CHAPTER 10
Time
The earth quaked around her as her suit made contact.
Her body dropped, frame shifting downward as the shocks absorbed the fall. She could taste something sour in her throat and quickly licked her lips before swallowing. The taste of salt lingered, sweat from her skin.
She was alive.
Dogmeat leapt from her grasp as she rose from a crouch. He raced out of the dust cloud encompassing them, disappearing from sight. Grey immediately looked up, watching as the Vertibird retreated from the fort, laser fire chasing it as it veered from side to side. But she couldn't hear it, she realized. She couldn't hear the gunshots or the fusion drive.
Panic licked her spine.
All she could hear was rushing fluid and the deep, shuddering beat of her heart. She fought the instinct to claw off her helmet, the instinct to scream. Why couldn't she hear? Why couldn't she fucking hear?
She worked her jaw, teeth frantically opening and closing, throat swallowing. She felt something begin to trickle and itch inside her ear canal, felt it spill along her pinna, down along her jaw. She swallowed again, a sharp pain now accompanying the feeling, pressure shifting. If only she could—
White, searing pain erupted from behind her eyes and she dropped to the ground. Black dots speckled her vision, bleeding into flashing red lights. She groped around, feeling the suit scrape against the concrete, struggling.
Another blow hit the back of her head. Her overhead display flickered, more red, more black. She could feel blood pooling along her collarbones, could smell the iron and salt. She groped around again, reaching for her shotgun. For anything. Another blow struck her suit, the brunt of it digging into her shoulder. The frame buckled slightly, something cold now pressing hard against the skin of her neck.
The fluid in her ears shifted again, the feeling of bubbles and popping and—
A deep laugh sounded above her, something perfectly terrifying and infantile.
"Metal man going to die now!"
Grey's fingers latched around something long and heavy, and she bashed it into the Mutant's legs. She felt it tear through its tissue, listened for the brittle crunching of bone. The creature screamed and Grey activated her hip thrusters, launching herself back onto unsteady feet. She didn't wait for her display to reconnect. She knew where it was, and she whipped herself around, again bringing her weapon down on the Mutant's legs. Hands fought against her and the sounds of pain and pleas escaped its throat, but it only enraged her further. She continued to strike, feeling its limbs crush beneath her blows, its tissue splitting and spilling.
Only when its screams stopped did she pause.
Her overhead display fizzled back into focus, daylight jarringly bright and splattered red. She looked down at the busted combat shotgun she held, barrel bent beyond repair and nozzle bearing the imprint of her grip. It was drenched in blood much like her power armour, bits of green and pink tissue speckling her frame and the ground. She threw the gun aside.
Grey turned unsteadily, ears still crackling and head splitting. She could feel her suit's servos trying to compensate, onboard computer fighting against her body's lack of equilibrium. Her overhead display flickered again, visuals tearing. She instinctively thrust her palm against the helmet and all but screamed with the resulting pain.
With deep breaths she told herself to focus. To ignore. She straightened instead, looking around. The test site was littered with carnage and ammunition casings. Several Mutant corpses encircled her, bodies riddled with bullet holes and lasers burns. There was a trail of them, she realized, wrapping around the buildings. She uneasily followed, careful not to trip.
She could hear the faintest rumblings of fighting in the distance, sounds muffled. She again fought the urge to smack her helmet. One of its seals must had been damaged, she surmised. The pressure change from the Vertibird jump likely damaged her eardrum. She'd ruptured her eardrums as a child—a case of her seven-year-old self not telling her parents she had an earache until it was too late and the infection tore a hole through the membrane—so she knew it would heal in time. She also knew that each subsequent rupture increased her chance of permanent hearing loss, but that wasn't a helpful thought as she canvased an active battleground.
Grey stumbled as a single laser blast shot overhead, beam colliding with something above. Brick and plaster crumbled onto her shoulders, and she looked up as a second storey wall crashed down upon her. She leapt sideways, leg thrusters hurling her across the street and into the remnants of another building. Her back struck concrete and breath left her lungs. Even in darkness, she felt the world spin around her.
Biting through the nausea, she forced her eyes open, finally spotting the Paladin roughly 75 feet ahead. Two Mutants attempted to circle him, one brandishing a piece of two-by-four wrapped with razor wire and another approaching with bare hands. The Paladin's stance was surprisingly relaxed, laser rifle cradled in the crook of his suit's arm. He was watching them though, helmet turning ever so slightly, waiting for them to make their inevitable move. Easy enough for the Paladin to dispatch, she decided.
With a groan, Grey attempted to pull herself back onto her feet. The power armour's integrity sensor for her left leg intermittently flashed as did the indicator for her upper torso. She didn't need a mirror to know that some of the steel plating near the back of her neck had been badly damaged. She could feel it push against the frame beneath, the frame also buckling down towards her body, pinching at her skin. Grey pushed herself onto a knee, examining what remained of her left leg. The plate was riddled with indentations, several bullets still lodged in the steel. She began to pick out the loose ammunition and gave her neck a roll. That's when she saw it.
Her blood ran cold, body freezing.
Fifty feet ahead, green skin shone from behind a wall of rubble and vines. It hoisted something large upon its shoulder, metal frame catching shards of sunlight. Clumsy, muscular hands forced a missile down the barrel. Its green body shifted its stance with the added weight. Hands adjusting, launcher aiming. Aiming its barrel at the remaining Mutants. At Danse.
"Get out of there!" Grey screamed.
Her on-board radio spat static in reply.
"Danse! Danse!"
No reply.
He couldn't hear her.
Grey launched herself from the concrete, overdriving her core assembly. She charged toward the Mutant, closing the distance between them, but she was too far away. She wasn't going to make it. And as the realization hit her, her throat began to swell.
Danse was going to die.
Something bit into her left arm and suddenly the world slowed around her. She felt the descent of her legs as if time were infinite, felt the ginger pull of the frame in the suit, each movement barely a millimetre in distance but boundless in sensation. Her racing heart was suddenly a solitary beat, the sound deep and deafening. The Mutant began his war cry as he aimed, frequency wrong and tone wavering. She could see the shift in Danse's frame. His instincts noticing something was wrong, brain not having the time to process. If only she could—
Her display sparked to life, overlay turning green, the battlefield transforming before her into a series of percentages and angles. 77% weapon grab probability. 82% crippling shot. 32% fatality shot.
She knew what to do.
As reality snapped back into place, Grey activated her reverse thrusters and scraped her fingertips against the ground. Her hand clumsily snatched the blood-soaked laser rifle from a corpse's grip, green flesh tearing at the joints. Pressing the butt against her arm, she didn't bother to look through the sights. She just fired.
Danse's head snapped to the left as a missile whistled past. Heat erupted against the back of his suit and his body rocked forward, explosion sounding. He used the distraction to empty his clip into the two Mutants before him. As they dropped to the ground, he caught sight of a blur of red and silver. A scream pierced the air before being silenced by a sizzling shot.
Her raced toward the sound, dodging around dilapidated brick to see Grey standing above another Mutant, her foot on its chest and rifle resting against what remained of its ruptured skull. A missile launcher fell from its hands.
Grey could sense the Paladin staring at her, but she couldn't move. Her heartbeat continued to deafen her, adrenaline coursing beneath her skin. The dread and anger and excitement was near overwhelming, and she knew if she didn't focus, she'd forget to breathe. Instead she stared at the lip of her rifle, blood sizzling against its touch. Bits of brain and bone shone beneath the red mess underfoot, glinting in the morning light. It smelt of pork roast, feces, and rain. She fought the urge to vomit.
"Knight, we need to get out of here. Knight."
Grey finally looked up, realizing the voice was coming from outside of her suit.
"My communications device is shot," she found herself yelling, and the Paladin's hands quickly went for her helmet.
Static shot over her radio, quickly replaced by the Paladin's slightly laboured breathing. He grabbed her by the shoulder, leading her away. Only as they stepped back did she see the waste barrels, neon liquid spilling from multiple bullet punctures. Her Pip-Boy's Geiger counter continued to click, frequency lessening with each step. How long had she been exposed?
"Your suit will have shielded you from the majority of it," Danse said as if reading her mind. "We'll have Cade flush your system when we return to the Prydwen. But first…"
"We have a mission to finish. Yeah, I know."
She shook her head and continued up the road, past the blown-out tanker and fallen Behemoth. Dogmeat returned to her side, snout and teeth painted crimson. He wagged his tail.
"Proceed carefully," Danse cautioned. "These fortifications may still be inhabited."
Grey doubted it.
Her Geiger gave the occasional click as they passed each building. She could see the sewage and discarded nuclear waste peeking up through rotted floorboards. The paint had rusted and chipped from the barrels, revealing the radioactive hazard symbols beneath.
Official documents had listed the fort's exterior grounds as a simulated town and overflow work site, but Grey knew the General had designated it a testing site in 2075. He had non-essential personnel stationed in those offices. He'd even had some of the soldiers relocated there. Had the nuclear waste been hidden there then? Was it part of another research trial, something to do with long-term exposure to low levels of gamma radiation? It wouldn't have surprised her if it had; military staff were often the unknowing participants of their co-workers' experiments. She'd been called to Fort Strong once before, after all. She knew the kind of games General Brock had liked to play.
As they approached the fort, Grey found herself pausing by the rusted and overgrown sign. She wove her fingers through the sun-scorched vines, tearing them back from the metal-faced print. US Army Fort Strong. She grit her teeth.
She remembered the day Cantrell had dragged her there. No explanation, no time to prepare. Just an inconvenient summons, an ushering of her into his car. It had felt like they'd driven forever, leaving the city, crossing the Charles, turning past the airport. He hadn't bothered with smalltalk and neither had she. It had taken enough of her willpower to stomach sitting in an enclosed space with his stench of expensive aftershave and Cuban cigars. Only as his driver had pulled up in front of the fort, sign on display, had she known why they were there.
"I trust things are going well with the Walsh case, Lieutenant?"
Grey had kept her gaze fixed on the sign, not allowing the Major to see the truth in her eyes.
"Let's say the Sergeant and I are… building a rapport," she had said lightly, adding the right amount of pause and cautious confidence.
From the window glass she could see the Major's lips contort into an unnatural smile, like the gesture had been foreign to him, beneath him.
She hadn't been driven there to discuss the Walsh case though. The Major's words had been a red herring. There was only one reason why she'd been accompanied to Fort Strong, and depending on how she played it, there was only one way in which she'd be allowed to leave.
Grey shook off the past as she and Danse pushed their way into the atrium, Dogmeat pacing at the rear. Glass crunched underfoot and Grey squinted against the brightness of the room. Her chest burned, brain picking through sights versus memories. The once-stunning staircase had collapsed, replaced with oozing meat bags and crackling fires. Above, all that remained of the skylights were metal frames, glass long ago shattered. She took a step forward, foot colliding with a series of wooden crates. A human skull sat atop, jaw unhinged and yellow teeth smiling back.
"How pleasant," she mumbled.
She tightened her grip on her rifle.
Footsteps thumped all around them, voices blaring from multiple rooms. One Mutant complained of hunger, another belittled its "brother" for once confusing the sounds of an escaping prisoner with a mouse. Savage laughter boomed from the west wing, and Grey again felt her pulse quicken.
Bullets struck something metal and she all but came out of her skin. Danse paused only to shake his head. Another blast of gunfire sounded, followed by more baritone laughter.
The fuckers were wasting ammunition for amusement, Grey realized. She could practically hear Nate's laughter, him telling her that simple things did tend to amuse simple minds.
She kissed her teeth and tread as lightly as possible across the glass. She motioned for the Paladin to veer left. If her memory served, there was an elevator next to the lunchroom. She could only hope it had fared better than the stairs.
Grey had barely turned the corner as a line of bullets ran up her side. Before she could move, Danse hurled himself in front of her, his weight throwing her back behind him. She tumbled through a rotting door, fall broken by a wooden desk. Another spray of bullets tore into the doorway, splinters of wood flying across the room. She rolled further into the office, floorboards cracking under the weight of her suit.
Her vision began to swim again as she pulled herself to her feet, but within the confusion she found herself lunging for her rifle and firing across the room. A Mutant screamed as it pitched back out of sight. Grey pressed her back against the wall as a shotgun blast tore across the office, shattering what remained of the windows. Reaching her arm across her suit, she awkwardly held the laser rifle and fired blindly, holding the trigger until the fusion cell burned dry.
There was no retaliatory fire. No further shotgun blasts. Grey pulled back the rifle and ejected the cell before reloading. Her suit's previous owner seemed to rely exclusively on fusion cells and 10mm rounds. A strange combination, but who was she to judge.
She fumbled with the reload, suddenly realizing she'd never loaded a laser rifle before. She'd never trusted herself to do so, if only because she'd found herself more likely to self-inflict a wound with a laser weapon than hit an actual target. Would Nate be proud, she caught herself wondering before quickly discarding the thought. It didn't matter. He didn't matter.
Grey pressed through the office and over the Mutant's corpse into the kitchen. She crouched by the kitchen door and spied into the lunchroom. She could hear at least three Mutants huddled between the lunchroom and outside hallway, their attention strictly on Danse.
"Continue to draw their fire," she whispered over the radio.
His breath hitched, the sound of projectiles clanging off his armour. "Roger."
She heard the Paladin yell from down the hall, laser rounds firing wildly. The Mutants stirred with surprise, hollers of excitement escaping grotesque mouths. They returned fire, a series of shotgun blasts and laser rounds searing the air.
Grey leaned around the doorframe and pressed the butt of her rifle against her shoulder, focusing her sights on the nearest Mutant's skull. The other two didn't notice as their brethren dropped behind them. Only as the second corpse dropped did the remaining Mutant detect her position. It turned to her, nostrils flared, before Danse burned a hole the size of a fist through its chest.
They didn't dare utter a word as they regrouped in the hallway. Both kept their rifles at chest level, cautiously peering around each corner.
They found the elevator with ease and Grey fought a smile as the gears hummed to life with a press of the call button. The door didn't open though, and she quickly spotted why.
Brock had always been too cute by a mile.
She swore an oath and began her trek back to the east wing, the Paladin and German Shepherd both close at her heels.
"I get the sense you know where you're going, Knight."
She didn't bother to reply.
The less Dense knew about her life before the war, the better. And if he wanted to know? She'd cross that bridge when she got to it. But for now—she stepped into the receptionist's office and her chest burned hollow. Two hundred and twelve years later and she could still feel the dread she'd felt on that December day. But it hadn't been two centuries for her. It had only been two years. Two years and yet she could still hear the lingering suspicion in Cantrell's voice, hear the threat in his words.
Two years ago, she'd nearly lost her life in that office.
She'd be damned if she let it happen again.