CHAPTER 3
Clay
Watchmen duty wasn't all it's made out to be. Basically it meant sitting on a chair and staring at the entrance.
A man named Wilson was my co-guard, but he wasn't very chatty. At least not to me. He prided himself on being Chris' right hand, the go-to guy, but he was nothing more than a suck up and he wouldn't think twice about betraying Chris to get what he wanted. But it still got him places.
I yawned for the third time in what seemed like a minute. What had surprised me, was how different this part of the Vault was from the interior. The only gray to be found, was the huge machinery-looking door with a big, red "7" in the middle. It was framed by nothing but rocks, and I wondered how those rocks could've stayed in place for all those years. I also wondered how people were able to open the door, seeing as how massive it was. It must be computer controlled, and suddenly Nelson being a watchman made much more sense to me.
I checked my pip-boy, only ten minutes had passed. Great.
I thought back about the argument between mom and Chris and realized how little I actually knew about my father. I know he had gray eyes and my dark auburn hair color. I know he had died during a raid, but that's it. Mom's face always refrained me from asking more questions, but they were there. Like, what used to be his talents? What was his name? Do I owe my mad gun skillz to him? Did he die a hero or a coward? Questions I would probably never get answered. Ah well, it didn't matter that much.
'So, what do you think is out there?' Wilson asked me after hours of silence.
I was close to dozing off, so his question startled me. 'Er, a wasteland?' Hence the name.
'Don't be smart with me, boy, of course it's a wasteland. But don't you ever wonder what it'd be like to live up there?'
I blinked a few times, pondering his question. 'I guess I never did. Chris always shows us pictures and recordings and they don't sound very appealing to me. Besides, if we're not even completely safe from Raiders here, imagine what it'd be like up there.'
Wilson nodded thoughtfully. 'Right. But, have you ever wondered how they survive? Sure, they steal food and supplies, but wouldn't they eventually run out? And where do all those Raiders come from anyway? If it's such a hellhole up there, how can anyone survive? It would seem impossible to me, but that's just my two cents.'
His point of view caught me off guard, I hadn't stopped to think about any of that.
'Have you ever noticed the dents in your room's ceiling?' I nodded slowly, how could I have missed them? 'They're from a guy who had your room before you were born, his name was Collin Dunlow. Living down here slowly made him lose his mind, but before Chris took care of him he used to shout about the outside world, how it wasn't as bad as we're told and that we're trapped in here. People didn't want to admit it, but it got us thinking. Of course Chris shushed the rumors as quickly as they came.'
I found myself speechless again.
His pip-boy made a sound. 'Well, looks like duty is over for us, let's go.'
Walking back to my room, I couldn't stop thinking about what Wilson had said. Once a week we have History class in which Chris tells us about the Wasteland. The pictures and holotapes don't lie: it's fucking terrible. Nothing but a brown, barren clump of land and people who have no problem with shooting you for your belongings, or worse.
We're lucky to live in this Vault, he says, although he's never been outside himself. I never stopped to argue with him, because what he said made sense, until now. If it's really that horrible out there, how could others survive? The supplies that get stolen would never suffice for a lifetime, not even close.
Another thing I never considered: our Vault is number seven: how many other Vaults are out there? And how do we know if they survived at all? And if Raiders are able to get in, why can't we get out? Shouldn't we at least try? Look for ourselves if it's really that horrible? I made a mental note to ask Chris later.
First it was time to get some well deserved sleep.