"Is there anything that didn't mutate into some hideous abomination that eats people? Fuck! What's next? Frogs? Giant bats? A fuckin Wendigo?"

Nora leaned on her shovel and looked up morosely at her husband's outburst. Nate threw his weapon at the ground and swore vehemently. The search for Shaun had been put on hold, their neighbors having convinced them to stay until at least until the Professor and George got Codsworth up and running. Nate had relented, knowing that civilians like them needed some protection.

The nights were not restful. Every strange noise led to Nora waking up clutching her pistol. The nighttime noises just weren't the same. She didn't recognize any of it. There were no crickets, no owls. Somethings were making noise, but they were unknown and it frightened some primal part of her brain.

The nights were rough.

But it seemed like every day they were digging another grave.

They'd lost people left and right, to creatures that should never have existed.

The radioactive zombies, oversized roaches and giant flies had only been the start. The river monster that had chopped George's wife into chunks had looked like a crab, if crabs were five feet tall and bred in hell. Nate had managed to kill it, but he'd used up all the ammo for the Cryolater in the process. Then there'd been the moles that pulled Russell halfway into the ground, chewing up his legs.

He'd survived that, but he hadn't survived getting attacked by a swarm of mosquito's the size of pitbulls.

Neither had Cindy's dad.

The sound of their bodies being drained of blood by multiple proboscis's was a sound that was going to haunt Nora's dreams for a long time. She dropped another shovelful of dirt on top of Russell's desiccated body and tried to put it out of her mind. The living conditions were terrible. Not a single house in the neighborhood had a roof without holes. A few had usable if stained and soiled mattresses, but every piece of surviving furniture was well-worn and weather-beaten by the elements.

If Widmer got Codsworth working, it'd be the first thing that had gone right since vault orientation. The world they'd found themselves in was recognizable, and it was not. Like someone had taken everything they'd known apart and put it back together wrong. Nora bit her bottom lip in thought. The rules for living were different. Getting water should have been a simple task but it had cost a woman her life.

They weren't built for this.

The pistol tucked into her belt begged to differ, but she ignored it. It had been useless against the crab, bullets pinging and ricocheting off its shell like it was made of metal. She'd killed a few of the moles at least, but she was used to hunting ducks. The occasional deer. Animals running away from her, not towards. In her opinion Nate was adjusting better, though his patience with everything was quickly wearing thin.

"I've got it! I think I've got it!"

Nora stopped shoveling and straightened up, wiping some sweat off of her forehead. That was the Professor.

"Good news for once, I hope. We're out after this, Nora." Nate put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and she put her hand over it.

They made their way to the area Professor Widmer was using as his workshop, quickly joined by Cindy and Tony. George was already there. He'd been a bit shell-shocked after watching his wife get torn apart, having a single-minded focus on fixing the robot and otherwise being listless. Tony was a nervous, jumpy wreck, and Cindy of all people had remained the calmest, even with her parents having died within days of each other. The professor on the other hand, had been short-tempered and blustery, arguing that every death proved they should have stayed in the vault, something that was usually countered by Nate raising his voice about the lack of supplies in there.

It had been Nora's job to make sure everyone kept their strength up, making meals and gently cajoling everyone to eat, even when they said they weren't hungry. The canned food had run out quickly, even with rationing, and they'd had to roast some of the creatures that had attacked them.

In her opinion, the mole meat was the most palatable.

She arrived at the workshop area just in time to see the orb that formed Codsworth's body rise in to the air, metal appendages unfolding as his eye stalks came online.

"A-ha! Hello sir!" he said, his tinny British accent coming out of his vocalizer.

"Might I inquire as to where—Mr. Jones! Mrs. Jones! It's so good to see you again!"

If Nora didn't know any better, she would have said that real emotion was bleeding through; he sounded almost relieved, which was odd for a robot.

"It's good to see you too, Codsworth."she said with a small smile.

"Alright, Codsworth was it?" The professor cut in. "Can you run a self-diagnostic? Are your condensers in working order? I wasn't sure if I managed to fix—"

"My condensers should be able to bring in some water soon haha! Good to meet you too professor! Spiffing good job, you did there." Codsworth preened as much as a Mr. Handy could, examining his various implements.

"I say, the last thing I remember is those hooligans roughing me up— "

"Er, Yes." The professor interjected. "Quite. Now, you have an internal chronometer; would you mind telling us what today is?

"One moment please," the robot responded, a quiet pinging noise emanating from his core.

"Ah yes, It's October twenty-third— "

"That can't be right, it was the twenty-third when we ran to the vault," Nate said in confusion. "Are you sure you and George fixed him?"

Professor Widmer huffed in annoyance and started to say something but was cut off by Codsworth.

"If you let me finish sir? October 23rd 2287. That means you're two hundred and ten years late for dinner, ahaha! Right on the nose. Ha! I'll be right back, let me whip something up." The robot started humming a little ditty to himself and floated across the street into the ruins of their house.

Nora leaned against a rusted hulk of a nearby car and put her hands on her knees, closing her eyes and trying to steady herself. Trying not to hyperventilate. She'd been denying that for a few days now, refusing to believe that the calendar on the pipboy was correct and thankful that no one had thought to ask if it had one. There had been a chance that someone, anyone they knew could be alive somewhere. That there was a remnant of the military looking for survivors.

Something. Anything. This sealed it. Over two hundred years they'd been on ice?

It was unreal. It couldn't be. Everyone they loved. Everyone they knew had been dead for centuries.

Nora opened her eyes and bit her bottom lip. None of the others took the news well. Tony walked away from the group like a zombie, oddly serene given how neurotic he'd been acting over the last week.

"That's— "Nate began, aghast. "We can't have been out that long. Not—not two hundred years." He slumped against the side of the house, the strong demeanor he'd been projecting evaporating like morning dew in the sun.

Widmer slowly got to his feet, his face pale, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, with no sound coming out. Cindy had started crying. George lay down on the ground and stared at the sky, chuckling softly before it turned into weeping.

A sudden gunshot broke the near silence that had fallen over them, startling everyone. As Nora watched, Nate took a quick peek in his satchel and then took off running in the direction it had come from.

"Anyone for sugar bombs?" Codsworth asked cheerily, floating back to their little group. "I—oh dear."

They found Tony's body three houses down, a pistol in his hand.

It was difficult for Nate to come to terms with just how long they'd been frozen, but it gave him the last push he needed to put his foot down and leave Sanctuary Hills to start the search for his son. Gathering supplies had been a necessary delay, but there was nothing else he could do for these people. He'd already failed most of the people that had made it out of the vault. Tony's suicide had made that clear, if the shallow graves they'd dug all week hadn't.

He had a plan, such as it was.

There were regular people still, judging by the ones that come into the vault. Maybe there'd be some in Concord. It might have been too much to hope that the kidnappers lived that close, but it was a good place to start. If they failed to find any sign of Shaun, that he'd scrounge for supplies and bring them back. None of other vault survivors disagreed, preoccupied with their own emotions about the passage of time.

But none of them wanted to come with Nora and him to check it out. He and his wife had been walking in silence for several minutes when she saw something.

"Look, it's a dog," Nora said in surprise as they passed by an old gas station. "And it's not even a mutant freak that's trying to eat us."

The canine in question trotted up to them, wagging its tail friendly.

"Be careful, Nora, we don't know if this thing is safe."

He'd failed so many people, but Nora was still alive, and nothing was going to take her from him. Not even a perfectly normal looking German Shepard.

"Hey there, boy." She cooed, kneeling down to scratch it between the ears. "Lose your owner or something?"

Nate crossed his arms disapprovingly, but didn't say anything. Nora had always had an affinity for animals that he didn't. He preferred his animals barbecued, not digging holes in his lawn or eating the couch cushions. Fish were nice. They couldn't leave the aquarium and their food was cheap.

"Maybe he can lead us to other people. He seems friendly enough." She had that look in her eyes, the one that said it difficult to say no.

"Fine," he sighed. "The mutt can come along, but it starts sprouting extra legs or something, I'm going to shoot it."

Concord looked roughly the same as his memory of it. Dirtier, more rundown, but still recognizable. Bit more gunfire than the last time he'd visited it.

The Museum of Freedom had weathered the last two centuries well, save for the crashed vertibird sticking out of the top of it.

In front of the museum was a small group of people screaming bloody murder at a trio on its balcony who were shooting down at them.

They didn't look mutated, though their garb was strange. All of them were dressed in ragged leather and cloth clothing, bolstered by rebar and bits of stone and metal. The poor man's substitute for Kevlar, if he had to guess. In any case, he grabbed Nora's arm and pulled her into the ruins of a nearby building. The dog followed them dutifully, growling softly.

It was best not to get involved until they knew who was who.

The firefight was over quickly in any case, as the shooters on the balcony had laser rifles; though they didn't sound like they were firing quite right. Their opponents on the other hand, had been holding knives and clubs. He eyed one weapon with interest; it looked to be a tire iron with a blade welded to it, forming a sort of hatchet.

"Hey, you in the vault suits!" someone on the balcony called down. Shit, nate thought. They'd been seen. "Get inside quick! There's more raiders headed into town!"

Nate glanced up at him skeptically, then again at the hatchet and the dead bodies, trying to figure out what the hell the fight had been about. But they hadn't shot at him and his wife either. That was a good sign.

"It's alright, we're with the Minutemen." The man continued. Nate narrowed his eyes. The man said the name like he expected it to carry some weight.

"What do you think?" he asked Nora.

"He seems trustworthy enough," she replied, sounding slightly uncertain. "Dressed better than these so-called raiders, if that means anything."

The outfit that Nora was talking about consisted on jeans and a button up, which was considerably more normal looking than what the dead people littering the street were wearing. It was a gamble, but they needed information. He glanced at Nora. She was staring at the bodies with morbid curiosity. Like looking at a car crash. They'd been surrounded by death for days now. Nate made a mental note to see how she was doing later. Being thrust into life and death situations on a regular basis was normal for him, but how was she taking it? He nodded to Nora and the pair of them headed inside quickly.

The interior of the museum was in disrepair. Mannequins dressed in replica revolutionary war outfits were strewn about haphazardly, in between and around empty glass cases that once held weapons or other historical artifacts. There were three levels to it and the wood of most of the connecting walkways and staircases had rotted away, forcing them to pick their steps carefully.

There were several bodies lying about as he and Nora made their way through the second floor. Most were wearing the same mishmash of leather, cloth pants and harnesses; a few sported gas masks in need of repair as well. But there were two, a man and a woman who wore wearing outfits similar to the man on the balcony.

A broken laser rifle that looked cobbled together from spare parts was still clutched in the man's hands. The housing was almost halfway standard for an AER9, but there was a hand crank, iron sights and a capacitor was more makeshift than any field repairs he'd seen Walsh make during the Anchorage campaign. He supposed the two corpses were Minutemen too. Whatever that meant.

As they made their way through the Museum, they stopped in a room that had a mural depicting a brief history of the American military, spanning three hundred years, from 1776 to 2076. Revolutionary war to the battle for Luna. Nate stared at it impassively, remembering a speech he had been supposed to give at the fraternal outpost in Cambridge, the one about how war never changed.

Forever ago and yesterday.

It hit him then, really hit him. His squad was gone. Had been for two centuries. Garcia and Clark had survived the war, but after? He hoped they'd been incinerated instantly. Even then, they'd have died long ago. It twisted his stomach to think of running into any of them turned into those misshapen things their neighbors had become.

Did that make him the last active member, the sole survivor of the unites states military? It was a sobering thought.

At last they reached the top floor. Nate moved down it slowly, keeping Nora behind him and his gun drawn. In the room at the end of the corridor they met a group of eight people, most of whom were sporting bandaged wounds and other minor injuries. The dog barked happily and sped into the room, hopping up on a couch and laying his head down on an old woman's lap.

The dark skinned man who'd been yelling to them from the balcony took a few cautious steps towards them, keeping one hand on his rifle, but tipping his hat in acknowledgement. Nate relaxed slightly, lowering his pistol.

"We don't see too many vault dwellers around these parts," the man said, shaking his head. "I'm afraid you'd wandered into a tight spot."

That was the second time he'd made it clear he knew they were from a vault. Had other vaults fared better than vault 111 then? Were there other two hundred year old American citizens wandering the wasteland? When had they been unfrozen? Had Vault-tec succeeded in its mission? Those and other questions fought for control of Nate's tongue, but he swallowed them all, opting to fish for more pressing information instead.

"Who are you?" Nate asked. "What was going on out there?"

"Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen," he said, introducing himself. "The grease monkey working on the terminal is Sturges." A dirt covered man waved a gloved hand, his overalls stained with oil, blood and several other substances Nate couldn't immediately identify. Preston gestured to the rest of his group, people wearing relatively normal clothing who were sitting, standing and pacing around.

"This here's the Jun and Marcy Long, Mama Murphy, Fred, Angie and Jules," he went on, pointing at a couple, an old woman wearing a headscarf, and then a trio consisting of a bald man, a bearded man and a woman. They acknowledged Nate and Nora with nods, small waves and in one case a sour scowl.

"Oh great," one of the women said, rolling her eyes. "What are you two going to do in those stupid jumpsuits besides bleed to death?"

"Marcy, please." the man next to her said disapprovingly.

"As I said, you've stumbled into a real mess," Preston said, ignoring the comments from his companions and shaking his head.

"We might just be the last survivors of the Quincy Massacre. A month ago, there were thirty of us. Now we're all that's left." The tone was morose, but Nate had no idea what the hell he was talking about.

"I'm sorry, the what?" Nora asked, arching an eyebrow questioningly.

Preston seemed a little put out.

"Would have thought the whole commonwealth would have heard about it by now."

"We just left our vault about a week ago." Nora supplied, and Nate breathed a small sigh of relief. He hated small talk.

"Damn, right forgot this was all new to you," Preston continued, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Okay, the quick version. The Gunners are a large mercenary organization. They decided they wanted the town of Quincy as their new headquarters and assaulted it. The minutemen were called in to help but we were betrayed." It was about that time that Nate noticed just how tired the young man looked. Battle-weary. "I pulled together what minutemen I could and got a few civilians out. They dogged us as far as Jamaica plain, picked some of us off and then gave up."

The minuteman shook his head.

"We thought we were in the clear until Lexington. A gang of raiders started coming after us, stirred up a huge pack of feral ghouls in the process. That was a few days ago, back when there was seventeen of us. We lost Anthony and Casey a couple minutes before you two showed up. And I think those raiders were just scouts." Preston shrugged.

"They've been following us since Lexington. I don't know why."

"Back up," Nate said, shaking his head and holding up a hand. "What are ghouls?

"Mutated humans," Preston answered. People irradiated by the bombs that fell during the great war. Turned into something—other. Damn, this must all seem crazy compared to vault living, huh?"

"Ah. I think we've encountered a few of those," Nate murmured, thinking about what had become of their neighbors. "I'm Nathaniel Jones," he continued. "This is my wife Nora. We came from vault 111, outside of Sanctuary Hills."

"No kidding?" the minuteman said, raising an eyebrow. That's actually where we're headed. It's supposed to be safe up there."

It was an uncomfortable thought. If Sanctuary Hills was supposed to be safe, just how bad was the rest of Boston?

"I never heard of there being a vault up there." Preston paused, looking at them thoughtfully. "There more of you?"

"A few," Nate said quietly.

"What brings a couple of vaulties to the surface anyway?" Preston asked, sounding a little wary.

"We—some people waltzed into the vault and kidnapped our son, we're trying to find him."

"Shit, I'm sorry, that's fucked up." Preston replied, shaking his head. Nate nodded, gauging the room and deciding that they seemed to be decent enough. Not the type to steal babies in any case.

"Oh, enough jawin, Preston, I need to talk to our guests. Dogmeat found them for a reason." The speaker was the old woman with the headscarf and slippers. Mama Murphy.

"He's your dog then?" Nora asked, taking a seat next to her and petting the hound. Nate resisted the urge to facepalm. What the hell kind of name? Nora's dads' hunting dogs had all had names like Trapper, Hunter and Killer.

"Ah, he's his own man. A rare breed. Just like me." The old biddy chuckled at some private joke and fixed her murky blue eyes on Nora.

"I'm a psyker, you see." Murphy stated it as though it were common knowledge, same as Preston and the Quincy Massacre. It was starting to grate on Nate's nerves.

"And what's a psyker?" Nate asked, feeling like he was a tourist of the weird and these people were his guides.

"Sometimes I can see things, glimpses of the future. Maybe I took too much radiation in the womb. Maybe my mom ate something she shouldn't have,"The old woman chuckled, making an unpleasant rasping sound. "The radiation, chemicals released by the blast. It's a part of the world now. It changes things. Changes people. Look at the ghouls. They've been alive since the bombs fell."

It was a valid point, about the ghouls at least. Nate wasn't sure how he felt about the premonitions though.

The old woman stared at him knowingly.

"It's not so strange. I once met a woman whose wounds would heal in the sunlight. A man who exuded a presence so terrifying a single sentence could send his enemies running."

It sounded like something out of a comic book, and he had a hard time taking her seriously.

"The world's not what it used to be," she said cryptically. "But then, you two already know that, don't you?"

A funny feeling wormed its way into Nate's gut.

"What do you mean?" he said carefully.

"Oh don't do that," she grumbled, waving a hand dismissively. "You know what I mean, Lieutenant. It's not cold anymore now is it?"

The back of Nate's neck prickled, searching for a rational explanation. How could she know?

Nate noted that Nora's head had snapped up from the dog when the old lady had said that. He desperately wanted to discuss this latest development with his wife in private, but there was no avenue to do so. Mama Murphy continued to talk.

"But there's this haze around your futures. I've never seen that before." She stood unsteadily, starting to stumble. Nora caught her before she fell. Good thing too, she looked liable to break a hip. The old woman groaned in pain, clutching her chest. She looked up at him but wasn't really looking at him.

"What?" She murmured. "I, I..." she wheezed, eyes darting frantically back and forth at something unseen.

"I think she might be having a heart attack." Nora said apprehensively as the old woman began to speak.

"You're searching for your son, but you're surrounded by outstretched hands pulling you in a hundred directions. Men of science and men of steel? The lanterns in the dark. The people of the commonwealth. That which aren't. Fishermen. Zealots. Cutthroats. You'll be a hero. A symbol. A—a conqueror? Guardian. Visionary? Messenger."

None of it made any sense to Nate.

"Mama Murphy, are you okay? Your nose is bleeding! Mama Murphy?" Preston said pleadingly, taking her other arm. The old biddy ignored him and started coughing.

"I can't…the sight, it's never been murky like this. Split? I can't see anything clearly—what might be. What will be. It's all running together," she gasped, shaking her head. "It's all riding on you, but what will you become? You...wear your uniform well, fear falls away as the brave step forward to join the ranks." She started to bleed from her eyes as well.

The minuteman gripped her shoulders.

"Mama Murphy, you have to stop using your power, it's killing you."

"Can't turn it off Preston," she mumbled, almost collapsing again, if not for Nora helping her up.

"You will not be loved, but you will save humanity." She reached out, grasping blindly for Nate's hand.

When she found it, her rheumy, bleeding eyes focused on his.

"The world will never know what you've sacrificed. Death has horns. More than one." she let go. All of her companions looked worried, and a few of them had taken unsure steps towards her. If she noticed, she didn't react, patting Nora's back instead.

"Everyone needs your help," she said to the ceiling. "Everyone wants you to see things their way, and kid, whether you want it or not, you will decide which ways of life keep going in the commonwealth, and which come to an end."

Mama Murphy blinked rapidly and coughed again. For a moment her face was almost serene.

"Heh, I should have seen this coming," she said it to no one in particular, staring at something that none of the rest of them could see. With a groan, she clutched her chest again, then slumped to the ground and was still, her clouded eyes open but unseeing.

"She's—she's gone." Nora said quietly after checking for a pulse.

The room erupted into cries of horror and anguish.

"Oh no, not mama Murphy too." Jun moaned.

"What did you do?" someone else hissed.

"We've lost so many since Quincy, not again." said another.

"Fuck," Preston said quietly as he closed her eyes.

"I say we throw these vault dwellers out for the raiders."

Nate slowly brought his pistol up, grabbing Nora's arm and putting her behind him. That was not what he signed up for.

"They killed Mama Murphy!" one of the other men howled.

"Quiet!" Preston snapped, bringing his rifle up. "They did no such thing. She was old and in poor health. And it sure didn't help that someone kept slipping her chems, now did it?" his voice raised with the last few words and that seemed to get everyone's attention.

They settled down, and Nate relaxed, but only slightly. The woman's apparent visions had unnerved him.

"I'll miss her, hell, we'll all miss her. But that's just how it goes in the commonwealth. We stick to the plan or we get ready to die with her." Preston turned to the man in the overalls.

"Sturges, fill our new friends in. Those raiders will be on us soon." The mechanic nodded smartly.

"Right, right," Sturges said, bobbing his head and casting a sad glance in Mama Murphy's direction. The others had moved her back to the couch and laid her down. Dogmeat whined softly."So, before y'all came in, we were trying to get to the roof. There's a crashed vertibird up there, you might have seen it?"

"Yeah, it was hard to miss." Nate said, wondering where they were going with that line of thought.

"So, its still got a minigun attached to it, and a set of t-45 power armor in the wreckage. Rusty, but usable. It was the top of the line in the pre-war times. We even got a fusion core for it from the basement, though it cost us Casey and Anthony."

It was the t-51 armor that had been the best, but Nate held his tongue, letting the man continue his explanation.

"With firepower like that, we could probably get the raiders to back off or failing that, kill them all. Only problem is most of us are too wounded to operate it," Sturges sucked at his teeth and glanced at Preston. "I could, but he don't want to risk me because I'm the only one who knows how to build a water purifier. Now, I don't know what kind of skills they teach people in vaults, but like Preston said earlier, we're in a tight spot and most of us are wounded..."

There was a pregnant pause in the room as Nate pieced together what they were trying to imply.

"I see what you're saying," he said after a moment. I'll do it. I can wear the armor. If I can't intimidate them, I can draw their fire and try to cut them down to size."

"Nate…", his wife said warningly.

"It'll be alright, honey." he said reassuringly. "I'll be alright."

"We'll get moving to the ground floor," Preston said, sounding and looking relieved. The people with him seemed less convinced, save perhaps for the mechanic.

"Once you've cleared the field we'll make a break for it."

Nate pecked Nora on the cheek and headed for the roof. It was just one thing after the other in this new world, wasn't it?