"Hon, it's almost nine! Breakfast is downstairs."
The curtains were whisked back with a loud swish, enveloping the room in bright sunshine. A man groaned from beneath tousled sheets and a lumpy pillow. The woman wearing a soft yellow dress began fluffing her own and setting it in place before casting the blanket aside for the world to greet her husband (who was still half-asleep).
"We're going to be late. Come on!" A loving rub along his muscled shoulder; a squeeze of his elbow. "Today's the day!"
Another groan, and the drowsy sleeper slowly sat upright, wiping at his face with both hands. Ten fingers, lightly tanned skin, calluses under his palms…whole. He lazily climbed out of bed, clambering to the bathroom and bracing himself over the sink. The taps were spun, cold water was splashed over the stubble on his jaw (he'd have to shave), and he glanced at his reflection in the mirror.
"Good morning, Mum! I went ahead and brought the paper in…before the neighbor's dog got a hold of it again…"
"Thank you, Harold. Do you mind cleaning the kitchen this morning? We're scheduled for that appointment."
"Not a problem Mum! Leave it all to me! Did Sir wish for some breakfast before I go about-?"
"He'll be down in a minute. Actually-" A click of low heels paused at the end of the hallway. "Honey! You better be getting dressed!"
The closet doors were opened- a casual dress shirt and some tailored pants were shrugged into. Suspenders made a snap as they laid flat against his broad chest and back; an emerald tie was fastened around the base of his throat.
The woman took in her husband's appearance with a soft smile after he had made his way into their living room.
"I was worried you were going to sleep through the end of the world," she lightly joked about the daily impending doom being broadcasted on their television.
He took a seat at the dining table, filling his cup with fresh coffee and sliding the morning paper towards himself. The date read October 23, 2077- the day they found out the baby's sex. He was secretly hoping for a girl…but he wouldn't disclose that to his wife, lest she tease him mercilessly for it.
He glanced at her. So golden, so bright. Beautiful blonde hair set in curls and rich, chocolate eyes. An old-world beauty, marveled throughout the ages. He looked behind her at the television.
Something was different this morning.
"Hon, can you turn up the volume on the tv for a second?" His voice, so smooth and deep, like a pour of mellow bourbon into a crystal glass.
She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and turned around.
…
Charon didn't find him in his room that morning. He found him overlooking the river, awash under the blue tone of early dawn. The emergency radio was in his hand, the knobs constantly fiddled with as he tried to pick up a nonexistent transmission.
He was looking for an excuse to go back home.
"Is something the matter?" the ferryman questioned as he came to stand beside him.
The wasteland was eerily quiet. There was a faint buzz of some insect in the distance, the soothing lull of the water flowing out towards the bay.
Cross raised his eyes to stare down into the murky depths of the riverbed. "You think we're doin' the right thing?"
Charon breathed a noisy exhale. "No."
"You think we should've just gone west?"
"I do."
"…you think it's too late?"
Charon held his hand out for the radio, and it was begrudgingly given to him after a few moments. "I think he will not stop until he has what he wants," he rasped matter-of-factly.
Cross couldn't pull his eyes from the speaker until it disappeared within the folds of Charon's side satchel. "You think we'll find him in time?"
Charon fastened the buckle, securing their only lifeline back home. "I do not know." He gave a curt jut of his chin towards the road. "But we will try."
The founder of the Commonwealth's sole production in tarberries bent his neck around to eye what was coming up from down the road. The morning sun had not even arisen a mere few minutes ago, and so the wandering glowing ghoul making his way to their doorstep was frighteningly more noticeable than in the full ray of the sun. With a quick squint of his eyes, Wiseman immediately recognized the intimidating duo and clapped the dirt from his hands before making his way around to greet them.
Cross paid generously, much more than was normally bargained for, for a crate of fresh berries almost regularly for his wife. Wiseman wasn't about to be rude and brush off his highest-paying customer to the side if he was personally making a visit.
The ghoul stopped at the sight of one of his settlers gazing with dreamlike wonder at the approaching client.
Wiseman came to stand beside her, keeping his eyes on the road. "The man's married, Holly."
"Oh, I know. I wasn't thinking about him." She propped her chin on the handle of her shovel, a longing look on her face as she stared at the behemoth red ghoul. "That's a man I could wrap my hands around."
"To be young and in love, I guess," Wiseman jested as he approached their guests with a friendly wave of his hand. "How are you doing, fellas? Something wrong with your last shipment?"
The merc shook his head, his eyes trained behind the ghoul as though in search of something. "Nope. Actually, we're here on another kind of business…you happen to have some shmuck by the name of Collins workin' here?"
Wiseman became slightly startled. He knew what the merc did for a profession, and it made him uneasy to have someone in his own settlement targeted. "You know the place I run. It's a refuge for any ghoul looking to have a better life."
"You sure 'bout that?" Cross rasped coolly. "I got word otherwise."
Wiseman blinked at the two of them. "What is it you're suggesting to me right now?"
"Give us a few minutes with him, and he can tell you himself," the merc said authoritatively.
Wiseman softly cursed under his breath. No amount of small talk was going to change the glowing ghoul's mind, and, frankly, he didn't find any reason for him to stir up any trouble unless it was particularly necessary.
"Wait here a moment…I'll see if he's up," Wiseman muttered as he left the pair to themselves.
Charon turned his head around to a smaller ghoul woman that brazenly approached them.
"Looking for something in particular?" She smiled up at the crimson ferryman, who didn't smile in return. Eventually, she turned her charm to the more sociable ghoul. "I've heard you've taken a liking to our tarberry wine. It's a good choice."
"The wife loves it," Cross grumbled, more to himself. "We're waitin' on someone. Thanks."
"You know, I don't think I see you as often as I should around here," she rasped boldly with a hint of suggestion to Charon. "You might find yourself doing a favor if you did."
The men shared a look; Charon snorted.
"I am not interested," he rasped flatly.
"He's a married man," Cross interjected, and when she scouted for the imaginary ring on his finger, he continued, "he lost it."
"Oh, oh I'm so sorry, I didn't know," she said, extremely flustered and feeling silly. "I wouldn't have-"
"It is fine." Charon gave an awkward wave of his hand and refolded his arms.
After she had left them with a mumbled should probably tend to the crops, Cross shrugged his hands in his pockets and tersely chuckled.
"I had asked if ya wanted one."
"Be quiet."
"Evelyn won't be too happy hearin' all these-"
Charon wheeled a dark look around to him. "I would never betray her confidence…twice."
"Ouch," Cross grumbled, his mood suddenly sour at the memory of the uncertainty of his commitment. "…look, I still ain't proud of what I did."
"You were entirely selfish and undeserving of her."
"Yeah, I was…still am." Cross angrily shook his shoulders. "And it was fuckin' years ago- we goin' to let that dead horse rest in damn peace?"
Charon ignored him. "I had never seen her so upset over anything in my entire service to her-"
The merc groaned, "fuckin' Christ, I told her I was sorry!"
"-and yet, she loves you. I still do not understand why."
"If I could go back and change who I was I would!" Cross snarled, now standing toe to toe with the ghoul. "But I can't. We both have to live with that, and frankly, she's more than willin' to, which I thank God for." His eyes narrowed into slits. "Don't think I'm forgivin' ya for Port Stein just yet."
Charon brusquely grabbed the ghoul by the collared plating of his combat armor, his hazy blue eyes sparking with electric fire. "If you were a better man, you would have just shot me."
"Yeah, trust me, I was goin' to."
Movement in their peripherals snapped their heads around, and they both roughly shrugged the other off to redirect their impending wrath in a more productive manner. A smaller male ghoul walking alongside Wiseman came to a halt at the sight of them.
"This here's Collins," Wiseman began, but when he turned his head to finish the casual introductions, the perp had already taken off at a sprint. "Whoa, hey- don't run!"
"Let him." Cross unholstered his side piece, took a split second to aim, and let off a shot.
The bullet whizzed directly through the backside of one knee, bringing the assailant down in a tumble of screams and writhing limbs. He slowly crawled a few feet forward before a heavy boot slammed his face down in the dirt.
Charon spared a glance to the small crowd that had gathered outside upon hearing the commotion. "Shall we take him inside?"
"Nah." Cross dug his heel in a little further, hearing a slight crack of a rib on the other side. The following shriek bounced off his eardrums, making him rub a pinky finger inside. "It'll be quick."
"I'm going to hit the sack," Lydia began as she rounded the doorway of the merc's office. "Was up all night reconfiguring Sparky. Need anything?"
Evelyn tucked some curls behind her ear, giving a shake of her head. "I'm okay. Thank you."
"Can's still out getting supplies for another hour or two. If you need me, just send Clanker. I'll leave him in the hallway for you." The woman gave a lazy wave of her hand before she disappeared down the hall.
Evelyn leaned back in Cross's chair as she listened for the tell-tale sign of the elevator making its round up another level. Cross and herself had rarely been apart while Charon had been away- it felt like another piece of her being had broken off and was wandering in the vast emptiness of space.
A flutter of kicks snapped her from her trance.
"I know. I miss them too," she whispered as she rubbed her belly. "They'll be home soon."
She stood from her seat (with much difficulty) and stepped up to the only bookcase inside the room. A book was removed, and she reached inside for the catch lever. Cross had told her he thought of the idea back from Braxton.
Oldest trick in the book, heh, get it?
A mechanical latch clicked as the bookcase freely swung open, revealing a door that had already been in place. She stepped into the evacuation tunnel, descending a narrow corridor that cottoned her lungs full of stale air. An unlocked security gate was pushed open, and she stepped inside the underground escape room that was fortified with portable supplies just in case things ever went south. Lydia periodically came down to ensure the turrets were in ever-working condition and that nothing managed to crawl in from the other side to plunder their wares. It was also one of the few places Cross banked the crew's stash of caps…apparently, they had more than one storage room nestled around the Commonwealth. Cross didn't take any chances, and although the loss of Kittery was great, it wasn't a detriment.
Evelyn slowly began to light a few oil lamps and flicker a few light switches. Weapons hung on racks; crates of mines, grenades, and medical supplies lined the shelves. A few duffel bags of her own choosing were beginning to gather dust- change of clothes, sacks of caps, necessity baby items…just in case. She prayed she would never have to resort to it, but it was better to have and not need, than need and not have. She stepped through another fortified security door, this one locked on the outside via a terminal. A few stationed turrets whirred in their place- a floating mister gutsy blew bits of dirt and pebbles over the concrete as it hovered towards her.
"Attention on deck!" The colonel gutsy variant sharply waved a robotic claw to dignify respect. "Ma'am, I am ready to debrief my report on the conditions of my post-"
"That's alright Colonel." Evelyn held up a hand to halt the robot before it could begin to spew every minor detail of its life down here…they were terribly winded and extremely dull, and Lydia found it hilarious to send the bot to Cross for its extremely important reports, especially when they had happened to be conducting some very naughty business in his office. It had probably been months since it had the chance to offload its verbal duties…she would be giving birth down here if she accepted. "Actually, I need your help for another matter."
"The Colonel is always ready to serve, ma'am! What are your orders?"
"Do you know how to get to Goodneighbor?"
The bot gave a few inches of space between them. "Are we expecting any trouble, ma'am?"
"I need a guide, and an escort. Can you do that?" She tentatively bit her lip. The bot never left its post unless Lydia or Cross instructed it otherwise, and she wasn't about to leave by herself…of course, she wasn't even allowed to leave period. She hadn't been outside the fortified compound in who knows how long at this point.
"The Colonel will be of the utmost assistance to you! On your lead, ma'am!"
She breathed an internal sigh of relief. With a nod of her head, she rummaged through her duffel bag on the shelf and shook a long-hooded cloak back to life. With it draped around her shoulders and masking her face decently enough, she began to waddle down the concrete tunnel with the Colonel loyally at her side.
A quick prayer was thrown to every and any God listening that Lydia wouldn't backtrack downstairs and find her missing, otherwise, she would have a very angry pair of ghouls marching right on back. The tingling of nerves about her absence being discovered nearly turned her around until she reached the service door at the very end of the tunnel. She typed in the code on the terminal to deactivate the alarm and stepped outside.
The biting wind and freezing rain were the first thing to welcome her back out into the world.
"So cold!" she cried out as she bundled down further into her layers. Her voice was snatched by the frigid gale, and she hid her face away as best she could as she followed the hovering robot toward their destination.
Paranoia at her vulnerability kept her head on a tight swivel, but there was thankfully no need. The Colonel vaporized the first feral mongrel to have crossed their paths in an instant, proving its capability in defending her when necessary. If there was one thing she was suddenly grateful for, it was Lydia's ingenuity when it came to modifying her bots.
When the gates and dim glow of Goodneighbor's lights came into view through the haze of the storm, she pushed herself just a tad bit faster despite the extreme weariness her body was weighed down with. It felt as though she had just run across the entire wasteland and back with a nuke strapped to her.
"Stay close to me, ma'am, I sense delinquents surrounding our position!"
Evelyn ignored the remark concerning Goodneighbor's general population and swung the gate open, squinting her eyes against the impending onslaught of rain. As was to be expected, the streets were mostly empty, making the rest of her small voyage a tad easier as she bustled onwards without catching too many eyes. An uproar from The Third Rail rumbled in the air as she passed, and she briefly turned her head to a small crowd of smoothskins and ghouls alike blowing smokey clouds in the confined space they sought shelter in. The Colonel squinted one optic at the scene in what could have been a suspicious manner.
The handles of The Memory Den were cold and wet underneath her slick hands. The previous visit flashed behind her eyes- she had to forego her former fears if she wanted to see this through. A sizeable blur in the corner of her eye made her head turn. What she saw made them grow wide, and suddenly, everything else seemed irrelevant. Her hands slowly slipped from the double doors.
Roman was standing but a few feet away, staring down at her with a look of barely masked surprise on his face.