiger counter built into her PipBoy and felt her skin begin to burn.

Thanks for reading!