There should have been a coffin to bury. And in that coffin of lead, a woman with hay colored hair. Wrapped in the cloth with the same insignia that had been adorned upon my parents.
There had been coffins for them. There had been bodies to bury.
But for her, for the Sentinel, there had been nothing.
So what could I look at as they fired the salute? Who would they give the folded flag to?
I wanted to ask. The young man next to me fixed me with his stare. Eyes black, shadows cast by his brow, falling below and staining his lids.
We both knew what happened there. I could have said something, but did not. Instead I took a shaky breath to prevent from sobbing. He squeezed me on the shoulder for support, but it was painful. Uncomfortable.
The latch was yanked roughly and a square shaped beam of light illuminated the bottom of the trap door. This was the part I had been most afraid of, seeing how I didn't have anything to defend myself save for the shabby 10mm at my hip with limited ammo. The only downside to staying under cover was actually traveling like a runaway. It would be suspicious if I was strapped to the teeth with the latest Brotherhood hardware.
I just hoped it was who I wanted it to be opening the door. It was shoved open and a head poked over.
"Hey! Easy!" The guy shouted at me and held the lantern in his hand over the edge so that it was visible. My hand had gone to the hilt at my side without me thinking about it. "Here, catch!" He threw down a thick piece of rope that I used to climb over the crumbling iron ladder. The Railroad agent held their hand out for me to take and helped me over the edge of the pit and to my feet.
"Sometimes I'm glad they built so many bomb shelters!" The agent chuckled to fill the silence that followed as I just stared around, trying to get a bearings on where I was. I had been shoved into the back of an over packed caravan to get there and put into that hole with a bag over my head. "We've got a lot of walking to do, best we stick to a tight schedule to follow the sun. Got a few more pickups along the way. What is your name by the way?" The Agent chatted behind a lit cigarette. He tossed a few bags at me, among them a sickly pack of dried meat to eat.
"Dawn." I said and held my hand out for him to take. The Agent smiled pleasantly and returned my handshake.
"Deacon. You a good shot?" He nodded to the 10mm.
"I'm decent. It's gotten me this far." I shrugged.
"Huh, well, here's hoping we won't need it! But I doubt it." He said after a long drag from his cigarette. Even though the morning sunlight was barely illuminating the dilapidated building he still wore thick sunglasses so it was hard to read his full expression.
"I'm determined to see this through." I said after what felt like too long, an awkward pause.
"That's the spirit! Alright, say goodbye to your dank pit, we need to get moving." Deacon said and turned on his heel sharply. I shouldered the bags and took a few quick steps to keep up. I wondered how they must have determined that I was a legitimate runaway to them. Despite all the information the Brotherhood had gathered on the Synths, to be honest and to admit would be close to blasphemy to the Elder, I was still struggling with the distinction. All it took for me was an institute uniform, a frazzled look, and a persuasive conversation with a sympathetic old man at an out post to seemingly convince the Railroad.
Seemingly.
That day we walked across the Wasteland along the cracked road. It was best to remain quiet, as there were eyes and ears everywhere. Unseen to us, but there were creatures not far off. At least the sky was a bit brighter blue here, truer to a deep hue here than the faded yellow and grey of home. But only a glimpse, and a dense fog glowing green rolls in.
I noticed how Deacon would watch me.
"Huh, you're more than a decent shot." He whistled between his teeth as the creeping blood fly exploded into chunks in the air. It had been coming at us from over the hill, the vibration from its wings nearly had me jump out of my skin. Somethings still disgusted me.
"I hate bugs." I huffed and glared at the pieces as we made our way around them.
"I could hardly even see it." He said, a cloud rolling over his head and reflecting on his mirror shades. I just gave him a look before we continued. Small talk was best kept to a minimum. Less of a chance for me to mix things up, reveal too much.
If anything, I paid close attention to what he would ask, what he would say.
It's easy for a liar to spot a liar.