CHAPTER EIGHT:

Good afternoon, this is Commonwealth Public Radio or C.P.R. broadcasting live from the Concord District of Sanctuary. As always, all funding for the program is provided by the Commonwealth Congress.

Now, onto the news.

The second session of the New Commonwealth Congress is being held this month here in Sanctuary City. Delegates are said to be addressing synth discrimination and relations with the Island of Far Harbor. Ambassadors to The Island are expected to arrive in the city any day now.

The Congress was also expected to address the issue of the large horde of feral ghouls that had taken residence in Lexington, but it appears the problem has been solved for them. Reports from Fort Starlight indicate the horde broke confinement and assaulted the installation en masse. Casualties appear to be low and the horde seems largely eliminated, though travelers are advised to exercise caution and report any lingering groups of ferals to their local Minuteman garrison.

We'll be back with more news after the break. For now, it's Little Star by Dion.


I wake slowly, a light streaming into my face, thwarting any hopes I may have had for returning to sleep. I yawned deeply and stretched my arms out wide, and hit something beside me. The lump shifted and groaned, "Summer? What time is it?"

I scrambled to get my bearings as I practically fell out of bed. We must've slept together. Jesus, Summer what were you thinking last night? I mean, I guess I was too tired to even think last night but still!

I composed myself as James got up and stretched. I watched him as he went about his daily routine.

James trudged over to Ada, who was in sleep mode, recharging after the fight last night, and woke her up. Ada informed us of how she had been able to effectively hold the gate shut thanks to her weight, prompting an immediate giggle from James.

I tried to tame my mess of hair and straighten out my clothes, still soaked from the night before. I looked over at the battered alarm clock on the bedside table. It read 2:36PM, meaning we must've been asleep since around 6:00 AM. I shrugged my shoulders. It was still light out and I hardly think we could be blamed for oversleeping.

Much to James' frustration, we decided it would be best to stay another night in the Fort so we'd have a full day to reach the city. We were pressed into work around the Fort. James and Ada were put to work counting and hauling the hundreds of dead ferals to an area where they could be burned safely. I was put to work counting the remaining ammunition since most of it had been spent defending the Fort. It was tedious work but it was better than hauling dead ferals.

The mood at Fort Starlight was significantly cheerier. The place was still ugly but its inhabitants seemed much happier. The threat that had long loomed over their head was gone and now it was just back to patrolling their sector. It was a huge relief for the Fort's inhabitants and they showed it. Feast preparations were made for that very night in celebration. There was even talk that The General himself would be coming to thank them for their successful defense if he could find time away from the southern campaign.

After a mind-numbing day counting hundreds of pieces of ammunition, I was more than ready for a bit of respite. Taking a seat in the mess hall, I was quickly joined by an exhausted James and a grime-covered Ada.

James greeted me and gave me a plate of food he had brought along with his own. On it was a small slab of steak, boiled carrots, squash, and a slice of melon. James and I devoured our meals together happily. James told stories of how he had scavenged a few old watches and lighters from the ferals and I lamented my boring job via notepad. It was a good night, full of laughs, good food, and music. For the first time since we had been there, Starlight was happy.


After a quick breakfast the next morning we set off to Sanctuary City. James became more and more excited the closer we got to the city and the changes were immediate. For one thing, patrols became more frequent, as did merchants and travelers. The roads changed too, noticeably cleaner and patched up. Alongside the road, a restored railway had been constructed, but I had yet to see any trains.

The landscape here was greener. The fields between Sanctuary City and Fort Starlight had been parceled out and carefully cultivated by dedicated farmers. Young trees cautiously reached upwards amidst tufts of yellow grass.

As we crested a hill, James ran ahead, and with a flourish of his hand and a bow he announced, "Welcome, Summer, to Sanctuary City!"

It was like nothing I'd ever seen. The massive town spread out for at least 2-3 miles, and it was absolutely teeming with activity. People moved about in markets, merchants yelled from stalls, Minutemen walked casually among civilians, children played on a small playground.

We started down into the town after quickly clearing our entry with a guard and I began to notice more details about the City. For one, the buildings at the edge of the town were clearly created post-war. They were shorter but in much better condition. They were constructed with new red bricks, steel, and wood. Built pragmatically to balance long term stability with limited resources. It was mostly apartment buildings and a few workshops.

The streets got more crowded as we made our way into what James called "Old Concord," which functioned as a downtown. The crumbling asphalt streets of yesterday had been torn out and replaced by fine cobblestone roadways. The dilapidated pre-war buildings of Concord had been restored to good condition. The old movie theater had been converted into an event hall, advertising a few different works of Shakespeare (courtesy of Rex Goodman). The old Museum of Freedom now had expanded to cover Commonwealth history and functioned as a public research library.

Mainstreet was lined with storefronts, selling everything from bullets to pastries, and the streets were thronged with people going about their business. On a street corner, a kid was hawking newspapers, shouting about "Commonwealth Congresses" and "The Siege of Quincy."

I was so overwhelmed at all the new sights and sounds that I barely noticed that James had taken me by the hand. He led me through the hectic streets till we reached a stout four story building made of brick. We entered a small main lobby where an elderly black man dozed behind a battered desk.

"Hey Lonnie! How ya been?" James greeted.

Waking with a start, the old man's eyes widened in surprise and then settled into recognition, "Well I'll be. If it ain't Specialist Thatcher himself, how ya been Jim?"

"Oh you know me, duty calls," James flashed an easy smile at the old friend, "Speaking of which, Lonnie, meet Summer; Summer, this is Lonnie."

Lonnie's rugged hand met mine in a firm handshake.

"Well how d'ya do miss? You must be another one of his lost souls." He smiled sympathetically. I managed a nod before he turned his attention back to James.

Lonnie nodded in the direction of the stairs to his left and said "You best head up there quick Jim, your roommate's havin' a bit of trouble with Whiskey. I think he's missed ya."

"Alright then, I'll go check up on him. We'll catch up later Lonnie." James grabbed my hand again and pulled me up the stairs. Behind us I heard the door to the building creak open as Ada had finally made her way through the streets and into the apartment.

"What did I miss?" the robot inquired to no one as Lester chuckled.


James burst through the door and immediately all movement in the apartment froze.

In the center of the room, looking like a child being caught in the act of doing something they shouldn't have, was a pale girl with a nest of fiery red hair holding a cat collar limply in her hand. A mess of freckles surrounded green eyes widened in surprise at the sudden intrusion. She wore a ratty sweatshirt emblazoned with the symbol of a lantern, and jeans. The girl was short; probably a few inches shorter than me and about a head shorter than James.

The girl immediately rushed forward and nearly knocked James off his feet with a hug, exclaiming "Jimmy! You're back!"

James stumbled and nearly fell and knocked into me, "Hey Lizzy! It's been a while!" he smiled as he returned the hug. Liz's small figure was nearly swallowed up in the folds of his duster. Liz took a step back and gave James a quick inspection.

With a huff she gave her approval, "Well, you don't seem too worse for wear. You were gone a while this time, I almost started to worry."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine Liz, now what was that ruckus all about?" Before the words had even left his mouth, a small cream colored blur darted out from under the bunk bed in the corner of the room and jumped onto the dresser next to James.

It was a small cream colored cat with a large gray splotch on its back and face, making it appear like it was wearing a mask. The little cat mewled loudly and James' face lit up at the sound. James quickly scooped the cat up and held it like a baby. "Hey little buddy! Did ya miss me?" The cat meowed happily in response as James coddled it.

Liz rolled her eyes and grumbled, "Don't know why I agreed we could keep that demon, damn thing nearly claws my eyes out whenever I get near it."

"Don't insult my little guy! It's not my fault Whiskey likes me better," James responded and stuck his tongue out at Liz.

Just as I began to feel left out, Lizzie turned to me and inquired, "You another one of his finds? You don't seem too beat up, I trust Jimmy took good care of ya?" I blushed a bit and managed a nod and she continued, "Well that's a relief"

"Hey! You know I'm the best of the best at what I do!" interjected James, still mostly distracted by Whiskey who had now taken a position up on his shoulder.

Lizzy rolled her eyes again, "Sure Jim, just don't tell her about what happened at General Atomic Galleria."

"Hey you know that I had nothing to do with those robots! That's supposed to be Ada's forte!" James yelled defensively.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Anyway Miss…"

"Her name is Summer, she can't speak."

"Hmm, Summer. It's a pleasure to meet you, my name's Elizabeth O'Brien, but you can just call me Lizzy." The redhead extended a small hand. I gently shook her noticeably scarred and rough hand. Lizzy must've noticed me staring, "Spent a little while scrapping when I was a kid, small hands and all that. It's good money but you can't avoid a few nicks here and there. No worries, I've got a gig at a repair shop now so my hands don't get messed up as much," she explained.

"She's also my roommate, bandmate, and a total nerd," James interjected.

"Can it dork, you still owe me your half of the rent," Liz countered effortlessly, "speaking of the band, we got a gig booked finally. End of Summer festival. We were going to have Duncan fill in for you, that is unless you want it?"

I couldn't help but notice the pregnant pause at the end of the question. It seemed like Liz was hesitant to even ask James for some reason.

James chewed his lip for a second in thought. He took a deep breath and finally responded with, "Could you give me a night to think about it? I'll let you know first thing tomorrow."

In a voice softer than before, Liz replied, "Of course Jay, no problem."

James rallied the dour mood that had permeated the small apartment by presenting his new guitar he had bought in Egret.

Liz gave a low whistle, "Damn, that's in good condition. I can't wait to hear it. I gotta run some errands though so I'll let you get settled in."

"See ya 'round Liz. And thanks for looking after Whiskey while I was gone."

Lizzy just nodded her head "No problem bud, I'll be back in a bit. Should I tell the others you're back?" She asked from the doorway.

"Yeah, sure thing!" James called back.

With Lizzy gone I took a good look at the room for the first time. By a dirty window on the wall opposite the door I was standing in was a bunk bed with an old gray trunk at the foot. Left of the door was a wooden dresser cluttered with an assortment of shell casings and papers. Buried under all that mess I could see an old radio.

Next to the bed was a lovingly restored pre-war holotape and record player. Its shelves were stacked with battered vinyles and scattered holotapes that contained who knows what. On the right wall was a simple wooden desk, also completely disorganized, a beat up couch, and a door leading to a small bathroom. The room was just cramped and cluttered enough to feel cozy.

Every wall of the room was plastered with posters. Older posters advertised pre-war bands like The Platters while the newer ones were either Minuteman propaganda posters and...was that James?

The photo was rather poor quality, clearly taken with a fixed up pre-war camera, but nonetheless there was no mistaking James himself smiling broadly in the center. He was in a nice suit and in my completely unbiased opinion he cleaned up rather nicely. On James' right was the short figure of Lizzy, also dressed rather lovely in a red dress that complimented her hair nicely. She wore white gloves and a reserved smile.

To James' left was a girl I didn't recognize. Like Lizzy she sported a fine red dress, and looked about the same height as James with long brown hair that fell just past her shoulders. Her wide smile revealed dimples. She leaned casually against James and looked up at him with wide adoring eyes. She was beautiful and exuded an easy confidence.

Behind them were a boy and a girl who looked strikingly similar to one another. If I had to guess I'd say they were twins and they looked about James' age as well.

I pulled at James' sleeve and pointed to the picture. He smiled as normal but not before I spotted a sharp glint of sadness pass his eyes.

"That's our band. We got those professional pictures taken when we were just starting off." He laughed, "Looking back, we look so goofy in those outfits. I can't remember the last time we performed in formal wear. You'll meet… most of them tomorrow."

The rest of the night was focused on unpacking and setting up our sleeping situation. It was decided I would sleep on the bottom bunk until we could find somewhere else for me to stay and that James would sleep on the couch. I was able to take a shower and finally fix my mess of hair, as well as put on a fresh set of clothes. James worked on cleaning Ada and his rifle before showering himself.

Not long after we had cleaned ourselves and our weaponry, Lizzy returned with some dinner for us. I ate my fill and promptly fell asleep.


LIZZY:

I didn't usually dream, but when I did it was almost always about that day.

I was on the outskirts of Concord. It was daytime. Around me, the new buildings I had seen while awake were still under construction. Concrete foundations, piles of bricks, and wooden and steel frames of yet to be born buildings were all about. I was also keenly aware of my aloneness, yet it was not quiet. In the distance I could hear the telltale din of battle.

Almost floating, I moved towards the noise with no input of my own. I followed a path down the center of the street. Moving past the new buildings, past old buildings under renovation, and finally into downtown Concord itself. I turned the corner onto main street and was greeted by a horrendous sight.

At the opposite end of the street was a hasty barricade arranged in a semi-circle in the block around the Museum of Freedom. It was constructed of overturned tables, haphazard sandbags, and just about any other piece of junk that must've been laying around when the attack commenced.

I tried to ignore the piles of dust and crumpled bodies on either side of me as I drifted towards the chaos. The broken bodies of Gen-1 synths lay scattered around me, occasionally missing an arm or leg or with a melted face. Flashes of blue and red streaked by me as the telltale signs of teleporting synths punctuated the cacophony of fear.

I moved closer to the barricade and saw the ragged defenders. It was a mismatch of uniformed Minutemen and civilians wielding whatever weapons they could grab. I even saw one settler firing wildly with an institute rifle she must have picked up from a fallen synth. There were shouts and screams against the seemingly endless waves of synths and coursers.

I pushed beyond the barricade and into the museum itself. By the door I passed the frantic radio operator desperately calling for any help. He received only echoing calls for aid from countless other settlements across the Commonwealth. I entered the museum as the radioman realized they were on their own.

The inside of the museum was only marginally calmer. The sounds of muffled combat could be heard outside but the soundtrack of this place was the groans of the wounded and cries of the terrified. The interior was being used as a shelter for noncombatants. For those too young, old, or injured to fight on the outside. A few of the less wounded Minutemen stood guard in case any synths teleported into the museum itself, but none had.

It wasn't hard to spot Judy. She wore the standard uniform of the Minutemen. Her wide brim hat had been long since discarded, revealing a messy ponytail and soot covered face. An armband sported a large cross. Her midsection was wrapped in a dirty bandage stained a crimson redder than the dress she wore in that picture on James' wall.

Despite the obvious injury, she continued in her duties with mechanical efficiency. Moving from one injured person to the next, prioritizing those most injured and applying stimpacks liberally. She gave comforting smiles to the wounded that revealed that trademark dimple. Coming across someone in obvious need of more careful attention she would call over a short French woman sporting a splattered doctor's coat to aid them.

Judy took a brief moment to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her forehead. Already heavy bags were visible under striking green eyes. She let out a wretched cough and winced a moment, glancing down at the red on her side. She steeled herself and jabbed a Med-X near the wound, which seemed to only momentarily relieve the pain. The girl ignored it and called out, "Lizzy, Kat, how's Gus doing?"

Off in a corner two grease covered faces popped up from behind a hulking sentry bot. I saw myself and Kat, both of us looked exhausted. My red hair was tangled in a bun and my uniform was disheveled. I watched myself hustle over to Judy, leaving Kat to continue repairs on the massive death machine.

"It's an issue with the cooling system, we're trying to jury rig it the best we can but it's taking time. I'm a gunsmith not a mechanic, I barely know what I'm doing here." My own disembodied voice explained.

Judy gave me a sympathetic look and then glanced towards the door, where the sounds of battle had not ceased. "Just do the best you can Liz, it's not looking good out there." As if to punctuate her words, the thud of a grenade detonating could be heard through the door.

"No one is coming to save us, we're on our own here Judy."

Judy, the medic girl from the picture, looked down for a moment as if to process what Liz had just said. She must have known it but hearing it outright seemed to have cut deep. She shook off the momentary despair. "I hope everyone is alright. The Institute must be hitting everywhere."

I saw myself pat Judy on the shoulder, "James will be okay. He's tougher than he looks. I'm pretty sure whatever it is they have on that crazy island he's from is way worse than anything the Institute can throw at him."

Judy flashed red for a moment and rushed, "It's not just him I'm worried about y'know!"

Liz smirked, "Sure Jude, sure." I saw my expression turn dark as I realized the extent of her injury, "Hey you should have Curie look at that wound, I'm no medic but that doesn't look good."

Judy waved me off and pulled her duster closed to hide it. "It's fine, I've taken care of it. I'll get it looked at once this is all over." She flashed me an unconvincing smile.

Our talk was interrupted by the sound of the doors slamming open. The combat outside was momentarily clear. A Minuteman shouted inside, "We need a medic out here! Now!"

Heeding the call to action, Judy said goodbye and rushed to the door. I remained rooted in position. Time seemed to slow down as Judy exited the building into the fray. I could not see beyond the doors as there was only a blazing white light that gradually grew into a blinding supernova. Just as Judy ran out, I was thrust out of my dream and into reality.

I should have done more.