When the Bombs Fell
Chapter One: Unveiled
I remember the day the bombs fell about as much as I remembered emerging from my mother's womb. It was a normal day, seemingly. Nothing was unusually different. Those who chose to enter a vault did so weeks prior, so everybody left was the remainder of those who chose to endure on their own. It was early, barely the break of dawn, when the madness began. Behind closed curtains and locked doors, what persisted of the city of Detroit lay dormant, unaware, and completely oblivious to the chaos that would inevitably rain down on the region. Nobody knew when it would happen, but according to the emergency broadcasts that had dominated the radio waves it would be soon. Sooner than we all could have expected, or wanted, rather. Those who stayed outside of the Vaults had their own plans to prevail against nuclear holocaust or had just dismissed the idea entirely. Visions of underground bunkers, enclosed living encampments, and tight-knit settlements plagued our minds. Dreams of progress, rebuilding, and a fresh start were prominent, pushing some more than others to solidify their existence in this post-apocalyptic world. While the minority prepared for nuclear war, the majority ignored it. This was America. The land of the free, the home of the brave, where those who remained steadfast overcame and persevered against unfeasible odds. How could such a prolific idea come so suddenly to cease? Our government would protect us, they objected. We are this country. Without its people this country is nothing. America has always been by the people, for the people. We are this country's primary concern – our safety and our well-being has always been and would always be held foremost by those who overseen us. Well… they were wrong.
I had made it a habit to take shelter inside my own bunker placed strategically under the shed in my backyard. I'd spent months devising the schematics for my own stronghold, should the rumors of nuclear disaster be true. I couldn't play it too safe. After all, during that time of my life there wasn't much occurring to divert my attention elsewhere. I'd lived for this day. Fictional movies and elaborate stories of apocalyptic wonderlands were ingrained into my very being. I lived and breathed in the shadow of catastrophe. I had only myself to speak for, unfortunately, because women didn't appreciate the key elements of my life. To them I was just another geek, a nerd, concerned only with himself and his childish antics. They were not wrong, however; I was obsessed. I had spent every waking minute of my life preparing for the day mankind would viciously and carelessly remove itself from this earth. I was normal, by most standards, though. I worked a full time job and made my contributions to society, a tax-paying individual whose sole purpose was to survive. The desire to survive was present before the bombs fell. Everyday life consisted of working to sustain. Nothing was free and the only way to acquire one's needs was to work for them. My desire was different. I worked, yes, but only to quench my thirst to survive. The money was spent just about as fast as it was earned. My paychecks went towards food rations, medicine, and obviously the completion of my underground safe house. When finished it was a small, twelve foot by twelve foot cube with twenty-four inch thick concrete walls surrounding it. The only way in or out was a ladder in the middle of the room that led up to a foot thick, steel blast-door inside the small garden shed. I was satisfied. After all of the research I had done I knew this would keep me safe from the initial blasts. I didn't live in an area of immediate danger. If bombs were to fall they would only directly hit key locations: large cities, industrial hubs, areas with political significance. I was roughly twenty miles outside of the danger zone. What I didn't account for, though, was what the outside would hold for me once the madness ended. Nothing could have prepared anybody for what would remain of American society.
It was a Saturday. October 23rd, 2077. The sun had just poked its head above the skyline. I awoke inside my concrete catacomb to the sound of thunderous explosions and violent rumbles. The foundation around me convulsed and shrieked as it attempted to withstand the kinetic shock wave caused by the first explosion. Small cracks formed throughout the ceiling and walls enclosed around me. After what seemed like hours the shaking finally stopped. The persistent explosions finally diminished. I looked at my watch to check the time. It had only been two hours from when the bombs began to fall to when the commotion finally subsided. I couldn't believe it was happening. The day I long awaited was here. I turned to the radio which sat menacingly in the corner of the room. When I turned it on all that was heard was faint static and prevalent white noise. Today was the day.
I floated across the room to the small cot I'd used to sleep and fell into it, almost relieved as my head hit the pillow. I knew there was nothing to do but wait. I had enough rations to last me for well-over two years. From what I'd read I was positive I could return to the surface close to a year after the bombs hit. I could have most likely surfaced earlier, but playing it safe seemed to be working in my favor. That first day was mostly a blur. I spent my time sleeping and entertaining myself with makeshift trinkets. The next three-hundred and sixty-four days seemed to crawl by. Every day I grew more and more eager to arise from my concrete cocoon. I engulfed myself in knowledge, surrounding myself in books and literature highlighting nuclear war and various techniques to prevent succumbing to the various obstacles Armageddon would bring. Spending my days learning how to survive and overcome a nuclear disaster, every little detail down to the nail. I made the best of it. There was no room for error. In a world that takes no prisoners I would have to be sure that I was the utmost model of perfection. I had created, in myself, a being driven not only to outlast, but to develop in this time of destruction. In my own mind I was the ultimate tool in survival.
Three hundred and sixty four days, thousands of pages, and millions of mindless, never-ending moments later I was ready. My self-preserved bubble had grown increasingly dull since the beginning of the end and I was anxious to return to what was left of our now inadequate world. It had been exactly one year since the bombs first made contact with our lively, green earth. From what I imagined there was nothing left above; the magnificent towers and standing structures that once made up our flourishing metropolis would be nothing but skeletal remains, empty husks and a reminder of a once-great nation. The beautiful rolling hills and forests that sat, like green seas among us, would be nothing but burning embers and ash, leaving behind nothing but black soot and the smell of burning wood. The oceans that surrounded us and rivers that twisted and winded through an ever-growing landscape would be nothing but exhausted, decaying canals and irradiated bodies of nuclear sludge. The thought festered in my mind as I anxiously prepared myself for the journey to come, my long anticipated trek through a once energetic terrain, now tormented by harsh conditions and progressively perilous disorder. I took a nostalgic look at my chamber and vowed to myself to forget anything that came before the disaster. It was a new world; a less than hospitable world, to say the least, but a new one, nonetheless. With that, I proceeded up the ladder to make my exit and ascend upon the life that waited for me above.
As I placed my hand onto the large, turning mechanism to unseal the door concealing me away for so many days, I hesitated. I looked back into the now darkened abyss that was my home for so long. It was over. I advanced, twisting the large, metal wheel on the door to an open position. With all my strength I pressed my shoulder into the door and pushed, but to no avail. The door was stuck.
Giselle stood tall, staring out over the arid wilderness that was once a mega-industrial hub. The skyline boasted the desolate carcasses of what used to be triumphant skyscrapers, superficially stabbing the empty sky with their peeked tips. She withdrew a cigarette placed conveniently behind her ear and lit it, watching the demolished city of Detroit as she finished her smoke. She dabbled on the idea of life before, excitingly bolstering her scheme of what life once was. It was nothing now. The world had imploded within itself. Mankind had pulled the strings on the most devastating event in history. She wondered what people thought as the world engaged itself in nuclear annihilation. Were they scared? Confused? What could they have possibly thought about their current situation? Or did they think anything at all? In a time of such crisis, was it possible they just accepted it? Was it possible they had just kneeled to their fate, completely surrendering to being incinerated instantly when the warheads made their mark? She dismissed the idea, flicking her finished cigarette away as she turned for the door.
Her small hut was makeshift. Fastened together by dry, feeble limbs of fallen trees and roofed with dry mud and leaves. However, it was home. She had built it herself, just north of the settlement of Motown. She wasn't much for city life. Ever since she left her vault nearly twenty years ago she hadn't been much for human interaction. People were different now that they were able to be. No longer were individuals restrained to living a life deemed acceptable by society. People were free to live and die however they pleased, be it a life of good or evil. There was still law, rules, and government still existed, but in a different form. This new government did not perturb itself with the well-being of its citizens as it had previously. This new government was a glorified criminal syndicate comprised of only those deadly or assertive enough to take what was theirs, whether it was by force or submission. Led by a man known as Lionel, the city of Detroit, now the settlement of Motown was a den of crime and violence. A place where good men came to perish and the wicked would prosper, feeding off of weakness and deceit.
Giselle had made the decision to separate from the criminal element of the new world. She was bent on surviving and was intent on distancing herself from the cesspool that was Motown. The only good that could come from such a place would be its utter destruction. She was born to parents inside of a Vault and was taught how to live from the radiation soaked lands they were going to be unfortunate enough to be released to live off of. Her parents had died inside the vault, but they had made it a point to ensure their daughter's life would continue in her life after the vault would open. She was lucky enough to have been born inside of a control vault, or otherwise a vault that actually functioned as intended, free of any sort of inhumane experimentation upon the residents; unlike many others, though, who suffered immensely during their stay inside of their own vaults. Vault-Tec was apparently a corporation tasked with seeing that mankind would continue to live after the Great War. Merely a puppet for a sinister organization, Vault-Tec created hundreds of vaults throughout the United States and Canada to perform cruel investigations on unknowing citizens by trial and error. Thousands of those placed into social experimental vaults met their agonizing demise by the hands of Vault-Tec. There were some, however, who were fortunate enough to be located in control vaults. These vaults operated as expected: housing its occupants and shielding and sustaining them during the Great War and the fallout that ensued.
Her usual routine was simple. Days consisted of foraging for scavenged supplies and meager rations of food, nights composed of lonely dreaming and sleeping. The only thing that mattered anymore was survival. If you couldn't survive, you were inadequate: simply prey to the now prevalent existence of raiders and cannibals. She had considered herself a scavenger. Many took the same title for lack of a better one. Day after day she would make her way through the wasteland, with only the clothes on her back, a knapsack for rummaged goods, and the rifle her father had left for her upon his death. She searched endlessly through the ruins of a once-thriving civilization in hopes of finding anything worthwhile. After the Great War most of the world had reduced to primitive living. Her livelihood was anything she could manage, selling various pre-war trinkets and devices to the various travelling merchants of the wastes.
Technology was mostly wiped out after the bombs fell due to the massive electromagnetic pulse charge the bombs possessed upon explosion. Although many rudimentary pieces of technology still existed, there were those who had hopes of returning the world to its former technological age of superiority. Things like radio and television were still available, as long as there were those present to constantly cater to the infinite expenditure of sustaining such things. Some accosted themselves with these tasks, hoping for some sort of alleviation in knowing they essentially assisted mankind with paltry forms of entertainment. There was a man in Motown who took control of the old Fischer building and used it to broadcast radio throughout the region. He was mildly enjoyable, playing jazzy show tunes and catchy ballads, but after a long day of fighting for dear life most chose to tune out due to his incoherent ramblings of a better life and the fight for survival. Television was the same, controlled by the same man, instead showing black and white cartoons of the old days and the same, uninformative news broadcasts from the 21st century.
This particular day had been an exceptionally strenuous one scouring through the old ruins of a small town north of Motown. She'd been there since early that same morning, starting her search through the various decaying buildings that lined the abandoned streets. She saved the largest complex for last. This building seemed to be the most yielding; the others offered little to nothing of value, purely a small amount of water and food rations and a weathered 10mm handgun with a few rounds of ammunition. The pistol would fetch her maybe a hundred caps after a little refurbishing, if she was lucky, and the food and water rations she would stockpile for herself. The front door of the larger complex was locked, so she relocated to a rear entrance which, surprisingly, was advantageously open. She pushed the door open with the barrel of her hunting rifle and peered inside, her mind registering every particle of dust floating aimlessly through the air. The interior was littered with rubble and the remains of what seemed to be a pre-war advertising agency. If she was fortunate enough she hoped to uncover some pre-war technology she could pawn off to a junk merchant: computers, wires, batteries, or generally anything with some sort of possible electrical performance.
She cautiously prowled through the first level of the building, making her way through room after room in her hunt for valuables. The first floor proved fruitless, baring only the empty shells of old computers and empty desks where prideful employees once sat and punched multitudinous combinations of words into their keyboards. She ascended upon the second level via stairway near the front door of the building. As she topped the stairs, she could discern a faint hissing coming from the next room. She gently placed her hand onto the handle of the door and gazed around a small room which she could only recognize as a kitchen. The second floor was much darker than the first. The windows that bordered the first floor apparently hadn't made their way to the second, so the only light that entered the room was the light from the stairwell through a window on the door and a faint glow erecting from another windowed door on the opposite side of the room.
Suddenly, the hissing stopped. She frantically scrutinized the kitchen, desperately attempting to discover the cause of the hissing she had heard just moments before. A shadow darted from the corner of the room and it was gone. She jumped, slightly pulling the door to a mere crack, all the while still peering through the space between the door and frame.
Silence; the room was empty. Confident that it was only her imagination, she brushed through the door and shuddered as it closed behind her, subconsciously doubting the conclusion she'd made prior.
"Hssssssssss…." There it was again. She turned and gasped, face to face with what was once man, now a decayed, rotting corpse still animated. Immediately, she froze, silent and motionless, praying in her mind to whatever God may be listening that this creature would not see her in the darkness. It inched closer, its nose almost touching hers. She could feel it heaving its rancid breath down the front of her chest, drool seeping down the corners of its mouth like blood from a fallen prey.
The ball in her throat swelled as the creature shortened the gap between its face and hers. She knew she would need to act if she wanted to leave with her life. Hands already at her side, she sluggishly reached for the 10mm pistol she had found earlier that was tucked in the front of her pants.
"Die!" The creature lunged, knocking Giselle onto her back as it again darted towards her. She panicked, pulling the pistol and raising it adjacent to the creature's face as it shrieked toward her.
Click. The firing mechanism was jammed. Time seemed to freeze as she watched the creature pounce on top of her, legs wrapped around the sides of her body and swiping furiously at her face with outstretched claws. She covered her face, elbows forward, and rolled to her side, pushing the monster off of her as she quickly jumped to her feet.
The creature rose slowly, mouth agape as it turned its devilish eyes towards her once again. Giselle brought her hands to guard before her face, mentally trying to regain stability or the courage to stave her premature quietus. The creature turned its head, all the while eyes cutting through Giselle like daggers, and in an instant continued its vicious attack. It screamed as it again shot towards her, arms flailing wildly before it as if to snatch the life from her still breathing corpse. She evaded, stepping to the side as the beast foolishly rushed past her, not even realizing she had moved just moments before. She promptly pulled the rifle from around her back and shouldered it, not hesitating even slightly before pulling the trigger.
The brutish demon fell, rotting blood and fragments of deteriorating brain painting the walls and floor around its carcass like a thick, malodorous soup. It wasn't her first encounter with death, but this one appeared all too real. This was enough. Her life wasn't worth a measly few caps in the form of pre-war junk. She turned back, proceeding down the same stairwell she'd taken up and toward the front door of the building. Examining the lock on the large door, she nudged the door it unsuccessfully. She sighed, slinging her rifle around her shoulder and taking a few steps back. Shoulder first, she charged into the mediocre obstruction and burst through the other side, sunlight nearly blinding her as she fell to her knees outside. This wasn't the time to rest. She sprang to a mild jog, en route back home to evaluate her findings and to rejuvenate from her handshake with eternal slumber.
The way home wasn't a treacherous one, but a taxing one. The area that was once a bustling metropolitan filled with dynamic city-goers and obnoxious, annoyed commuters fighting exhaustingly to arrive home to their families had become a xeric terrain. Excruciating heat beamed down from the sun above, charring anything unprotected beneath it. The ground was mostly dirt and gravel, littered with rubbish and debris from the buildings that used to sit on it. The open wastes in the area weren't a real threat. A wanderer might fear encountering an occasional Mole Rat or Bloatfly, but to say the least these creatures weren't a profound threat. Easily disposed, she needn't worry about these minor impediments. It was the Deathclaws and the Yao-Guai that would catch your attention, but these types weren't seen often in the area.
She reached home nearly three hours later. Luckily she hadn't much excitement on the trip back. She was still enervated from her scuffle with the Ghoul hours before and she was hell-bent on making it home without any interference. With a relieved exhale, she dropped her knapsack carelessly on the table and fell into the couch in the middle her one-room shack.
"Goddamn Ghouls…." She confessed, grabbing for the pack of cigarette on the side table beside her. She was somewhat disappointed in how the interaction had played out. This wasn't the first time she had clashed with a Ghoul, but this one nearly took the best of her.
She lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag, cocking back her head as she blew the smoke up into the ceiling. Sighing, she asked, as if to nobody at all, "Why can't anything be easy anymore?"
Days of minimal effort and leisure had long made their departure. Now, everything had a price, and for every price there was a cost.