It was quiet fast after the remaining settlers had finally gotten comfortable, as comfortable as one could get in the curators office of the Museum of Freedom. However, at that point, the lot of them found the ground in a third story room with intact walls and closable doors a lot more comfortable than anything they found from there to Lexington. As quiet as it got, it didn't stay that way for very long, not to the ones getting what little they could sleep. To Preston, those few hours of exhausted consciousness felt more like an eternity, as long and meaningless as the many nights that followed. He found he couldn't sleep much, especially that night, not when the Museum had been surrounded by the people that attacked them the minute they stepped foot in Concord.
He'd been too overwhelmed by the memories, losing everything in Quincy, and then loosing even more in Lexington. The most recent death of his only fellow minutemen, whose body they couldn't even claim as it fell on the doorstep, had been weighing heavily on him. On top of that, he was also feeling the grief of Jun and Marcy at the death of their son. His only beacon, his only small hope was the vision Mama Murphy had a few days prior about a place called Sanctuary, something that promised a peaceful last stop for all of them. However, like many of her cryptic visions, it had been difficult to decipher, especially when it had been followed by another piece that had mentioned a man in red with a heart of blue, or something along those lines.
However, at that point even with all the visions, it felt fruitless. Everyone had lost so much that it almost doesn't seem worth it if they made it.
If they made it.
Yeah, it hadn't been long before the Raiders attacked, a second wave after it had been clearly established that the settlers had nowhere to go, not with the front door being guarded by a few of their small army. Preston knew, at some level that seemed almost as intuitive as Mama Murphy's sight, that those Raider's had been waiting for them to make a mistake like holding up in the Museum. They were like molerats in a cage, and there wasn't a damn thing Preston could do about it.
Before he'd heard the noise downstairs, he'd been sitting against the balcony door with his laser musket propped up against the window. At his right, just around the bend of the metal office desk, Jun and Marcy slept back to back, though Jun had been whimpering in his sleep, a nightmare. At his left, Sturges had propped himself up with his head resting on the arm of the bright red tattered couch Mama Murphy was told to use despite her assurance that she wasn't that old and didn't need to be coddled. Sturges' snoring was light but still stark against the total ear ringing silence.
When he initially heard the door slam open downstairs, just two stories below the room they holed up in, he hadn't thought much of it due to the wind that had started howling only moments before. He actually wasn't too sure he'd heard it to begin with, or if it had been his paranoid and fatigued imagination.
However, when the Raiders started yelling and making all kinds of noise, Preston knew in that moment that they were back, most likely to finish the job they started last night. He'd grabbed his musket and leaped up with protest aching in his muscles from head to toe, not too concerned about waking anyone in the process, and headed directly out of the office's left door.
The firefight started almost immediately afterward, they spotted Preston just as they were making their way through the exhibit and up the stairs. Splinters of wood sprayed out at him as they fired, pricking his skin as the bullet's pierced the old wood, and he had stumbled back into the cover of the office. The noise had startled the settlers awake, he yelled at Sturges to bar the door, and then headed outside onto the small balcony overlooking the main street of Concord.
He'd began the fight to keep the Raiders at bay to the best of his ability, an instinct to push back instead of letting them finish the job like he'd considered more than a dozen times in those long few hours of languid consciousness, and his exhaustion protested every second of it. Every crank of his musket felt like it required his unrelenting willpower, his entire focus in order to load the firing mechanism, and it ached in his shoulders. His hands were cramping, the cursor of his aimer shook, every shot reeled him backward, and his aim hit the targets by their feet, or over the shoulder, instead of actually piercing the bodies. Everything in his head screamed at him to keep fighting, to keep those settlers alive even if it killed him, but his entire body had been begging him to stop.
What had happened after that was a haze, Preston backed into the office to reload, to stop shaking long enough to force the burnt Fusion Cell out of his Musket to replace it. It was then that he heard the sudden horrible caterwaul of the Raiders screaming. Downstairs where they had no doubt dug themselves in waiting for the go-ahead to storm the room and slaughter the lot of them, against an unknown force that had found its way into the lobby, Raider gunfire had erupted in defence and miraculously was losing.
Someone else, something else, was in the Museum, and it was fighting back.
Preston and Sturges had leaned against either entrance to the office for what felt like twenty minutes, before the last scream had come to a deadpan halt with unsettling immediacy. After a quick look of uncertainty and fear between them, Preston finally opened the door to see the extent of the carnage, and to address whoever had effectively saved the last few settlers he'd sworn to protect.
Someone who, despite the streak of total misfortune that seemed to follow the group, had shown up right as the thought of surrender had started to swarm Preston's mind like a stingwing. However, as the man stood before him, Preston doubted his assumption of sudden divine intervention. He was very pale, quite like Jun and Marcy, but his hair wasn't filthy with accumulated grime, it was lying in long black strands over his face and down his neck, soaked with a gruesome combination of blood and sweat. His matching eyes appeared from between the streaks, open wide and colorless with intensity. Across his chin and lower lip, mouth parted as he panted heavily with breathlessness after what had been both an impressive and terrifying display of battle prowess, was a large swollen and purpling gash bleeding a single stream down the length of his neck and soaking into the collar of what looked like a Vault suit. The iconic outfit had the appearance of such, only Preston had to look twice considering it hadn't exactly been blue anymore, most of that color had been soaked and dyed a blackish purple by quarts of blood that he assumed... probably didn't belong to their saviour. However, he looked like he sustained some kind of damage; a bandage made of knotted fabric tied around both his left upper bicep and in an X bind around his chest.
Matching his outfit, hanging in his right hand and suddenly very focal in Preston's attention, had been a caked and crimson machete dripping ooze onto the wooden flooring next to his foot, and in his left, a 10mm pistol in about the same condition. The blood that had gathered under both weapons soaked into the dry wood as though it had been physically thirsty.
Suddenly, the man jerked his chin up to greet him, "'Sup?"
Preston had been horribly regretful of his trustworthy nature at that point, totally stunned out of a response even before his eye caught the bodies sitting on the toll gate. Over his shoulder, Preston had first seen the Raider lying belly up with two large puncture wounds in their torso, and one through their throat, they'd fallen, or been impaled on the broken railing lining either side of the balcony. The second had been sliced up from navel to jaw and had fallen against a large crate, the contents of his torso looked to have been strewn over his blood stained cargos. The third... Preston barely looked at it before his stomach had had enough and he'd taken a step back into the office to shield it from his immediate view.
The man had noticed Preston's horror and glanced back to see the scene just as he had, he then reached up to rub the back of his hand against his nose, leaving behind a large red smear and finally he just chuckled humourlessly to himself. Turning back to Preston with a long awkward exhale, embarrassed, and without looking at his belt, tried to stick the gory machete into a loop that might have been there once, but hadn't any longer, so the weapon just slid right through his shaky fingers and landed on the floor next to his foot with a hard slap of metal.
If he'd noticed, he didn't give any indication, which had been fine with Preston because he hadn't been about to point it out.
"You guys okay?" He asked, remarkably casual as he motioned behind Preston with his equally blood soaked 10mm.
Of course, Preston had the door opened wide, and when he glanced back he could see everyone leaning over to stare with wide and horrified eyes, all except for Mama Murphy, who'd been content to pat a large German Sheppard lying next to the red couch she'd been sitting on. He for one, had absolutely no earthy idea how that big ole' pup got by him without him noticing, but he'd been used to general enigma around the old lady.
"Uh, yeah... we're okay, thanks to you," Preston slowly presses a hand to his chest, "Preston Garvey, commonwealth Minutemen."
He'd smiled at that, but it looked far less genuine than Preston would have preferred being that he could have still been a serious threat at that point. In fact, Preston had been trying to decide if he was on a combination of chems, or just absolutely scared to death.
"That's fantastic. Don Takiyo, human Popsicle, hey, you uh... you guys seen a blonde woman around?" He motioned to his shoulder with a jerk, "About-uh, this tall, wearing a blue jumpsuit like-" He looked down to motion at his apparel and pressed his blood soaked hands against his chest where the makeshift bandage was, covering more of the suit that had yet to be stained, only to notice, like Preston, that it hadn't been exactly blue anymore. The man hesitated, like he hadn't been aware of what he looked like until that very moment.
He then kind of wiped the fabric like the blood would brush off like dust, his eyes wide with the realization as he glanced back up to Preston and spoke in a half-broken voice with a nervous smile, "Um, okay, maybe not like, with the blood but... blue with yellow numbers on the back, one eleven. Maybe you saw her here... with those unsavoury-like folks?"
Preston stared at him for a minute or so, not exactly to think about whenever he'd seen a woman like that around but instead allowing the voice of Mama Murphy to pop into his head with the repeat of her vision of Sanctuary, and of the red man with the blue heart. Preston had seriously considered that this man was who she'd talked about, but as far as seeing anyone out there that wasn't a Raider, he would have remembered seeing a woman like that, "Can't say I have, I'm sorry."
"Well," Don smiled again, this time it was flat and angry, and it made Preston nervous, "Looks like I have some more work to do then, you should all stay inside until it's clear, and it will be. Give me twenty minutes."
Preston was sure of a few things by that point, but the one that took precedence in his mind told him that this man was dangerous, and despite that, they needed him bad. So, Preston found himself reach out as he turned to leave, total desperation taking a hold of him at that very moment as his hand grasped the dampened arm of his Vault suit, "Wait!"
Don stopped, turned his head, and glanced down with a high brow at where Preston had grabbed him, "Yes?"
Preston had shut the door behind him, he didn't want to hear the rest of the settlers listen to him beg, but he'd been real damn close to not really caring one way or the other, "Listen, please, we need your help."
His shoulders drooped in a dramatic sigh, "Of course you do..."
"Yeah, I'll admit it, we're desperate here, and I'm desperate. We've lost more than half our group in only a few days, this was going to be it for us, and frankly, I was ready for it," Preston had felt the heat of his sorrow burning behind in his eyes, "Man, you came out of nowhere, and I'll take that as a sign that we weren't ready to go just yet. So I'm begging you, I'm begging you to help us. At least until we get to Sanctuary, then you can forget us just like that, I swear."
"Sanctuary," Dons face narrowed in confusion, "What the hell do you think you're going to find there?"
"Hopefully, a place to settle," Preston admitted, "That's all we need."
"Buddy, there's nothing in Sanctuary but rusted old homes and a lot of angry ghosts."
"So what," Preston snapped a lot harsher than he intended, "The entire Commonwealth is crawling with ghosts. I'm not asking you to help us rebuild our lives; I'm only asking that you get us there."
Before the man had had any chance for a rebuttal, it was that moment that the giant irradiated lizard had crawled right out from underground like the hellish beast it was. They heard the sound from outside, what sounded like something close to an explosion. All of the previous conversation forgotten, the two had ran out onto the balcony to see what had caused all the commotion, and there it was.
A Deathclaw that stretched as tall as the second story balconies of the shops around it, longer than any of the pre-war vehicles Raiders had been scrambling to hide behind. It looked black against the sun, eyes glowing red, and claws as long as his Musket. As it stretched up to view its new surroundings, his jaw opened and a long black tongue slithered out, tasting the air and finding it ripe with prey.
An explosive growl erupted from its throat, kicking up dust from around its feet, and from beside Preston, Don exhaled a long shaky breath, "Oh, fuck me."
Preston still had a hard time trying to process exactly what had happened. Somewhere along the line, Don must have made the decision to help them out, or else he would have just taken off at the sight of it. They scrambled up to the roof, somewhere they could buckle down and wait for the beast to finish its rampage, let it stalk off with blood soaked claws and a full belly. Until Don saw Preston and Sturges' contingency plan that hadn't quite gotten the full run down into execution, the suit of T-45 power armour.
The rest was... something else. Preston found that his faith on the matter had seriously paid off, at least for the quiet happened, when the beast hung limp over the toll gate with one of its bayoneted hands sitting inches deep in the balcony of the second story, Preston watched as Don, panting heavily in the suit of armour just... stared at it, almost face to face.
Preston found that it had been pretty easy to convince him to tag along after that.
Now, the group of settlers walk northwest up the road and out of Concord, all experiencing varying degrees of quiet, uneasy and cautious. Behind them, a large and mildly damaged suit of power armour shadows the group, keeping watch at their six as Preston takes the lead. He found that even though Don had proven himself not only capable of dealing a significant amount of carnage with nothing but a 10mm and a machete, but watching him take out that 10 foot tall irradiated lizard with a suit of power armour and a Minigun, now that gave him every right to be nervous, especially now that Preston had openly invited him to join them to Sanctuary.
Sturges matches his pace with Preston, trying to look casual as he does so, and speaks lowly, "You uh... y'surelettin' him keep that armour was a good idea there, boss?"
Preston chances a glance back at the armour, he can't tell behind the visor if he notices, "No," Preston admits, giving Sturges a small unsure smile, "But I'm hoping that if he wanted us dead, he would have let that Deathclaw finish the job."
"Sure, sure..." Sturges clears his throat, "I just don't like the way his eyes lit up like Christmas when he found the suit, is all."
"I think after that thing crawled up out of the sewer, he had plenty reason to be excited."
Sturges laughs, "Yeah, but there's 'thank god, a way out of this' excited, and then there's 'seven year old boy got the bicycle he's always wanted' excited. I'm pretty sure that maniac actually bounced when he saw it."
"He saved our lives, didn't he?" Preston retorts, "And maybe this group could use a little enthusiasm."
"Well, forgive me; I thought I was plenty enthusiastic," Sturges scoffs in mock offence.
Preston grins, and then nudges him with an elbow, thankful for the opportunity to be a little playful, "Not while you were cowering up on that rooftop with us you weren't."
"Oh, that's another thing, I'm pretty sure he was laughing too," Sturges shoves him back, "It was kind of hard to hear through the Minigun, but I was damn sure he was cacklin'!"
"Now you're just making stuff up. Come on man, give him a chance."
Sturges turns to look at the hulk of power armour as it checks the perimeter of the group, keeping his eyes on the rocks coming up on their left that would make for a hell of a vantage point for anyone lying in wait. Sure, he has plenty of reasons to be apprehensive of their new friend, but the fact of the matter is, he helped them, and now they have a chance to settle down somewhere safe.
Ahead of them as they pass an old Red Rocket truck stop, strangled to the top with Commonwealth greenery looking to reclaim the spot as a part of nature, Preston spots an old bridge stretched across a shallow river and finally, the wreckage of pre-war homes still coloured bright even under the sudden coverage of clouds that interrupted the earlier morning sun, looks like this is it, and not a minute too soon, those clouds look like they're going to roll in one hell of a storm.
They pass an old pre-war suburban sign reading, 'Welcome to Sanctuary Hills', the blue house at their immediate right being mostly intact compared to the collapsed one on the opposite side of the street. Covered in rust and pocked with holes, but standing upright with the under structure more or less intact. On its driveway is a makeshift cooking fire surrounded by a row of cinderblocks, the embers long since burnt out and abandoned for god knows how long.
Overhead, large trees lining the forest behind the westward homes billow against the wind, moaning low as they sway back and forth in contrast to the clouds, and pressing against the rusty metal framework of the homes too close. Through the houses themselves, the wind sounds more like a pained groan, like someone deep inside the house was dying from injury, sickness, or starvation. The last little cries as the muscles tense in protest to organs shutting down one by one.
Coming up on the left, through a dark glasses window of an old blue house, Preston's eyes lock into the overshadowed blackness within, partially hidden by vibrant green and red plants, vines, and a few small blossomed flowers despite the fall season. The volume of wind grows and finally overtakes his senses. A single groan of a dying man turns into three, into five, increasing until it twists unfurled into an uncountable mass, men, women, and children, screaming from somewhere unreachable. A throng of hands clamber within the shadow, a formless mass, outwardly grasping onto anything within reach, they're grabbing Preston's jacket, grabbing his arms, his legs, begging and crying for help.
"You alright there, boss?" Sturges' voice snaps Preston back, his hand lying heavy on his shoulder and ultimately grounding as the Minuteman turns to his friend. He can suddenly hear Don's voice in his head, a lot of angry ghosts…
"Yeah," Preston gives his head a shake, and rubs the bridge of his nose, "It'd be nice to get a decent night's sleep."
Sturges gives him a pat, "Well, you might get the chance now that we're here. It's a real nice place we got. It's far enough out of the way; we got an immediate water source, lots of old houses and debris. I think we could make a serious go of this."
"That's what I like to hear," Preston turns to a yellow house at their left as they climb up the incline of the street, just opposite of the one he'd been staring at, and see's what looks like a workshop set up with all the fixings, plenty of space for weapon and armour modification, and a power armour station. He turns to address the settlers, seeing Jun and Marcy immediately, but finding Mama Murphy and Don standing at the base of the incline speaking to each other unintelligibly with a happy dog at their side, "Alright folks, I'd like you all to take a look around, see if you can find any supplies. We'll make this house our HQ until we're better fortified. Try not to go too far, there's a storm coming."
"This is it?" Marcy growls, "This is the so-called 'Sanctuary' we were promised?"
"Look, it ain't exactly luxury," Sturges argues, "Otherwise we'd have to fight off some pretty mean competition."
"He has a point, Marcy," Jun adds timidly.
Marcy crosses her arms and turns to walk back down the incline, "Whatever, I'm going down to get water, try and find us something to eat, Jun."
"Uh, okay," He mutters as she stalks off, already out of ear shot. He then turns back to smile apologetically at Preston, "Sorry…"
"Don't worry about it, let's just focus on getting set up," Preston pats Jun on the shoulder, he's used to Marcy being… difficult, though after the death of their son, she's been especially nasty. Jun always seems to be at the brunt of her wrath for the majority of it, though he doesn't seem to mind more than he tries to help everyone understand what she's going through. He's a selfless man, and to be honest, Preston really admires him for it.
Overhead, the clouds first deciding to clump together into a mass of dark off-green plumage are now rolling together and rumbling deep within with supercharged radiation. It rained only the other day, it feels like too soon that another storm should roll in, though Preston counts his blessings that it isn't any of that noxious radioactive fog, or a blinding red sand dust storm. However, a storm of this calibre harbours its own dangers; the radiation usually brings about a few small packs of ferals that follow the light show, dismissing the rads in the rain, being inside is the best course of action until it blows over.
Preston approaches Don about fifteen minutes after he finishes speaking with Mama Murphy, having an opportunity to take a quick look around and examine any exposed regions of their general perimeter beforehand. He's is gently exiting the damaged framework of the T-45 power armour and loading it up onto the large yellow station, Preston stands a respective distance away as the man glances over at him, hands busy trying to twist and yank out the armours power core.
"So, let me guess, this is the part where you thank me profusely, give me some kind of reward, and then send me on my way, right?" Don finally pops the core out with a jerk and then grunts through his teeth, pressing a hand against where the bandage is on his chest, he's injured, that much Preston knows, though, those injuries sure didn't stop him from unleashing hell on the raiders, "I think a statue in town square will do just fine."
Preston hesitates, watching as the man glances over the large battery, and then sets it on the ground next to his feet. All previous shock and horror completely disappeared from his features; he looks like just another person, "Look, I know you didn't have to help us, and I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am-"
"I was kidding, man," Don holds up a hand to Preston with a light chuckle, "You don't need to grovel. If you build a statue in my honour, it'll just go to my head, no one wants that, trust me, pretty soon it would turn into ritual sacrifice and then where would we be?"
"Uh… okay," Preston bounces his musket in his hands a little as he watches the man inspect the extent of the damage on the suit. Usually the Commonwealth offers people in it for themselves, for whatever reason Don ultimately decided to help, convenience or otherwise, but everyone always wants something in return, "Well, if you don't want gratitude, what do you want?"
Don sighs heavily, looking somewhat defeated as he gazes at the armour, before he pulls a satchel over his shoulder that looks like a handbag made out of a pair of old pre-war pants and picks up the power core again, "To be on my merry way, I have a friend to un-kidnap," He tosses the core into the air at Preston for him to catch, which he does with an ungraceful fumble, "Core's burnt out, needs a little work, but your handy man should be able to fix it up. Take care of 'er, she's a veteran."
"Whoa, hang on a sec," Preston steps in front of him as he tries to pass, "Wherever you're going, you won't get very far before the storm kicks up, and trust me, you don't want to be out in the open when it does."
"A little rain and wind, I've earned worse," Don goes to pass him again, but he's intercepted a second time.
"I don't want to assume anything, but you're in pretty bad shape, look like you could use a doctor," Preston continues, "The nearest one is probably in Diamond City, and you won't get there before dark let alone before the storm hits."
Don arches his brows, "Oh, doctors are still a thing here? That's good to know."
"Well yeah, but they aren't going to do you much good if you get torn apart by ferals," Preston says plainly.
"Ferals," He nods thoughtfully, "Boy, does that sound unpleasant."
Preston stares at him in disbelief, "Wow, you really don't care, do you?"
Don then smiles wide and sarcastic, "Oh, I care plenty, believe me," He sighs, "Look, I know you're trying to get me to stick around, for whatever reason, strength in numbers, you need a heavy hitter, or maybe I just look that good in a Vault-suit, I'm flattered, but, the longer I wait around here hanging out with you and the ghosts, the more I risk the safety of my friend."
Preston sets his jaw and closes his eyes, he begins to think about a month ago, a time that feels so much farther away than it is, when the Minutemen were a true force and were able to do real good in the Commonwealth, when Preston felt proud to be a Minuteman, before all of the betrayal, and all of the misfortune that followed. If the opportunity arose, he would rebuild in a heartbeat. He's not so sure if they'll ever be what they were before but he wants to try, and that to him is profound considering only hours ago he was ready to give into despair.
"Look, I can't help these people on my own," Preston admits lowly, ashamed to confess to his own shortcomings, "You saw where my leadership got us, but you… you can do the job proper, we need someone like you. The Minutemen… they need someone like you."
"Dude, you don't even know me," Don raises a brow.
"Yeah, well… maybe trusting you to save our lives is good enough for me," He smiles lightly, "To be honest, everyone I ever knew that could do the job justice is gone. Maybe asking a stranger for help isn't such a bad thing, if I could sweeten the deal besides telling you you'd be helping a lot of people survive out here, you'd also get support from anyone loyal to the cause, and eventually, maybe even an army?"
Don's smile fades as Preston speaks, and he glances off in serious consideration. It's a long minute where he doesn't say anything, just purses his lips comically as taps a hand against his leg, "If I were to say yes, I'd have some conditions."
Preston's heart soars in indefinable relief, "Name them."
"When I get my friend back, we're going to need a place to stay, for starters," Don motions out to the house across the way where Preston had that god-awful sleep deprived vision, "That's her house right there, the one two doors down on the same side is mine. Don't touch them, not even for salvage."
Preston eyes him curiously, wondering why they had already made claim to two old houses that they'll probably have to tear down for scrap and salvage, "Okay."
"Also, I get a cool name, like Commander, or something."
"Well, the leader of the Minutemen always held the rank of General," Preston offers.
"Ooh, General, I like it!" He exclaims, "General Don Takiyo, huh, sounds like a Red Commie commanding official, yikes."
Preston blinks, waiting for a serious request, but he's almost sure at this point that it won't happen, "Is that all?"
Don hesitates, and then points his thumb over his shoulder to the damaged power armour, "Can… I keep that?"
"Sure, that won't be a problem, but-"
"Aweso-ome!" He sings tonelessly and then turns to plant a kiss on the breast plate of the armour, "Baby, I'm going to make you look bad-to-the-ass!"
"Okay, so," Preston quickly interjects before it gets any weirder, "Before you agree, you should know that we're going to get Sanctuary up and running before anything serious happens, maybe if you talk to Sturges we can get your help-"
Don suddenly turns back and points at something behindPreston's shoulder with wide eyes, "Hoh my god, what is that-?!"
When he turns to look, alarmed, Don immediately skirts around him, speed walking up the road before Preston has a chance to figure out the man pulled one over on him. He throws his arms open in exasperation, giving up on trying to catch him at this point,"Hey, come on man, seriously?"
"Keep your hat on, Garvey, I'll do it," He skips around to face him as he retreats, "I'll be back in a few days. You guys get started without me!"
Preston watches him disappear down the road, he's not totally sure that was the smartest move, he's not even sure if he should feel at all relieved that he took the job, but looks like there goes the Minutemen's new General, and Preston is pretty sure he's skipping. Mama Murphy better have been right about her vision, and hopefully he was right about interpreting it.
Sturges appears with an arm full of broken and dried tree branches, collecting for a fire when the rain starts pouring, and comes up to stand beside Preston as he stares down the road. He glances to where Preston is looking, and then looks to Preston with a half hearted and sympathetic smile, "Now, I couldn't help over hearin' you give him clearance to boss us all around. Probably should have gotten a good night's rest before making a decision like that."
"Well, maybe the lack of sleep has me thinking clearly," Preston sighs heavily, though he hardly believes it.
"I don't know 'bout that," Sturges chuckles, "Anyway, you seen Marcy around? Jun said he couldn't find her by the river and was wonderin' if you saw her stalkin' round someone of these old houses."
Preston looks at Sturges, "No, I just checked the perimeter too; I thought she was with Jun."
"Well, crap," Sturges groans, "Maybe she went off into the woods or something, I'd better go take a look."
"Don't take long, and send Jun up here, we need to get everyone settled for when the storm decides to start kicking out rads," Preston says.
As Sturges tosses the wood onto the cement driveway, Preston glances back upwards to watch the clouds churn and rumble, lighting up internally with muffled flashes of lightening. A single drop of water breaks, and splashes onto Preston's cheek from high above. For a minute, Preston had considered the weather might actually cooperate, but as it stands, they might need to leave Marcy outside if that's where she wants to be, at least until the storm passes.
Preston isn't too worried about her, she's as tough as she is difficult, and she can handle finding a safe place to keep dry.