There's no way this can really be happening, it's just a nightmare. It has to be.
Carolyn trembles, her back shivering with a stark chill only worsened by her own terror, curled against the stained red upholstery of the pre-war couch, she'd attempted to sleep at no prevail. Instead she finds herself staring at the patterns of torn linen while tears gather in a pool drying over her left cheekbone. Her arms are curled inward, cupping her hands to her chest, while her knees are pulled almost directly up to her stomach. Over her shoulders to provide some insulation against the night air, is an old musty jacket found in one of the closets when Don had gone out to scout the houses for supplies while she was losing her mind to total hysteria with Codsworth at her side trying to calm her down.
She thought seeing Nate killed; to see him in the pod afterwards was horror enough, but when she'd seen those other bodies, and when she saw Nora. Oh god, she can't get the stained images of their faces, their bodies totally indistinguishable from the one's they'd melted to out of her head. She'd already tried to throw up again without much success before Don dragged her away in her frenzy, screaming in denial as he pulled her along until they were out of view, but the damage had been done, and she regretted ever thinking for a moment that she didn't want to be spared the view for confidence in her strength.
Through the soft shutters of her breathing, she can hear Don fast asleep next to the door, as a guard dog of sorts in case anything bigger than giant cockroaches decides to wander in. Don let her take the only couch in the house, it was thoughtful of him. Though he apparently is the type to find comfort anywhere he's horizontal. He'd taken a cushion from the arm chair tossed in the corner and bundled up the ratty carpet to lie on like a makeshift sleeping bag.
After it had gotten quiet, Carolyn began to feel the guilt and regret of not allowing Don to have an opportunity to grieve as well; he was far too absorbed in trying to get them relatively settled, and helping her with her own processes that he didn't really have the chance. She felt it selfish of her, Carolyn might have been Nora's best friend, but she was Don's wife, and both of them had to see her body in that state.
In the center of the room, about where the imaginary boarder between dining room and living room would be, is the fire he'd started late into the evening (well, he only got the kindling together, it was Codsworth's flamethrower that started it). Six cinderblocks and plenty of old wood littering the grounds, but it had died off far too long ago, the last of the warmth barely kept to the charcoal. Thankfully there wasn't much of a roof to speak of, or they might have been smoked out within the first few minutes.
The home had, at some point, been a center for a workshop now abandoned. Old lanterns sat broken or unused in the corners, outside an array of work benches for personal projects. Carolyn wouldn't doubt for an instant if they already belonged to the original owner, Rosa, and were just repurposed whenever humanity decided to crawl up from the ashes of the atom bombs.
Rosa wasn't an outwardly friendly woman, she was rather large and unattractive, never really spoke to anyone besides Mr. Hawthorne. If she wasn't so certain she had a preference for women, Carolyn might have assumed she and Mr. Hawthorne were in a transaction type relationship. For they never spoke to each other in public, it was only when Carolyn saw Rosa cross the road to meet with him at his home down near the end of the suburb.
At some point when Rosa had moved in a few months before the war, Carolyn had baked a homemade apple pie in an attempt to make some kind of suburban house wife friendship with the other women in the neighbourhood. She'd been turned away, quite callously, and told to mind her own business. She ended up sharing the pie with Nora.
Nora...
Her eyes start to pool again, sobs aching in the back of her throat. She remembers that day fondly, she'd offered the pie to her with a humorous outlook to an awkward situation, and they both enjoyed it without even taking it out of the tin, just the two of them with forks, sitting in the kitchen gossiping about Rosa's interest in Hawthorne and coming up with all kinds of scandalous theories about her using Buffout to bulk up her already massive frame.
The painful reality is that she'll never see her best friend again.
"God..." She croaks, pressing the balls of her hand to her eyes, trying to stop the flow. She'll never sleep at this rate.
With the creak of old wood barely gripping to the upholstery of the couch now certainly considered antique, she rolls over and sits up, first stretching out her cramped muscles and then pulling her arms through the old musty coat she'd been using as a blanket.
She first walks over to the fire now dead, holding a bare hand over the embers to feel any remaining heat; she may be able to throw a few branches into it to get it going again. That is, if she could manage to walk around the neighbourhood alone, at night, in the apocalypse. The desire for comfort versus potential danger weighs in her mind, she may be able to sleep if she tries hard enough, but the chill is going to make it very difficult.
Carefully, she walks over to the open door to peer out; the clear sky casts moonlight on her old neighbourhood and diminishes a little bit of the ominous aura permeating from the mauled buildings. At first glance they look like they could be occupied by all kinds of creatures that appear with the trick of the dark. There's an odd branch or two that she could see not more than a few paces up the road, it might be safe if she stayed low and quiet.
"Hello Mum!" The chipper voice of Codsworth almost causes Carolyn to jump right out of her skin, "Oh dear, I didn't mean to frighten you."
"It's okay," Carolyn holds out a hand to him in reassurance as her other lays over her thundering heart. He must have been just around the corner of the garage out of sight; she didn't even hear his rocket propulsion.
"Having a bit of sleeping troubles are we?"
Carolyn smiles at him, "Yeah, I'm a little cold actually. The fire died, so I was going to go out and get some more wood, but..."
"Don't trouble yourself so, Mum!" He adopts the task with immediate confidence, "I'll gather some more kindling, there should be plenty of it lying about, and I believe there's a lantern or two that could stand to be lit to stave off the dark!"
"Thank you, honey."
Codsworth lifts an armature to salute over his right optical, the one, she notices, is shattered, "Proud to serve, Mum!"
With that, the bot turns and floats down onto the road with tuneful cheery humming. Carolyn stares after him, worried that he may be too loud or obvious to be bobbing around in the dark, but if he's been here this long without being attacked, then it should be safe. The poor thing was so worried, (and astounded), when the two of them came stumbling into Sanctuary with dual versions of expressive horror. She hasn't even had a chance to ask him if he's alright, his body had been damaged quite severely with the passage of time, and most likely the hazards that he had to endure. One of his optical visors is broken as well as one of his armatures; it hangs half as long and useless in a tangle of wires. His body is dented, scuffed, and near the bottom of his propulsion there's exposed circuitry. She hesitates to ask if he's in pain, there's not much she can do to help him. Maybe Don could take a look and see what he could do.
Carolyn had never considered Codsworth just a machine, but Nate did. He never did like him, or consider him to be a part of the family. But he's been here the entire time, tending to the house as though he were still caring for her family. Carolyn doesn't even care that part of it may just be his programming, because to her that absolutely radiates loyalty. He's been here for two hundred years; that's what she heard when Don started grilling him in the midst of her breakdown. God… it doesn't seem possible. It felt like just yesterday, only twelve hours ago that she was in her home getting ready for the morning.
Carolyn pulls the old coat tight around her body to ward off the chill in her back and takes a few paces out onto the concrete open garage, scanning out into the dark for any signs of movement before she walks over to the collection of piled junk stuffed in the corner, squinting in the low light to investigate. Underneath a layer of dust and light debris is a lantern, its glass stained and cracked along the top like gnarled teeth. On one of the work benches, she spots a flip lighter, and stuffed underneath, an oil canister a few ounces full.
In a few minutes, she manages to fill and light the torch inside, the soft orange glow illuminating her surroundings and revealing the rust coated interior of the garage and house siding. Small flecks of green peak through the holes rusted right through, allowing small vines of plant life to take over. Carolyn walks forward and sits on the ledge of the garage to wait for Codsworth, seeing his bright orange jet flame off in the cul-de-sac at the top of the neighbourhood.
In the quiet, she finds she's too numb and exhausted to think too much more.
Within minutes, Codsworth returns with a bundle of dead wood branches curled in two of his armatures, more than enough. Carolyn watches as he piles them neatly against the barren wall like how her father would stack campfire logs at his summer cabin in the mountains. She was going to insist that he doesn't need to place them anywhere special, or to make an effort for them to look uniform, but he seems more than happy to do it with his continuous cheerful humming.
Carolyn stands with the lantern in hand and walks over, looping the metal handle over her wrist and letting the bot hand her a few lighter pieces of wood.
"Was there anything else I could help you with, mum?" He inquires.
She shakes her head, "No, that's okay. Thank you."
"Of course, mum!"
Carolyn turns with the intent to warm herself next to the heat of a roaring fire (if she could get it to light), but hesitates before she does, "Codsworth?"
"Yes, mum?"
She eyes his second optical, the center one that she usually focuses on whenever she speaks to him. His metal oculus dilates a little when she does, like he's nervous. There are little things in the way his eyes express that she can catch, it came with her occupation to be able to detect subtle body language. She can tell that he's compensating, attempting to cheer her up maybe, more likely that he's upset but doesn't want to bring it up without a catalyst, "Are you okay, honey?"
"Well, of course I am!" The bot answers immediately, "As a matter of fact I'm absolutely delighted, despite the circumstance, that after all this time you managed to return home, even though you were thoroughly distraught, I don't blame you, the garden was in absolute shambles!"
"The garden-No, Codsworth," Carolyn empties her arms of the contents right onto the workbench at her side alongside the lantern, casting ominous shadows over both of their figures, "I wasn't upset about the garden. You don't look well, are you… are you sure you're okay? You're not acting like yourself."
The bot emits a laugh that sounds quite forced, "Am I sure? Why mum! I've never been better, as a matter of fact, I found I quite like this new world of ours, all we need is some bug killer, a little lawn maintenance, and it'll be good as new!"
Carolyn feels her sinus burn with more oncoming tears; she nods noncommittally at him, feeling that much more alone with her own grief as it appears he's having no trouble with the adjustment. Even after so long, part of her was really hoping for someone to empathize with, "Of course."
"You could even perhaps do a little local house shopping in case you find something with sturdier framework; the house does make these awful creaking noises when it storms-!Oh... oh dear..."
Codsworth notices the second hot tears start to roll down Carolyn's cheeks and suddenly his mood dials back from its forced optimism.
"O-Oh, I'm sorry, Mum, please don't cry, I... I..." His voice emitter suddenly crackles with a swell of emotion, all three of his optical visors droop, his armatures curling inwards. Carolyn's distress finally breaking his composure, "Oh, Mum I can't stand it, it's been just awful! I didn't know what happened to you, or to Sir. I didn't know what else to do but stay put and… try to keep the house in top shape, but oh-! Ambraxo does nothing against nuclear fallout! And the car hasn't even so much as shimmered since it blew up! The roof leaks when it rains, the draft puts all my dusting to shame, and I just kept trimming those dead hedges until there was nothing left!"
"Hey, hey" Carolyn reaches out and takes his center optical between her hands, which seems to snap him back from his hysterics, "Codsworth, honey, calm down..."
He sniffles, "Yes, mum... I'm sorry; I just... thought for certain you and your family were dead, I didn't know what to do."
"I know," She soothes with a painful twinge in her heart, "I know you did and I'm so sorry."
"It's alright, mum. I only wish I had more to offer you than my services, but other than you and Mister Don, I didn't see anyone else near the Vault." He explains with a steadying voice, "There is one thing I managed to keep hidden in the house away from the radiation; it was a present from Sir."
Carolyn's throat feels tight, "From Nate?"
"Yes mum, it's a Holotape, though I'm certain he never meant for me to find it..." He takes a minute, and then straightens himself back out, making a noise that sounds like he's clearing his throat, purely metaphorical of course, and his mood perks right back up, "But, that can wait until morning! I'm sure you're eager to get back to bed."
Carolyn laughs a little hollowly, while she is eager to get warm and comfortable, she's not so sure about sleeping at all right now, "I'm still really awake. You know, why don't we go over to the house so you can find that Holotape for me? I... haven't really seen it from the inside and... I could really use some more company right now."
"If you say so, Mum, though I do know how much you organics love to get your beauty rest, I'm sure we can think of something to help lull you right into sleep, perhaps some music would do you good, there's a few radio stations running and at least one of them isn't terrible!"
Carolyn grins with a genuine chuckle, "Sounds like it's worth a shot."
With the lantern in hand, Carolyn lets Codsworth take the lead to cross the road to her house, which from the outside in the low light through the overgrown foliage looks like someone gave it a generous beating with a sledge hammer. Just like the others, there are whole chunks of siding missing, exposing the metal framework underneath; all the windows are hollow with any signs of glass to be long gone. A lot of the damage is covered and overgrown by red vines and green leaves. Her front door is, unfortunately, as orange and ugly as ever, only intensified by the glow of the lantern. Choice of the landlord, but some silver lining to this new world is that she isn't exactly around to yell at Carolyn about the warm fall aesthetic of pumpkin orange. In fact, it's going on the list of things Carolyn hopes to change once this nightmare is over, once her son is home and she can begin repairs, however possible that turns out to be is relative to the outcome of her own bravery.
Inside, however, is a whole new story. Carolyn has to stand at the door for a moment, totally stunned, gawking at the mess her home has been reduced to. Her furniture broken, upturned, torn, and splintered, the carpet that used to line the flooring is completely gone, the only fragments left being stuck to the edges of the wall in small rotting chunks, the kitchen table is on its side, almost all of the chairs broken and unusable. Chunks of foundation and glass crunch under her feet as she takes a single step in, over her head, she can see straight through the roof and into the night sky, the smell of mildew is strong, old wood rotting, and something sick and tangy that she can't put her finger on. It makes her ill and she can't bear to walk in any further, she takes a few steps back and stands idle on the mouldy welcome mat, spongy under the thin boots of the Vault suit.
Codsworth shuffles a few items down the hall and soon returns with a bright orange Holotape in his clawed armature, handing it over to her as she steps back onto the door path to let him pass, "There we are, Mum!"
"Thank you, sweetie," She looks at the tape, turning it over in her hands to see black marker written on a length of tape across the back. The handwriting distinctly Nate's in all capitals and slightly crooked, she sucks in a sharp breath and turns it back over; stuffing it in the pocket of the musty jacket she's wearing with the intent to forget it for now, "So," She smiles at the bot as they begin to make their way back across the road, "Where did you end up hiding it?"
"Bread box in the linen closet, hah!" Codsworth mocks, "Those leather clad ruffians wouldn't think to look there!"
"What ruffians?" Carolyn is both hesitant and amused.
"Why those un-gentlemanly type Raiders of course, always futzing about looking for scavenge and threatening to scrap me for bits, that's how I got this," He taps his claw armature on the shattered glass of his broken optical.
"...Raiders?" Her chest tightens in fear, that didn't sound good, not at all.
"Not to worry yourself, mum," Codsworth assures her, "They haven't been around in months, not since they moved into that large vehicle manufacturing plant north of the Commons, I haven't seen anyone around aside from the odd radroach here and there, can't keep the nasty things away."
"That's good to know," She sighs in relief, though she's sure that Raiders aren't the only threat this new world is capable of.
"Uh, before we settle you down to rest, I just wanted to apologize for the state of the house," Codsworth adds hesitantly, stopping them both about halfway back, "After a few hundred years I had to accept the fact that it would never be as clean as it once was and well, truthfully I got a little fed up battling the elements and may have, in an incident of boiling frustration... torn out all of the carpeting?"
Carolyn stares at him totally speechless, trying to wrap her mind around the picture of the ever-chipper butler bot throwing a tantrum and ripping all the carpet right off the foundation. It comes out as something painfully hilarious.
Trying to hold back laughter, she only smiles at him, tight lipped, and reaches out to pat him on the flame thrower armature, "It's okay, honey. I never liked the carpeting."
"Well, then it's cause for a win-win, I say!" He laughs, "Once young Shaun is back, we can fix it up proper with wood flooring, I much prefer-"
KA-BOOM!
In an abrupt, bright electrical flash, Codsworth's center optical shatters into a ball of metal shrapnel, Carolyn leaps back with a harsh yelp of shock, dropping the lantern onto the ground with a crack of glass and a flash of fire catching on the leaking oil around her feet. She stumbles back as Codsworth's large spherical body tumbles off to the side and nearly collapses to the ground, the fire illuminating the mass of gnarled metal where his oculus used to be.
"Codsworth!" She gasps.
The bot focuses his one remaining oculus on her, his propulsion hitching and barely keeping him floating, his voice comes out thick and disoriented with apparent shock, "Oh... oh dear... are you alright, mum?"
Any response of hers is immediately interrupted by a second shot, a loud distant crack that tears through Codsworth's spherical body like an unforgiving claw, ripping the plating to pieces and pulling wires along with it as it runs him through completely. Carolyn plasters her hands against her mouth and shrieks as his body falls limp against the broken road, the grinding of rock and metal painful with the weight of total mechanical emptiness.
From behind her, she can hear the distinct sound of scattered footsteps coming from the house where they'd set up camp, Don is up, and he's racing towards her as fast as possible, the sounds waking him from dead sleep. He reaches out and grabs her without a word, pulling her back towards the house with such a force that she trips on the driveway incline and falls to her rear, scraping her palms against the concrete.
"What did you see?" He asks frantically, all evidence of being totally asleep as few moments ago vanishes from his face, "Who was shooting at you?!"
Carolyn opens her mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a guttural sob. Don curses aloud and quickly checks the clip chamber of the 10mm he's already holding. He cocks the top back and grabs her shoulder, "I want you to go inside. Go into the kitchen and pile as much as you can in front of the doorway, block it off with something heavy, and stay quiet."
"Oh god..." She chokes.
"Carol, listen to me, you need to hide," He urges, "Take one of the pistols with you, and make sure it's loaded, when it's clear I'll come get you."
"No, no, you can't-" Carolyn pleads, "No, Don, don't leave me alone, please-"
AH-WOOO!
A mock howl rings the air like a warning, coming from the bridge to the suburb. Following close behind are handfuls of laughter and whistles coming from a group of people approaching to collect what remains of their kill.
Raiders...
If they saw Codsworth then they certainly saw her too.
Don stands and presses against the wall of the garage to look off in the same direction with cover at his shoulder, peering out with nothing to light his view but the last bits of fire staining the road from the broken lantern. The group isn't being subtle as they call out with more animal like sounds, a terrifying trait to those who aren't afraid of what they're going to face.
"Carol, go!" Don hisses.
Quickly she scrambles to her feet, keeping low as she races back into the house, first digging in Don's pack, next to where he'd been sleeping, for the second gun. It's large, bulky, and heavy in her hand, she shoves it into her jacket. She's not sure what she can manage to do with it, but she'd rather have it than nothing at all. The threat of being shot by a terrified woman should bring her some kind of security in case she's found. Oh god, what if they do find her?
She scans the dark room for anything large and heavy that she can pull in front of the kitchen archway, the couch and recliner, kitchen table, a few dining chairs, and a coffee table. She begins with the kitchen table, pulling it in place and stacking damp cardboard boxes onto it. Next she pushes the recliner against the table to cover the underside, leaving enough for her to crawl through. Her heart is pounding in her ears, she can barely hear the group as they approach, but the orange glow of their lights becomes visible through the open dining room window. Carolyn falls to her knees to avoid the light, with no more time to barricade; she grabs the leg of a chair and crawls through between the recliner and kitchen table, pulling it in the way of the opening. She slides away from the archway, the last meter of space above the boxes open like a wound. She feels exposed.
Without standing, she moves over between the wall sink and the broken refrigerator, its door hanging loose and halfway open, squeaking as she slides flush against the wall with harsh pants of fear. She quickly pulls the 10mm out of her jacket to fumble with it in the dark, trying to mimic how Don checked the clip and cocked it back.
Before she has a chance, she hears a yell that sounds far too close, and then the gunfire starts.
With a whimper she covers her ears against the barrage of shots snapping in the air, what sounds like several kinds of weapons all going off at once. Her back vibrates as bullets pierce the walls next to her in the garage, aimed at Don. She wants to help, but she's too scared to move, to afraid of what's going to happen if she makes a sound. She turns her head as flashes of orange expose small holes in the wall, peering through to see a man on the road holding a torch in one hand, and a large metal tire iron in the other. It's wrapped in barbed wire, bloodied and coarse with chunks of flesh. She covers her ears again as the gunfire resumes, punching dust from the ground as it patters at his feet, catching him in the shoulder with a spray of blood and a pained outcry. Carolyn spins back and clasps her eyes shut, biting her lip to stop from making a distraught whimper.
After what feels like fifteen minutes, the gunfire stops, and the laughter resumes, all circling to one location just up the road, Carolyn spins and peers through the hole next to her head again, immediately seeing a scene of several men standing in a circle around someone clad in blue, Don.
They're just up the road, maybe ten meters from where she is. She can see a bullet wound in Don's arm, his hair astray and laying in his face, but he stares up at the largest man in the group without blinking. A man layered in broken and rusty makeshift armour, spiked on the shoulders and pieced together with strips of leather and old fabric. Everyone else in the circle is dressed nearly the same, but most are dressed scant, exposing their skin as dirty and caked with old blood and god knows what else.
"Where's the girl?" The large man's voice is rough like gravel, commanding in tone. It must be the leader of their group.
Don blinks and raises his brow in mock surprise, "I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about."
"Scout saw her talking to the robot, we know she's here."
Don shrugs, "Yeah, that was me, I've been told I have a very feminine figure in the right light, kinda gay of your scout if you think about it, but, I can't help that I'm pretty."
Carolyn outwardly gasps as the man strikes Don across the face with the butt of his rifle, blood spatters from his mouth, and it almost sends him flying onto the concrete, "Fuck you, asshole. We ain't stupid. Give us the girl and we might let you off easy."
Dom straightens back out, flicking his hair off his cheek to reveal a large bloody gash on his lower lip. He spits scarlet ooze from his mouth and then smiles up at the Raider leader, "Fuck off, you gimp."
Carolyn's eyes bulge in horror as the man doesn't hesitate to press the end of his rifle to the center of Don's chest and pull the trigger. A single shot rings in the air, the sickening sound of it embedding Don's chest practically echoes as he's flung onto his back. Carolyn mashes her hand against her mouth to stop from screaming.
"Check all the houses and keep a few of our guys near the trees, we don't want to bitch taking off into the woods," The man orders and points out to the other side of the suburb.
The Raiders scatter and Carolyn is suddenly fuelled by the sudden imminent danger. They'll find her hiding in here, even if she can manage to fire this gun, it won't do any good against that many of them. She needs to get out, she needs to leave right now and run as far away as she can, as fast as she can. She'll go up the road to Concord; she'll find somewhere to hide.
Quickly she puts the 10mm back in the jacket and crawls forward to push the chair out of her crawlspace, when she ducks into it, she's suddenly snagged by the arm, her jacket is caught on the wall at her side, "No, no, no, come on," She begs in a whisper.
The flare of an orange torch suddenly shines through the wall cracks again, and she gives in to total dread, thrashing off the jacket in process, leaving it, and its contents, behind to crawl back out into the dining room. She doesn't even look to see if she's in the line of view, she only sprints down the hall and into the bathroom, the window is open, void of glass, as she lifts herself up and crawls through, careful not to make much noise as she steps into the overgrowth behind the building, looking around for any sources of orange light, but it looks like they're all going up towards the cul-de-sac.
She backs up towards the playground, keeping herself close to the hedges in case she needs to hide, but as she turns the corner, a strong hand grabs her painfully by the wrist, the other seizing her mouth to stop her from yelling out. At her ear, a sick voice murmurs in a condescending tone.
"Gotcha bitch."