The sun was beginning to crest the horizon when William stumbled into the caravan. He'd been walking all night, and had walked all the day before – trying to avoid the roads, and trying to avoid caravans. He'd been skirting the edges of Concord, not daring to enter the ruined town, but must have gone deeper than he realized as he darted from house to house.
The caravan wasn't moving yet, but the caravanners were up ahead of dawn to prepare the brahmin for the day's journey. It was a large train, seven brahmin each hauling carts neatly loaded with stacks of metal crates. The crates were clean and undamaged, and the carts well maintained. An affluent merchant, it seemed.
Before William could scurry back into the boarded up storefront he'd come from, he was spotted. One of the caravan laborers pointed at him and said something, and a caravan guard – with a long rifle and combat armor – shouted out, raising his weapon. "Hold it there!"
William put his hands out, away from the pistol holstered at his hip and the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He knew this moment was coming, but he hadn't expected it to be then and there. He starting walking towards the guard - and with beads of sweat trying to form on the top of his scalp - he smiled sheepishly.
"Hello, friend! Easy now," he said back to the caravan guard. Two more guards joined them, and the caravan workers stopped working to watch the confrontation. One of the new guards had a laser rifle – an affluent merchant, indeed.
"Keep those hands up," the first guard commanded. "What's your business, traveler?"
This was it. Time to roll the dice.
William's smile deepened, and he patted the large satchel hanging at his side. "My business is with the Minutemen, friend. Urgent business with the General at Sanctuary. I assume you all are headed that way as well?"
The guard eyed him up and down suspiciously, his eyes lingering on first the sidearm and then the satchel. It was bulky, but you couldn't tell what it carried by looking at it. William took a deep breath. "Fortunate to have met you."
"Where'd you come from? You weren't in there earlier," the guard with the laser rifle said, gesturing his weapon at the building William had emerged from.
"I've been traveling all night, and all day yesterday too. Taking cover where I could," William replied. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the building. "I was in there for maybe the last hour. Didn't realize you all were out here, somehow, or I'd have joined you earlier."
The first part was true, anyway, and his embarrassed expression was earnest.
Before the guards, still looking suspicious but easing up, could respond, they were joined by a woman. She was tall, with shoulder-length hair that bordered on red, and she had the stern look of the person in charge. But more significantly, beneath scraps of leather armor, she was wearing a Vault suit – Vault 81.
The first guard nodded to her and stepped back. "He came out of that building over there, says he's traveling to Sanctuary with a message for the Minutemen."
The woman looked him over carefully. "You don't look like a Minuteman," she finally said. Her eyes too lingered on his satchel.
"Well, I'm not an enlisted trooper, so to speak, but I've come all the way from the coast with, well, with urgent business," he said. He tried to sound proud, maybe a little bashful. Secretive but not untrustworthy. He had no idea if it sounded right.
After a long pause, the woman pursing her lips and exchanging looks with the guards, she shrugged her shoulders. "Keep those guns put up and I don't see why you can't tag along to Sanctuary. We'll be there by nightfall," she said. She turned back to the caravan, cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted, "If we can get those brahmin moving!"
He pulled in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
The guards dispersed back into the caravan, and the woman stood at the edge of it, watching the workers hitch the brahmin and secure the crates. William stood beside her.
"Sorry for the cold welcome, stranger, but even this close to Sanctuary, you can't be too careful," she said to him. "I'm Rylee, and this here caravan's come all the way from Vault 81."
"Name's Will," he replied. They shook hands. "That's a good long way. What are you hauling?"
"Food, food, more food, and a few cases of water. And you're damned right about the long way. We've been on the road for weeks," Rylee said. William frowned at that.
"Weeks? It shouldn't take that long," he said. Rylee chuckled grimly.
"No kidding, Bill, no kidding. Hey, Charlie, Stevie, get that damned cart hitched so we can get moving! We're all waiting on you!"
William kept his questions to himself as the last brahmin was readied and the caravan slowly started to lumber forward. Dawn had come and was nearly gone by the time the train hit a steady pace along the road. Past Concord the way was mostly uphill, but the brahmin – hardy creatures used to their burdens – barely slowed. Indeed, they moved faster than William had ever seen a brahmin caravan go, marching easily along the smooth path. The road to Sanctuary was well-worn.
As they walked, Rylee left William to talk to one of the guards, and he fell back to the rear of the train. He walked next to a worker, a short, stout man with wide shoulders and a long beard that almost reached his belly.
"Name's Will," William said, extending his hand. They shook.
"Howdy, Will, I'm called Terry. Did I hear you're with the Minutemen?"
William shook his head. "I'm not on any lists, but I do a lot of work for them out east along the coast. You're from Vault 81?"
Terry grumbled a laugh. "Hell no. I wish. I hitched on with this here train in Bunker Hill."
"Bunker Hill?" If Rylee had taken the caravan from Vault 81 to Bunker Hill, William thought, why was she headed to Sanctuary? Why not offload in Bunker Hill to caravanners that work the road north? It was a long and circuitous path from 81 to Bunker Hill to Sanctuary.
"Yessiree. Trader Rylee hired the lot of us there. Well, maybe one or two she picked up in Goodneighbor. Her and the guns are the only ones actually from the Vault, I believe," Terry replied.
"Roads a lot shorter going straight from 81 to Sanctuary," William said. "Why'd she take the train through Boston?"
"I never did ask her, but I reckon it was to avoid the trouble out west. Train coming up from the south isn't going to be too protected next to a train coming in from the east," Terry replied.
That made some sense, William thought. The line between Minuteman territory and Nuka-World territory was a messy, dangerous stretch of miles – and while he personally, intimately knew the balance favored the Minutemen currently, for a caravan the size of Rylee's, safety favored steering well clear. In fact, if Mason had known about this caravan, William's mission might have been very, very different. But even still, it was a long way around, and traversing the length of Boston was its own danger. He knew that just as well.
He shuddered. Involuntarily, images burned into his brain flared up in his mind's eye like blowing on warm coals. Images of fighting through downtown Boston, shedding a pound of flesh for every inch gained along the city roads choked with chaos. Killing ghouls with their maws stained black with blood, ripping their brains from their skulls while they screamed. He killed so many, and there were always more. The flood never stopped, he just outran it. He wasn't supposed to have been there and he'd had nobody to help him get out. There were a lot of things living in Boston, and the fifteen minutes of bombing it took to blow up Diamond City brought every last one of them out.
"You said you came from the coast?"
The sound of the question yanked William from his thoughts. He looked at Terry, the little man seeming nothing but kindliness looking back at him. What had he asked?
"What's that, Terry?" He smiled, and rubbed the back of his neck.
"I said, where on the coast are you coming from?"
"Oh. North, up north. Salem ways," William replied. "Once I make this delivery, I'll sleep for a week."
Another laugh burbled out of Terry's gullet. "That's a helluva trip. What's a thing like that pay?"
"Not enough, but like I said, I do lot of business with the Minutemen. I'll pick up more jobs on my way back, no doubt," William said.
"Well, it ain't Goodneighbor, but for an honest man, I've it on good authority there's no better place in the Commonwealth to rest tired feet than in Sanctuary," Terry said, sounding almost wistful. "I haven't been, but with the Minutemen fixing it up and all the trade headed their way, I heard a sober man call it the next Diamond City, may she rest in peace."
William too had heard stories about the new Sanctuary, rebuilt by the Minutemen and thriving as the hub of their quest to unite the northern Commonwealth. He'd heard a lot of stories, most spat at him by men who knew they were about to die.
They walked along after that in amiable silence. The road was easy, and the train encountered nothing that didn't run away. They stopped twice to rest the brahmin, but picked up again quickly. It was shortly after midday when the road got noticeably steeper.
"Almost to Red Rocket," one of the caravan workers said. There were grumbles of agreement throughout the train. Their pace – quick to begin within – picked up as the end of the road got closer.
It took less than an hour to summit the hill, and they could see Red Rocket long before that. A tall building, built out of an amalgam of wood and metal, rose four or even five stories high. Wings two stories high extended out from the sides of the center tower, forming the legs of a triangle. To William, it looked like the jaws of some great beast. The remnants of the truck stop lay cannibalized in the mouth of the triangle; roof and walls were stripped for resources, leaving skeleton-like remains of tile floors and metal beams planted too deep in the ground to pull out. Canopies covered the corpse, drooping along ropes like loose skin hanging from strips of sinew. A sign, flashing gaudy neon blues, proclaimed the savage scene: "Welcome to Red Rocket! Traders Welcome!"
Rylee's train wound its way into the truck stop. William stayed close to Terry and the other workers. On the roofs of the building's two wings, Minutemen sat at guard posts, watching the road up from Concord, the road past towards Sanctuary, and the woods on either side, and automated gun turrets hummed at every corner, sweeping from side to side ever-watchful. William could see at the top floor of the center building, peeking from windows, the long, thick barrels of stationary machine guns. The gateway to Sanctuary was well-defended.
Rows of troughs were lined up beneath the canopies, and a gaggle of kids sitting around on stools jumped up and rushed to greet them, but Rylee turned around at the head of the train as they lumbered to a stop. "I know you boys wanna head upstairs and get some grub, but we're not stopping for long. Take ten minutes to rest your feet, rub the brahmin, and then we're carrying on."
The workers moaned in disappointment. A neon sign saying "Open" blinked at the door into the main building.
"I don't want to hear it. You'll have plenty of time and plenty of caps to fill your bellies when we reach Sanctuary tonight. Ten minutes, that's all," Rylee shouted back at them. She addressed the group of children, caps were slipped into little hands, and the kids set about brushing the brahmin and offering bottles of water to the workers, most of whom happily took them. Rylee and one of the guards slipped away into the main building.
A kid tugged at William's sleeve while he was watching Rylee. He looked down at him with a start.
"Wanna buy a Nuka-Cola, mister? Only five caps," the boy said. He was maybe ten but seemed small for his age. He was carrying a little blue cooler with both hands, and his little elbows bent in from the weight of it.
William fished around in his pockets for caps, but he knew he didn't have any. He pulled out a 10mm bullet. "I'll trade you this for a cola," he said, holding out the bullet for the kid to see. His little eyes narrowed, and he glared at William.
"Ten millimeter trades at a cap a round, mister, so pull five and we'll deal," he said angrily. William smirked and pulled out another four rounds. Sharp kid. When the kid saw the bullets, he dropped his cooler to the ground and slid open the lid. There were three or four bottles of Nuka-Cola inside and it was full of water – no wonder the kid could barely carry it. They made the trade, and the kid moved up the caravan, tugging at sleeves and making deals.
William stopped another of the kids running around, a little girl, and gave her the cola. She accepted it suspiciously and wandered off. He didn't drink Nuka-Cola anymore
He stopped the boy with the cooler when he passed by again. "Hey, kid, you all live here?"
The kid sneered at him and hefted his cooler, now a few bottles lighter. "Of course not. We live in Sanctuary."
"You go back every night?" William asked.
"Yeah. The road is plenty safe with the Minutemen around. Listen, mister, I gotta get back inside and get more cola before you all leave," the kid said, and then he ran off through a door into one of the wings, his cooler sloshing in his arms. Barely a minute later, he came running out again, weighed down by more cola to peddle.
Before he could sell through his cooler again, Rylee emerged from the main building and starting whipping the caravan back into order. The kids ran off, bunching up in a line to watch the caravan go, their pockets jangling with hard-earned caps. It didn't take long to get the train moving again, and the children waved them off.
The road from Red Rocket to Sanctuary was only a few miles, an idyllic trail winding around hills. They were maybe halfway when they encountered the first patrol. Three Minutemen, laser muskets and all, one on either side of the road and one in the middle, slowly walking eastbound. They exchanged a few words with Rylee, then waited while the train passed. William turned back to see them start walking again. Less than a mile later, another patrol – this one made of two men – and the same brief greeting to Trader Rylee, then waiting while the caravan moved along. This region of the Commonwealth had never been particularly hostile, but with such a heavy Minutemen presence, it was no wonder to William that children could walk safely between Red Rocket and Sanctuary.
After passing the second patrol, it wasn't long before they could see Sanctuary. The settlement itself was on an island, surrounded on all sides by a gently flowing river that couldn't be more than a few feet deep at any spot. Walls, maybe seven or eight feet tall, surrounded the entire island, but William could see the buildings over the walls. They were all built from the same materials as the Red Rocket station, but these were bigger, and there were a lot of them. From the outside, it didn't look like there was any bit of the island left in Sanctuary that hadn't been built on. Lights, dazzling even in the afternoon, were strung all over, and tall street lights too, illuminating the entire settlement like something straight out of an Old World postcard. The wall itself was littered with guard towers, automated turrets, and spotlights, bustling with movement and light.
The road led straight into a narrow bridge across the river, which ended right at a gate, which was swung wide open. Four automated turrets were perched above the gate, with two more at ground level on either side, and there were another four Minuteman guards above and one standing beside the gate. It was an impressive display. William studied the turrets and the guards as the caravan came to a halt at the gate. The turrets were fairly well-constructed, but he could tell even from the back of the train that the armor plates around their ammo chambers were too thin. Since the turrets were stationary, a single sniper could probably clear the entire wall faster than the human guards could locate him.
The guards were almost all carrying the Minutemen's signature laser muskets, although he saw some with long rifles, maybe .308s. The laser musket was slow to crank up, but its blasts could burn a hole through a man at longer ranges than any gun short of an anti-materiel rifle. It was cheap to make, didn't use ammunition, and the Minutemen trained hard with them. But even still, thick enough leather or treated composites could blunt any laser weapon. The guards' own armor was almost laughable. Most of them were just wearing clothes – thick dusters, sure, but not armor – with only a few sporting actual armor pieces. Storming the walls of Sanctuary would cost men, but not too many. Fighting within would be another story.
The gate guard flagged down Rylee and they started to talk. William filtered up through the train to hear.
"Trader Rylee, you're moving up in the world. Never seen you pull a train like this before," the guard said, gesturing admiringly at the carts of neatly packed cargo.
"You said it. 81's finally breaking down, hired me to trade their food surplus for shit they actually need," Rylee replied.
"The wayward daughter returns," the guard said, laughing proudly. "Well, you're gonna be the fourth caravan we got in here, so there's a killing to be made. I heard Trashcan Carla was buying out food, so I'd talk to her first thing."
"Thanks for the tip, Justin, I'll talk to her," Rylee said. She turned around to the caravan and whistled. "Alright, guys, we're finally here. Let's get this cargo unloaded into the warehouse, then we'll get you all paid."
The caravan workers whooped, and happily herded the brahmin through the wide gates into Sanctuary.
Inside the gate, the narrow lane was crowded on all sides by buildings. The offloading zone for caravans was just inside, a huge barn with doors wide enough for five brahmin to pass through at once. A Minuteman guard swung open the doors when he saw Rylee's train, and he and Rylee disappeared into the warehouse. William didn't stick around to help them unload the carts. He split off while the workers started unhitching brahmin and leading them to trough, and started down the lane.
Past the large buildings at the entrance – a warehouse for caravans, guard barracks, a maintenance shed – the construction quickly segmented into living facilities. Small, box-like things of wood and metal pushed together as close as possible, stacked three and sometimes four high. People milled around these homes, more people than William had expected. It was a noisy place, full of talk and the sounds of chores being done all over – people were sweeping floors, cleaning clothes, patching holes in walls and putting up new ones, throwing themselves at all the work that building and maintaining a settlement entailed. It reminded William of the construction at the Terminal, what seemed like an eternity ago. Living people throwing off the ruins of the dead and building something new. Life in the wasteland so often was about fitting yourself into the things the Old World had needed – sleeping in their homes, using their furniture, even eating their food. Living off the sour fat left on the bones of an ancient civilization's corpse. But what was being done here, and what they had begun to do at Nuka-World, was shaping the wasteland to serve the living rather than the dead. William contemplated what a shame it was that such a glorious undertaking was being wasted in service of the weak, and the settlers, taking him for another caravan worker when they took him at all, paid him no mind.
After the first long row of houses, the right side of the road opened up into farmland. Long rows of corn and razorgrain covering a hill sloping down to the walls, and mutfruit hugging the soft, wet soil along the wall's edge, with the river on the other side. It was late in the day, and there only a few settlers tending the crops. The left side of the road became common areas – a restaurant and bar, a laundry, even a school. The restaurant by itself was three floors high with wide-open balconies, and teemed with activity. A group of people were standing outside, eating and drinking – they looked like caravan workers. The final common building before the street became lined with houses once again was what caught William's eye. The neon sign that glowed above the door called it the Town Hall, but the two Minutemen standing guard outside meant that was their headquarters. That was where William needed to go. He started walking towards the guards.
"Now you look like a man with something good to sell," a man said behind him. William spun around, barely managing to still the hand that instinctively reached for the pistol at his side. The man appeared to have staggered away from the group drinking outside the restaurant. He was short, wearing heavy oversize clothes that made him look even shorter, and he was wearing an old cap that failed to conceal his bald scalp. A pair of sunglasses stuck out of his breast pocket.
"No, friend, nothing to sell," William said, smiling falsely. The man wagged his finger at him.
"Now, now, between two honest travelers, there's always a deal to be made. I just signed on with a job that pays more than I've made my whole life," the man continued, gesturing broadly and stumbling as he did. "I'm ready to deal!"
William put his hand on the man's shoulder, and looked him in the eyes. "I'm on urgent business. I'm sure your friends over there will take care of you."
The man's eyes turned shrewd when William mentioned urgent business, but he just burped loudly and staggered off back towards the restaurant. "Have it your way, friend."
William watched him go, then turned back to the Town Hall. He took a deep breath, and approached the guards.
"Ho, stranger, what's your business," one of the guards said, holding up a hand for William to stop.
"I have information for the General, from Salem," William said, patting the satchel that still hung by his waist. The guard eyed it, eyed his guns, and eyed him.
"Open it up, let's have a look," the guard said, gesturing with his musket at the satchel. William shook his head.
"It's for the General's eyes only, friend, I'm sorry," William replied. The guard scoffed.
"Sanctuary is open for business, stranger, but that don't mean we have to let you carry suspicious bags wherever you please. We see what's inside, or you don't go in," the guard said. The other guard nodded his agreement.
"Then the General doesn't get the message I came all the way from Salem to deliver. His eyes only, that was my order, and that's that," William said back.
"Order from who?"
"Captain Black," William lied. No need for a hard name to remember.
"I never heard of no Captain Black in the Minutemen," the second guard said.
"You make the trip to the Salem coast often, do you?" William replied with as much scorn as he dared.
The two guards didn't reply, looking at each other with frustration. They huddled together, whispering and casting disapproving looks at William, who could almost but not quite hear what they were saying.
"Let him in," a woman's voice came from behind William. The two guards broke off and looked past him to the woman, and William turned. It was an old woman, very old. She slouched deeply, like a thin branch bending under a heavy snow, and the mass of rags she wore around her drooped to scrape along the road beneath her feet. Her hair was covered by a turban that fell almost to her eyes. She looked like a stiff breeze would knock her over, if not kill her.
"Mama Murphy, you're not supposed to be up and around. Go back home," the second guard said to the woman. She shook her head slightly, the movement of her head not strong enough to even unsettle her clothes.
"Mama Murphy is stronger than you, kid. I could knock you to the ground," she hissed, raising a bony finger to point at the guard. Her whole arm shook as she raised it. "I said to let him in."
"Let's get you home," the second guard said, rushing towards the old woman. William said nothing, and stepped aside. The old woman caught his gaze, her beady black eyes dazzling deep in their sockets, as the guard gently lifted her off the ground.
"I see something," the woman said, her voice suddenly steel. The guard carrying her in his arms stopped, and everybody seemed to hold their breath. "I see a man. He's wrapped up in... the past. Old things. He's looking for something. Something big and terrible. He doesn't know where to find it, but he can't take his eyes off it. You're gonna meet him, stranger, and when you do, he's gonna find what he's been looking for."
The old woman trailed off. She sank even more into her bundle of rags, almost disappearing. William could hear her still muttering, barely audible. She was repeating herself, over and over – "Let him in... The greatest thing he's ever seen... Let him in..."
The guard carried her off, further into Sanctuary.
William turned back to the Town Hall. He didn't know what to say, and he said nothing. The guard looked at him, and visibly sighed.
"She's, um, she says she has visions. She's hooked on chems, if you can believe an old lady like that huffing Jet. I, uh, I'm gonna have to go talk to the boss, er, my commanding officer. Wait here," he said, and then quickly vanished into the Town Hall. William stood there.
When the guard returned, he was followed close behind by a group of men. Exiting the Town Hall at the head of the group was a tall, imposing man immaculately dressed in a heavy leather duster and large, tricorn hat. His clothes were clean, spotless even. He looked William up and down with a suspicious sneer.
"I have been informed that you carry a message from Salem. You may deliver it to me," the man said, holding out his hand expectantly.
"Are you the General?" William kept his face and tone even. It was difficult. That old woman's voice still rung in his ear – the greatest thing he'd ever seen...
The tall man rolled his eyes. "I am Colonel Hawley, commander in charge of the Sanctuary outpost, and any parcel you carry for the General can be left with me." His left remained outstretched.
William shook his head and took a step back.
"I don't know how many times I have to say it, but this is for the General's eyes only. Is he here or not?"
Hawley's lips pursed tighter, and his nostrils flared. "I am only speaking to you at all because... no, regardless, this is not worth my time. If you want to deliver your message to the General himself, he has about a week's head-start on you. He took a host of men to the southeast with purposes to reclaim the castle at Fort Independence for the Minutemen. You are certainly free to find him there." He spat the words at William, glared a demotion at the guard, and then he and his entourage disappeared back into the Town Hall. The guard shuffled back to his post.
"Go make trouble somewheres else, stranger," he said petulantly. William sighed and turned to leave. "But stay away from Mama Murphy!"
He stepped back into the road, and looked up at the fading sky. Fort Independence was along the coast in south Boston, across almost the entire length of the Commonwealth from Sanctuary. A man wrapped in old things...
The satchel hanging at his waist suddenly felt incredibly heavy. Carrying it from Sunshine Tidings to Sanctuary had been one thing. It was supposed to be impossible, or at least a suicide mission. Mason's idea of getting him out of the way without killing him. He couldn't kill him and still hope to rebuild his relationship with Mags. Mason's need of his sister was the only thing that had kept William alive. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted iron. If he went back now, even that might not save him. He might not even make it to Fort Independence – the bullets he carried wouldn't buy him enough water even if he didn't need every last one of them for the journey. He can't take his eyes off of it...
Maybe he should just die, then. He could kill a lot of people before he ran out of ammo, and he could kill a lot more with what the dead dropped. He'd die, but maybe Mason would get the hint and take Sanctuary out once and for all. He ran his finger up the pistol at his side. Things weren't supposed to have turned out like this. He was alone in the enemy's heart, he didn't have a cap to his name, and the only way back up was pointless and probably impossible anyway. Everything going to shit wasn't even his fault, but he got the brunt of it anyway. Mason still had his Pack, bigger now than it had ever been; Mags was sitting pretty on top of the biggest pile of riches anywhere in the Commonwealth; that stupid bastard Jerry was still holed up in the Nuka-World valley, and he could rot there for the rest of his life in obscene comfort. But William, who hadn't fucked up a damn thing like those three had, was standing in Sanctuary with nowhere to go and no way to get there. Maybe he should just start killing people. Something big and terrible... The greatest thing he's ever seen...
His body started to shake.
"Why the long face, buddy? Things can't be that bad, not in a place like this," a man said, hiccups interrupting every other word. William looked down from the stars to see the same man as before, that same stupid man wearing his stupid old cap with those stupid sunglasses in his pocket. If he was going to try a massacre, there were worse people to start with.
"Come on, I'll buy you a drink inside. They've got real... Real booze in there," the man continued, pointing at the restaurant. The whole building was lit up with harsh electrical lighting, the brutal white glow shot through with colored neon. Nothing wrong with a drink, William supposed.
He grinned at the man. "Sure thing. What's your name, friend?"
"I'm, uh, Jim. Jim Stone. You?" The man replied. He hesitated over his own name, but William chalked it up to his inebriation.
"Name's Will. Nice to make your acquaintance, Jim. Let's go have that drink."
The two went inside and found chairs to sit at in a dimly lit corner of the second floor. The place was overrun with caravan workers, settlers, and Minutemen, all churning together while restaurant workers darted around trying to collect bills. Jim loudly purchased a couple of drinks, splashing the caps across the girl's serving tray with excitement. She looked annoyed and quickly went away.
"I take it your business with the Minutemen didn't go the way you wanted it to," Jim said, sipping at his drink with surprising restraint. William drank a bit of the dark, smelly liquid in the clay cup, and figured Jim had the right idea.
"Something like that. You signed on with a caravan?"
"Sure did," Jim said, smiling broadly. "No less profitable an outfit than Trashcan Carla. I actually signed on back at Bunker Hill, but we all met up here."
"Where are you headed," William asked. Jim crossed his arms and leaned back.
"Not entirely sure. Carla's bought out at least two caravans of every tin can of food they've got, and keeps going on about running a train down to Gunner Plaza," Jim said.
"What's wrong with that?"
"It's ambitious for a caravanner that usually works out of one, maybe two brahmin. This is a ten brahmin train she's building. But at the same time, she's not buying supplies for a trip as far south as Gunner Plaza. Every one of those brahmins is going to be hauling trade. You'd need at least one brahmin for feed if you were taking the whole train that far. On top of that, why did she hire out of Bunker Hill only to tell us all to meet her up here? Plenty of locals she could have hired up here. It smells, I'm telling you," Jim explained. William took a long drink out of his cup. It was bitter and strong, whatever it was. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"If it smells, why'd you sign up?"
Jim shrugged. "The pay she's tossing around, she could afford to smell a whole lot worse."
"What's the deal, then?"
"Well, that's a puzzle," Jim said, grinning wryly. He didn't seem nearly as drunk as he had before. In fact, his eyes were razor sharp underneath his worn old cap. William suddenly felt like he'd made a mistake somehow. "Let's lay out the pieces. First, there's the size of the caravan, and it's almost entirely food and water. Second, we're not hauling this train far enough to need a lot of supplies. Third, wherever we're going, Trashcan Carla wants to keep it quiet. Put those pieces together, Will, and what does it tell you?"
William finished his drink. "You're feeding a settlement. A large settlement nearby that can't supply itself."
"Spot on. Now, what settlements are nearby that a reputable trader like Trashcan Carla wouldn't want the good people of Sanctuary knowing she's doing business with?"
There were two: Sunshine Tidings and the Terminal. William realized he needed to leave.
"What are you asking me for?" William said. All traces of drunkenness were gone from the other man, who shrugged and tried to look nonchalant.
"I don't know, Will. I guess I wanted an outsider's perspective. You said you came from Salem, right?"
William stood up, almost knocking over his cup. "Thanks for the drink, Jim."
"No problem, friend. Maybe I'll see you around. Most of the roads around here wind up in the same place," Jim said to William's back as he slipped through the crowd of people towards the stairs. He ran out the building, and into the quiet street. It was fully dark now. Down the road, deeper into Sanctuary, he could see a guard patrol. He went the other way.
He was shaking again. Jim must have recognized him somehow. But to what end? William didn't know. Was it a threat somehow? He should have never been taken so easily. He should have spotted the signs on that man from a mile away, but he hadn't, and he couldn't get that old woman's voice out of his head. He's gonna find what he's been looking for...
He passed through the gate out of Sanctuary. The guard said something to him, but he didn't hear it. He kept walking. He crossed the bridge and kept going along the eastbound road. He wasn't eastbound, he knew. He had to go south. It was the only thing he had left, to carry that satchel to Fort Independence and find the Minutemen General. He didn't want to, but he had done so many things he didn't want to. Because that would get him closer to what he did want, as if he even knew what that was. Two years ago, he knew, and he had it all, and then it all came crashing down and it wasn't his fucking fault. The greatest thing he's ever seen...
"Hey, mister! Make any caps in Sanctuary?"
William stopped walking. It was the kid from Red Rocket. The other kids all filed past, running and carrying little sacks and chattering. He hadn't noticed them coming. He hadn't been paying attention to anything, really. The little boy stood in front of him, his blue cooler in his hand. "I've got one Nuka-Cola left. I'll sell it to you for three caps!"
William had been shaking before, almost trembling, but he wasn't anymore. He'd lost control of what was happening to him, but why? What did it matter what some caravan worker knew about him? What about arriving at Sanctuary only to learn his target was on the other side of the wasteland? He couldn't control those things. But he could always control himself. The old woman's voice wasn't in his head as he knelt down to talk to the boy.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Mason," the boy said warily. William smiled. That was perfect. The boy's friends were all far away down the road. They hadn't stopped with Mason. They were too excited to get home.
"It's a long walk back home, isn't it, Mason?"
"Listen, mister, I've got to go if you're not buying," Mason replied. William shook his head.
"There's no rush, Mason. I'll buy the cola."
Mason grinned widely. William grinned back.
After it was done, William rinsed his hands in the creek and moved on.