When they awoke in the morning, everyone seemed instantly ready to leave. It was as if they had all encountered bad dreams in the night and felt them tied to this place. There was unease and a certain quickness to any movement which might lead them away from that basement. Before long, William was unlocking the door and they all headed out. The key to that place was left on the top step. With any luck it would be a useful spot for someone else who came this way.
As they headed out the door, Ian caught a glimpse of the creature which had attacked him. The strange shape of its body had disintegrated into a somber goo that spread out slowly across the already filthy kitchen tiles. There was a scent half between rot and cooked meat which surely floated away from the awful corpse.
Ian was glad to be out of that place, they all were. However, that did not make the street a cheerful place. In fact, their actions on the street betrayed the constant paranoia that any time in the waste seemed to foster. They headed out of the city as a quartet of eyes. With ever other step, glances were thrown into windows and doorways ajar. Any shadow or obscurance became sinister for what it might hold. Even though the monsters were gone, their spirits lived on in the sharp observation of Ian's darting eyes. He knew what might be there and he sought to either disprove this hint or to catch that daywalking nightmare in the damning crime of existence.
They left the city without incident, and were soon trekking across a long, flat expanse of dead earth. The same scraggly plants and skeletal bushes protruded from their same cracks in the sandy surface. Though it seemed they had risen early, there was a burnished sun hanging halfway through its climb, staring down at them with crushing intensity.
It was early in the day when Ian began to feel the piling effect of each day before. His legs ached slowly with burning dismay and the joints beneath and within cringed at the articulation of movement, though they went through the same runs at each step. Low, dead grass was crushed beneath his pounding, uneven boots.
Despite all this, Ian walked at the head of the pack. As it was at all times, the rifle hung across his chest, ready. William strode along directly behind him, then Bryan who was sandwhiched between the older man and Amata. Their line was not evenly spaced, and had a tendency of breaking into two meandering conversations. It was during one of these such discussions, as the two of them walked several yards ahead, that William asked about the past.
"How long have you two been out?"
"What do…? Ian began.
"Don't play dumb. She's still wearing the goddamn suit and, though you are doing a pretty good job, you just don't pass for a regular wastelander. Not yet, at least."
Ian nodded, thoughtfully, before answering, "Almost a week. That's me. She has only been awake for a couple days now. There was some trouble, and… There was trouble," he concluded.
William nodded and looked around at the scenery. Of course, there was none to behold. All that existed was dust and the flat death it bore. Even so, the man observed this with a slow, calculating glance.
"I suppose there's always trouble, isn't there? That's the only real reason for things to change. Trouble got me here…" the man laughed a dry, bitter laugh, "I guess anyone who got anywhere, got there because of some kind of trouble."
"What was the trouble?" Ian asked, undertaking his own detached surveillance.
William looked over at him slowly, appraisingly. There was a long period of silence when William did nothing but stare. No, it wasn't staring. It seemed that the man was deciding something, and wondering as well. Finally, he spoke.
"Being fresh out, you've probably heard nothing of this yet, but there is an organization that calls itself the Enclave. They are about bringing order to the world and restoring all that once was. At least… Keep a secret, can you? Otherwise…" William paused to look over at Ian, and did not continue until he saw the terse nod, "All the Enclave is is a bunch of thugs with bigger weapons and discipline than all the rest. They've got a mission plan alright, but it's got nothing to do with restoration. Took me years to find that one out and… well that's the start of my trouble. The end is…"
William was staring out at the barren waste again. His words came out clipped and bitter, "it's somewhere, I think. I thought it was back there, in Greyditch with family and neighbors and a home of my own. It wasn't the Enclave this time, but something broke it up like something always does. Back to looking, but… I've been looking for a long time, all the way from the other side of the country. I could've sworn this was it."
Ian looked at the man and saw what he'd lost. There had been hope invested in Greyditch, and that was not returned with the mere survival. What had seemed the end was, in fact, only a pause to catch his breath. It wasn't until after that he'd recognized this, and now he was panting.
Truthfully, William hardly breathed at all. They walked along, set a little apart from the other two, and were silent. William was haunted by the future, as Ian was forced on by the past. All he had was the search for his father. What then? What did this world have but horrors and pain?
"Is that a helicopter?" Bryan's exhausted but still-curious voice inquired, floating up from behind on the windswept dust. They all looked up toward the shape he indicated, but none so quickly as William. There was a long moment of silence cut into the previous silence, a thick tension in that observation.
William froze with his eyes on the craft, but this state lasted only a moment. In a flurry of panicked motion, the man's head flew from the helicopter and out across the waste. There was purpose to this search, and that was fulfilled within moments. As soon as the man had located the vague shape of a building, he wordlessly bolted in that direction.
Ian could think of nothing else but to follow the man in haste, and the others came along as well. Without any sort of warning, the four of them were engaged in a wild dash across hot, flat ground. Through sweltering air and thick sweat, the distance shrank gradually until they had come upon the grey wood porch. It was a house they approached and entered, an ancient one. In some places, flecks of old paint clung on by dust and custom. Most of the wood was bare and extremely misshapen. Hundreds of years of weather had ruined it for dwelling.
The most obvious evidence of this was the door that came apart in William's hands as he touched it. The man took no mind of this oddity, though, and proceeded inside without wasting time. Ian went in with him, and then Amata and Bryan. Soon they were all gathered inside the decrepit building, watching the windows and each other as lungs struggled to catch breath.
"What was…" Ian panted toward William, "…the hell was that about?"
William was no longer doubled over, and no longer staring out into every imaginable direction. Instead, he simply glanced out the long dusted over window and worked a muscle somewhere in his jaws. Finally, after the agony of uncertainty, William explained, "I've told you about the Enclave. Just now… that's one of theirs. I'd recognize that paint job and that rust anywhere"
"They're looking for you?" Ian asked, though a portion of that phrase was simply observation. That much had become obvious with such a reaction.
"Yes," William responded, looking through the window at neither the sky nor waste, "I'm nothing important to them, just a deserter, but that's enough sometimes. I told you, I've been running for a long time, a long long time, but it was supposed to be over. I don't know if they'll even recognize me now, but that's too much of a risk to take."
Ian nodded, and looked around the room slowly. To the building, there seemed just one more, but that had been securely boarded off. Ian stared at that for a long moment, before moving his gaze on. A ruined couch lay in one corner, and a smashed TV set opposite. Shelves adorned the walls, though most had apparently been emptied of contents long ago.
"What do you think this place is?" Amata asked, also examining it. She had crouched down by the TV and was holding something in her hands. It could have been any number of things, but Amata seemed intent on it. That object had been worn away by dirt and time, until the edges were smooth and any identity finally erased.
"Probably an old prewar house, they used to live like this. TV, couch, things everywhere," William said humorlessly. He had left behind the fearful window watching in favor of a general gesture toward all the ground clutter. Ancient knickknacks and other detritus paraphernalia lay scattered around, pushed against walls and under pieces of furniture. It was broken up and turned to dust and scratched and stained with strange colors. A few pieces seemed untouched by the time, but those were far more eerie than the rest all together. These additions made it seem as if the owners could come home any second, only to find their mass collections destroyed.
No one did, though, and Ian finally said, "It's all junk, just smashed stuff. I wonder what's…"
"Not all of it," Amata insisted, holding the faded thing a little closer to herself, "Some of it's… like…"
"It's like an obituary in objects," William supplied, "The people are gone and all that's left is the piles of stuff they put on the shelves and left there."
"Exactly!" Amata exclaimed in frantic agreement, "That's exactly it! I mean… If we went into that room and found a dead person, I think these things would tell us more about them than anything in there."
Ian stared at her, wrapping his mind around that concept by the tortuous inch. However, her mention at the end drew Ian's attention in a whole other direction. He had tried to push away the room's contents and his curiosity, but could no longer. He walked over to it and put a hand in the center of the wood. It was old, ancient, decrepit, but still withstood the force he put upon it.
The boards all creaked has he pushed, but nothing was able to be moved. Ian shifted his strength and began to draw backwards upon the boards. None gave, and Ian was left with a short forest of wooden splinters all across the palms of his hands.
"It's not going anywhere like that," William said, "And the helicopter is passed now."'
Ian looked up from his task, then out to the window and nodded. It took only a moment to ready themselves before heading back into the wasteland. They continued on their way, marching across the dead ground for a sprawling eternity. Dead buildings often existed in the distance, lingering like skeletons.
Wind poured across the land, full of dust and bad air. Sometimes Ian gazed backward toward the dead breeze but saw nothing there. It was only emptiness as far as the eye could see. Some part of him wanted to go back and find the nearest mark.
A much larger part wished to keep on and find that mark ahead.
He was never able to decide which was right between the two thoughts, and so Ian never changed his direction. He kept on as he had kept on for hours already, moving further into waste and toward the foul city with each step. It was somewhere over here, somewhere in this direction.
Specks began to grow on the horizon, slowly evolving from dust to rubble by the hour. Occasionally the growths would dip below as they neared a hill or simply fade behind the squirming haze of heat. The shapes always returned, though, and Ian became sure that these held some hint of the destination. Details emerged upon the faces of these markers, but Ian could never tell at this distant what those signs said.
They travelled on, and eventually those creations became high concrete buildings. Ian watched them change as the distant shrank, as did William and the others. Soon they were realistic, bearing details such as shattered windows and crumbling roof tiles. By their edge Ian was able to make out some low structure. He asked William about this and the man said that it was the river, the wall which lay just before the river. They would reach it soon, and then be forced to cross it. The river sparked thought in Ian's mind, and he recalled the map Moira had shown him. The river had been marked upon that, and a tunnel system beyond that.
Ian mentioned that to William and the man did not seem thrilled by the idea.
"I've heard about those tunnels. Never been in, but some talk goes around. They're supposed to be infested with some of the worst things," he said, quietly so the other two would not hear. Amata and Bryan were on their own a few yards away, but his voice lowered anyway.
"I don't think there's another way," Ian said, "The city is mostly collapsed, at least that's what I was told. She said that every other way just turns into a dead end at some point or another."
"Who's this she?" William asked with a slow skepticism in his voice.
"Moira," Ian said, "She runs a shop in Megaton, that's…"
"Yeah, I know Megaton," William said, "A shopkeeper, huh? Does she sell by caravan or is she settled?"
"Settled," Ian said, "But she leaves for research."
William didn't say anything for a few moments, and then said, "I still don't know if I trust this information. Those tunnels are supposed to be hell, and I'd rather take my chances in a labyrinth above ground than that. At least we could hunker down if things get bad, and find our way back by the sun. Once we get underground, it's lights out and lost is lost."
Maybe William did have a better of this than Moira. He had definitely been around the waste more than Moria, and that experience probably translated into knowledge or at least insight of things around here. If he disagreed with Moira on some point, then he was probably in the right for having actually experienced the things he spoke of.
"Alright," Ian said, "Maybe you're right. We'll try our luck in the city."
William nodded and they continued on in silence. The concrete buildings continued to grow until they stood tall and daunting in crumbling majesty. Though the constructions were in terrible condition, they managed to exude a strange impression upon Ian. These were the largest buildings he had yet seen. They were not ramshackle assemblies or long vacated residences. These buildings had been built for some ancient purpose deserving of such height and longevity.
There was no movement in the concrete towers, but Ian watched them from the corner of his eye. There might, there might not be. Ian wanted to be sure, and to be alerted for whatever did occur, should it occur.
The towers remained still and silent as the four of them went past. They crept down a set of concrete steps which led down to the river's actual edge. This was a long bar of dark sand which held strings of strange algae and mottled patches of detritus. One by one, they lowered themselves from the concrete to this moist slush. Ian's boots sank slowly for a moment before stopping at a dense portion. He stepped away for a moment, following across William's footprints, before turning to help first Amata then Bryan down.
Now they were all standing at the river's edge, waiting for something inexplicable. Amata and Ian stared deep into the water, and Bryan watched the dirt intently. Only William maintained some specific purpose to his observations, though that seemed lost in the meandering gazes they all held. He was scanning across the far bank, searching for any signs of hostility there. None seemed to exist, though, and he relayed this to the others.
Those words seemed to break Ian from his stupor, and he in turn attracted the attention of the other two.
"Let's go across, then," he said, "It's safe, for now at least. We should reach the other side quickly, in case anything shows up."
The thought of something "showing up" spurred them all on and into the river. It held a strange temperature quality which slowly wavered between icy and lukewarm. This came in patches and streams, flitting back and forth between the two with no method of prediction.
Ian mentioned these patches to William and the man said, "It's just the radiation in some parts of the river."
This made Ian look down at the water, as did Amata. The concept of radiation was still not so common for them as to be accepted lightly. Radiation had always been the flaw and stigma of the outside world, something which, if all else failed, deterred those interested in seeing it. Radiation was the devil of the wasteland, an infection that grew in its air and every ounce of soil.
This apprehension faded with time as the radioactive portions became their only reprieve from near frozen water. Ian began to relish the warmth, though each moment of it seemed to take him a step closer toward molecular destruction or death.
Hand in hand with this slow loss of apprehension, movements began to appear atop the far wall. Bryan was the first to murmur something about them. Amata looked up at his words and passed the knowledge to Ian, who let it on to William.
Ian glanced backward, then at the remaining distance ahead. There were nearly equal.
"All we can do is keeping going," he said, "It's the same forward as back."
They continued to trudge forward, though the pace had slowed considerably with a suddenly less desperate interest in the far side.
"But there's people of there," Amata said, "How can we?"
"If we turn around, they'll only shoot us in the back, "William said, "Ian is right. It's better to hurry and reach the other side. Maybe they haven't noticed us yet. If we can get close enough without attracting notice, they won't be able to see us. It's a bad angle up there for shooting down, if we can get close enough."
"We should get lower then," Amata said, "If we're going to sneak across, then we should try not to stick out so much."
Ian agreed with her and they all sank lower. Soon, all that showed was a foursome of half-submerged heads. They ran as well as possible beneath the water, though each remained wary of causing too great a splash. The four heads floated along against the current, approaching the far bank with caution and speed.
Thanks to Amata's idea, they were not spotted until nearly below the sentry's position. There was a call through the air of awful words like "floating target shots" and "fuckheads ready to sink". A couple whoops followed, and a bark of gunfire tore through the air.
William rose from the water in a rapid, ragged motion and went running. Now he splashed a tremendous amount, seemingly beyond the necessary. Ian mimicked this, and saw the other two doing the same. More gunshots cut air and water, driving Ian's heartbeat to become a rapid pounding.
Small, sudden splashes jumped up all around for nearly a minute before cutting off. Shots still sounded in Ian's ears, but he was unable to see the evidence before him. He kept running, following William's dash, until they had reached the far side. One by one they climbed up onto a low concrete platform.
There they pressed against the wall and slowly recovered breath. Ian found his gun to have climbed into his shaking hands, and did all he could to hold it steady. Amata had her pistol out and pointing it all around. She paused in the middle of this panic and stared at the weapon in her hands. With pinking cheeks and a slightly checked breath, she lowered the barrel until it faced the ground. Her hands were still touched by tremors, though.
"Those were raiders," Ian said, "I didn't get a good look at them, but I remember the way they talk."
"I'm sure you're right," William said, "And that means we have a bunch of pissed off raiders right on top of us."
"How do you know they're pissed off?" Amata said.
"Raiders are always pissed off," Ian said.
"We'll need to be careful to get out of here. We don't know of many of them there are, but they know that about us."
"This is going to be tough," Ian said.
This brought a bitter laugh out of William and he said, "It always is, isn't it?"
Amata's laugh was quick and nervous, leading into a glance up the stairs. Only grey sky was visible beyond that, but it seemed ready to include a maniacal raider at any moment.
"We can't stay here," Ian said, following Amata's gaze to the top of the steps, "I'd rather not wait for them to find us sitting in a bowl."
"You're right, that would be the end."
"What do we do, then?" Amata said, "We can't stay down here, but those… raiders… are up there. I don't think any of us want to go look. Who knows what-"
"I'll go," Ian said, "I'll be quick about it. Wait here."
Acting true to his word, Ian crouched down and began to ascend inchingly. He stayed near to the wall, and low enough that it would hide him from any raiders about. Blood pumped in his ears though the motions were sluggish. He had his rifle clenched in one hand, while the other propped his body up against the steps.
On three legs he crawled upward until the edge was near enough to gaze over. Before this, though, he glanced back at the other three. That was only a moment, and then Ian was forcing his eyes above the ledge.
He twisted his gaze back and forth once, surveying it all as best he could, then jerked his head back down below. The area on this side of the river looked much different than anything he'd seen before. Sprawling masses of broken buildings stretched about, lying intermeshed with each other and collapsed halfway into the ground itself.
However, what Ian noticed most was the abundance of raiders. They milled about, all carrying weapons and wretched scowls. Ian felt that he had been seen, somehow felt it even though nothing else seemed to say that.
Still sure of this, Ian inched back down the steps until he was level with the others.
"There are raiders everywhere," he said, "And broken buildings beyond that."
"Too many for us to take," William said.
The rabid scene flashed back into Ian's mind and he nodded.
"Damn."
"Maybe we could get by them?" Amata said.
"You said the city's smashed, but maybe…" William said, "Did you see any way in? Maybe an alley or a doorway? Something whole?"
"I think I did," Ian said, "But that's all still beyond the raiders. We'd need to get past them first, before worrying about a break in the collapse."
"A distraction shouldn't be too difficult to make," William said, "Something loud, something flash, and we slip past while they're busy with that."
"What do we have that could do that?"
"I think I have an idea," William said, pulling out a spare battery pack for his pistol, "Get ready to move. I think I saw this done once. Either way, we'll need to run. To take advantage of the blast or to escape the blast itself. When I say go."
They nodded and William pulled out his big knife. With one, quick movement, the knife was thrust through the battery pack. It quickly began to fizzle and bubble a strange, black substance. Without waiting any longer, William lobbed the whole assemble, knife and all, over the edge of the stairwell. It flew to some unknown location and clattered for a moment.
Some barely audible voices floated down from elsewhere, but could not be heard over the shuddering explosion. William urged them to move, pushing them roughly ahead. Soon they were all sprinting from the cover while a cloud of strange, thick gas dissolved into the air. Raiders were gathered around this, staring intently as the gas dissolved, not only into the air, but into the bodies of other raiders.
The four of them dashed across the square and straight toward the nearest means of escape. This turned out to be a hollow doorway. Once inside, cries began to come up about the people who had run past. They searched for a way from the room, all while ominous sounds of movement grew nearer by the second.
Bryan found a medium sized window which had been concealed behind rubble, and they all crawled out through that gap. With that scratching struggle they all managed to get out from the building and into some other street. By the sound, it seemed that raiders had already entered the room they'd left.
This short safety did not put an end to the flight. The four of them continued to run along the streets, aiming to put as much distance between their flour and the dozens of prowling human-animals behind. No matter how many streets were run down, though, it always seemed that there were minute noises from behind.
Finally, it became apparent that those noises should not have been the product of pursuing raiders. Something about the sound was all wrong, and so they stopped behind an old abandoned bus.
Through windows they gazed and waited, but nothing appeared from the way they watched.
Instead, it came from directly behind.
"Hyoomahns!" a distorted voice said.
They all turned around to face a grotesque creature. Burned yellow skin covered convulsing muscles and too-stretched tendons. Beady black eyes hung above a furious snarl. In one hand it held what appeared to be a sort of massive hammer constructed from bits and pieces of stone and machinery.
"Duck!" Some voice said.
They all did and the hammer came smashing down across the side of the bus, leaving scores of deep dents across its surface. Ian, who had been leaning against the vehicle, was thrown down by the quaking impact. He did not simply stay down, though. With every bit of effort fighting the buzzing feeling in his muscles, Ian crawled to knees then feet and leapt away from the thing.
Once there, he spun around with his gun out. Ian's hands were shaking as he fired, but Amata was still near the colossus, and William hadn't managed to totally get away yet. Bryan was nowhere to be seen, and Ian could only hope for the best.
Shots tore through the air and into the burned yellow monstrosity. Garish rends in that skin let out splatters of blood onto the ground and allowed the viscous stuff to drip down freely.
Obviously enraged and wholly overcome by that, the creature tore across the littered road toward Ian. He had only enough time to recognize this before beginning a flight. There was no chance to shoot at the incoming beast, or to climb beyond its reach. All he could do was dash away and hope not to be caught.
This seemed to work for a few moments, but a looming shadow of the thing told Ian of its imminent and awful failure.
"William! Someone!"
Several shots cut through the air, but could not top the pounding sound of blood in Ian's ears.
Doing everything he could to keep moving, Ian leapt across the hood of a ruinous car. It had appeared in his path, and Ian hoped that it would provide more of an obstacle for the creature.
Once on the other side, he turned quickly and fired off a few more shots. These made contact all across the thing's bleeding chest and brought out new bursts of blood.
With one momentous blow, the car was swept aside and smashed to pieces. This left Ian standing face to face with the monster, and without any means of escape.
Throwing up the rifle, Ian squeezed his hand as tight as it would go and held his breath. There was no other way out now, hardly any at all, in truth.
Somehow, the creature paused mid-swing and began to stare blankly at Ian. Then, with a slow but frightfully growing motion, it toppled. Luckily for Ian, the path it took led through the side of the bus and not across Ian's own frame.
On the other side stood the shapes of Amata, William, and Bryan, all holding their guns up toward where the thing had been.
Ian began to speak, but then he saw the shapes behind those shapes. A dozen of those creatures were emerging from rubble of all sorts, each bearing a ramshackle but obviously devastating weapon.
He considered the words "Behind you!" but decided that those would only waste precious time. Instead, Ian threw one arm out toward them and said, "This way!"
It was then that Ian truly decided on a way. Most of the other roads were either blocked off by rubble or the growing number of yellow skinned monstrosities.
And so, with one deliberate movement, Ian tore open an already askew manhole cover and dropped himself inside, only hoping that the others would have the time to follow him down.
