Special thanks to Alexeij, Aegon Blacksteel, Desert Dancer, Codus, Last Descendant and Winding Warpath for their feedback, but most importantly Proassassin for putting up with my bullshit.
James
When the birds came, he knew deep down it was over.
James powered down the terminal and packed up the turret. If violent men lurked around every corner, he would put it up in the neighborhood for the time when the rest of the Commonwealth noticed the survivors of Vault 111.
He secured the packed turret over his gear and took the terminal in his arms. It looked like he would be carrying the whole deal to Sanctuary without the help of the Mr. Gutsy.
From what James could see, the robot's central housing didn't appear to be anywhere near functional.
He made his way down to the lobby where he saw Frank resting on a bench, his gun inclined against the wall. The German Shepherd was at his feet basking in the attention he received from a new friend.
Standing around him was Preston Garvey and his ragtag band. "That was some show you put on upstairs, I'm glad you two are on our side."
James shrugged. "I suppose I'm on the side of anyone who doesn't look like they'll shoot at me for a snack cake."
"Low standards, but fair enough," said Preston. "Still, you can never have enough friends. Especially these days." He produced a pair of pouches full of something that clinked. One was tossed to Frank, and the other to James which he caught with his free hand.
"What's this?" James asked Preston as Frank peered inside his bag.
"A token of gratitude. I can't allow men like yourselves to work for free." There was a tired bitterness in his voice that tempered his friendly demeanor.
James wasn't sure what he meant, but it left him with a bad feeling about the rest of the world. "We didn't do it for a payday."
"Sorry," the man in the cocked hat apologized, "I'm used to everyone being in it for the money."
"This is money?" A very confused Frank asked Preston.
James opened his pack and to his surprise, it was full of half rusted bottle caps.
"Have you been living under a rock?" The question came from a sour faced woman who looked to be pushing forty. For someone as aged she was, there was still a harsh beauty in her own way. She didn't give Frank a chance to answer. "What am I saying? I can see vault suits under your clothes. Of course, you two have been under a rock. You've lived without a care in the world and wanted for nothing, while everybody else in the Commonwealth struggles for every meal."
"Your gratitude is noted," James cut her off.
The woman of medium height and jet-black hair turned her scowl on him.
James felt his own mood darken. Not only did she vaguely resemble Jenny, but the lady's demeanor reminded him of her in her more stormy of moods.
"What's your problem? I wasn't talking about you."
"Enough Marcy!" The generally soft-spoken voice of Preston Garvey struck like a whip. "I think we've asked enough questions of our friends for now." He turned his attention to Frank. "Sorry about that, we've been through a lot in the last month."
Frank grunted and nodded his head, as was his way of saying 'apology accepted.'
"Anyway, there's a place called Sanctuary Hills that we're looking to settle."
James choked on his breath, and exchanged a glance with Frank, who looked up from the poorest named German Shepherd he had met, his eyes the size of milk saucers.
"You been there by any chance?"
"We have," was Frank's noncommittal reply.
"It's less than an hour's walk from here," James added.
"Well let's get going, Sanctuary awaits." Preston flashed a smile that almost stretched ear to ear.
The congregation of Minutemen and former vault dwellers all made for the door. Halfway across the room he was intercepted by Sturges, the man who was clearly the brains of the group.
"That's one swell piece of salvage, I'll carry the terminal if you don't mind. I got the feeling that this Sanctuary could always use another turret and control piece."
"Thanks." James handed it over. As the rest filed out of the entryway, he took Preston aside. "I found you people while looking for someone."
"Haven't seen anyone else around but raider's."
James thought about that for a moment. "You might say I'm after a few. They murdered my wife, took my infant son."
"Damn, that's messed up. What did they look like?"
James hesitated when he opened his month, his reply on the tip of his tongue. A few seconds passed before he felt the courage to acknowledge his memory. "I saw one in a containment suit… another in a leather jacket."
Preston Garvey thought it over for a few moments. "Doesn't sound like any raider gang I know about. If I were you, I'd head for Diamond City. There's a detective who specializes in finding people. They say there's nobody like him."
With that, they headed back down the main street as a group.
Except for Frank. He was looking at the body of one of the fallen. If the outfit of a cream formal shirt and cowboy hat was any indication, he was probably one of Preston's. "James, you got a stim in your pack?"
He dropped to one knee, opened his bag. After a few seconds of fishing through it, James found one and handed it to Frank.
"He's lost a lot of blood and he's got a bit of a weight problem with all that lead. Still has a decent pulse all things considered. I think your guy has a chance, sir." He found a vein, and injected the stimpak. The unconscious minuteman's body seemed to shudder at the sensation.
Preston looked about ready to choke up when he knelt down and felt for the man's pulse. "Thank you very much guys, I don't know what to say."
"Then don't say anything. This should do him until we get to Sanctuary. There's a doctor around who might be able to save him."
"Thanks, I guess I'll carry Ned." After a quick inspection of his wounds, Preston stood him up then slung the wounded man over his shoulders in a fireman's carry.
As he walked further up the street, he noticed the monster and the Mr. Gutsy. Upon closer inspection of the robot it soon became clear that it was toast; the central housing was cracked, and the upper level input attachments were broken off. Aside from the thrusters and the arms below the chassis, there was nothing much to save.
Frank noticed the way he looked at the robot. "We should come back here with your Handy?"
"I guess Codsworth could use some of the good stuff," James admitted. The New England Commonwealth had some of the strongest restrictions on second amendment rights anywhere, but now the rule of law was settled by the guns of whatever gang happened to be biggest. That's why he felt no qualms about making off with what was technically Uncle Sam's property.
They lagged behind the rest of the group, who seemed to already know the general direction of Sanctuary. He told Frank about his conversation with Garvey.
"Diamond City?" asked Frank, "where's that supposed to be?"
"Sorry, didn't think to ask." James turned to watch the road ahead. "Too much other shit going through my mind."
"Ain't that the truth," Frank agreed.
"Hey, Preston!" James hollered out to the column ahead. "Which way's Diamond City?"
He halted and swung around. "That way." He bobbed his head in the direction of the way they came.
"It's in the Fens, on the other side of the Charles. Used to be some arena before the war."
"Thanks man."
He exchanged a look with Frank. "So there's a city, inside an arena, in Fenway called Diamond …"
Frank stopped himself mid-sentence, and his face became a mask of confused horror. "That better not be Fenway Park he's talking about," he said, voice a low growl.
James didn't reply.
"My favorite ballpark is probably some big-ass homeless shelter by now, goddammit."
"If people are living there, then it would appear that somebody finally did something useful with that stadium," James deadpanned.
"Fuck you, asshole." He flipped James the bird. "Fuck you and the Mariners. At least the Red Soxs have," he stopped to correct himself, "had a decent stadium that doesn't look like a canopied litter box."
"Baseball wasn't my religion. I couldn't bring myself to give two shits about baseball, Dippy. That was her thing…" the words almost caught in his throat. "Easy way to be a 'real' American and shit like that."
There was a moment of awkward silence before Frank spoke up, "Sorry, I got a little carried away. I guess we New England types take it a little too far."
They walked on in silence down the lonely streets through the rest of the city.
Soon Concord was behind them, were and the Monument Street Red Rocket came into view. Overhead gray clouds moved in, and soon began dripping rain.
As they passed the station, the rain picked up a bit. It was just enough to make a few in the group shiver with the passing of the October breeze.
Up ahead Sturges began to blow on his arms, now and then.
Preston noticed, and assured his friend that they'd get a fire started the second they reached Sanctuary.
"W-Where are we going, Marcy? I don't like us be-being out in the open like this..." The broken man - Marcy's husband - asked, speaking up and falling slightly behind Preston's echelon. His eyes darted around, observing every corner of their environment clearly expecting a trap nearby.
"Just across the bridge up ahead," James answered. They had taken a left from the station putting them closer to the Old North Bridge.
All the while, he inwardly tried to process the sensory overload that kept him on edge.
Who were these Minutemen? Why were their attackers so determined to pursue them? What passed for civilization these days?
Too many questions, with precious few answers.
The procession came to a halt. Preston, who led the column, suddenly stopped in his tracks.
Beside the bridge, the old Minutemen Monument stood proud and unfazed by its surroundings.
"Well, I'll be damned!" Garvey exclaimed. "I heard about this place." His voice which had been mostly grim before, became alive with excitement. "That's the monument to the Original Minutemen! Oh man! I mean, I knew that this was somewhere around here, but actually seeing it in person is something else. That would mean," Preston let his sentence hang for a moment to find his words. "This must be the Old North Bridge where the Revolution began."
"Who cares about what happened here long ago?" Marcy Long spoke up. "This is what Mama Murphy saw when she was stoned out of her gourd?"
"Will you stop?" Sturges drawled.
"You know Marcy," Preston turned to face her, "I'm not much of one to believe in signs from above, but this is the hand of God if I ever saw it," he declared to the group.
"Here we are, ladies and gentlemen," James addressed the column. "Welcome to Sanctuary Hills."
They stood in front of the Old North Bridge and took in the sight of overgrown field before them, and the visitor's center that stood over the edge of the sacred ground.
One by one, they filed across the bridge, unsure of how stable it was. From there it was quick march up the path to the neighborhood, where he and Frank took the lead.
"Hey Kyle, where's the Doc?" James asked the first person he saw.
"Out surveying the gardens your Handy tended, I think." Kyle Russell was a bald man in his thirties with sunken cheekbones and a height of roughly six feet. "What's going on?"
"We got a wounded man with a weight problem," Frank gruffly answered him.
"Should be a few houses down then," James said.
He and Frank split up. It wasn't long before Doctor Remington was found in Mrs. Rosa's backyard Greenhouse.
They put Ned, as the wounded man was called, on the cleanest surface they could find which was a table in her garage draped with ragged sheets.
James ran to his crawlspace storage and returned with a Miss Nanny subroutine program. He commanded Codsworth to shut down, and promptly went to work installing the module in one of the secondary drive bays.
Once Codsworth rebooted, he detailed the Mr. Handy to the surgeon. Remington ran a vocal diagnostic check and thanked James when he confirmed the authenticity of the Nanny programming.
From every corner of Sanctuary neighbors gravitated to the now vacant lot where the surgery was happening. He could see Sturges chatting away with Stuart, whom James assumed had taken a break from looting other homes.
Preston was on the other side of the gathering crowd pacing nervously. He couldn't blame Preston for that. For a man who behaved like a junior officer, it was heartbreaking when your boys looked to you for answers and you had none to give because you weren't God.
Damn, is it lonely at the top. There were days when he missed the blissful ignorance that came with being an enlisted man.
"He any good at removing bullets?" Preston asked him.
James shrugged. "I don't know, but he's probably better I than I would be."
Garvey nodded slightly. "I know I should feel better. It's not every settlement that has somebody who knows how to clean out a wound of any kind…" he paused for a moment, "it's just that I watched most of our number die on the way here from Quincy."
"Quincy?" James raised an eyebrow. "What's it like these days?"
"You haven't heard? It's horrible. Gunners hold the city and they'll milk it dry until spring. Then they'll hit another town once Quincy is starved of resources."
"Sorry," James deadpanned, "I missed a lot in the last two centuries."
The look on the Minuteman's face was priceless. First it was disbelief, but then his eyes darted all around as if his eyesight had just been restored. A few moments later, and Preston focused on him.
"As in… before the war?"
"Which one?" James asked.
"You know, the one where the bombs fell?"
"Oh that one. Yeah, we were there. Vault-Tec froze us that day, we were out of it for two hundred years. Still feels like it all happened this morning."
The Minuteman stared at him as if he'd grown two heads. "I think I read a comic somewhere that went like this."
"Believe me, it's still hard for me to wrap my own head around it all," Nate replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
"James Rodgers in the 23rd century," Preston offered his sobriquet.
He stared at Preston for a moment before it clicked. "I guess I am." He allowed a chuckle. "Sounds like a fucking franchise right there."
"I still can't believe I'm talking to someone from before the Great War though! You know, somebody who isn't a ghoul."
"Haven't heard that term before."
"They're..." Preston drifted off and looked for the words as if it were a sensitive term. "Irradiated people. Most of them are just like us, but they live a long time after the rads burned their skin to a crisp. Sometimes radiation destroys their brain too, and they try to eat anything that moves."
When did the world get so fucking insane? James could feel his mind screaming.
"So zombies, in other words," James suggested.
Preston winced at the mention of zombies. "Don't say it to their face. They hate that word."
"Let's change the subject then."
Garvey seemed relieved. "What do accommodations look like here?"
"Go ask Stuart." He pointed at the man in question. "I imagine he'd know which lots are available more than I."
"Broad chest and Glasses?"
"That's him," affirmed James.
The Minuteman nodded and went off to talk to Mr. Baker.
James looked back at Codsworth and saw him assisting with the surgery. That was enough for him.
He noticed a few other neighbors outside the ring of bystanders assessing the state of their homes and decided to have a quick look at his own while Codsworth was busy. He decided on the way that he would take Codsworth with him to this Diamond City.
James Rodgers was about to enter his shell of a house through the carport, when he noticed a row of burlap sacks lining the wall. Curious, he looked through each and was not disappointed.
Tomatoes, potatoes, corn, and garlic were in the bags and looked to be freshly picked. James allowed a faint smile to form.
Jenny had once given him a gift in the form of a RobCo Ag Research module that she had stolen on the way out of the Pusan office. At the time, he wasn't sure if it was some kind of apology, or just sticking it to Robco.
Robert House would have sued his pants off, had the evidence of her theft not fallen into North Korean hands, but fuck that asshole. Most of the regional immigration quotas were filled by General Atomics employees and the darlings of the Poseidon elite who practically owned the president. Not Robco though. The cheapskate recalled the handfull of white employees and fired the rest so he wouldn't have to sponsor anyone's green card.
James grimaced. It was in those desperate times she that had strong armed him into marriage.
"Tie the knot," an MP who happened to be one of her half-brothers had told him. "Or we tie the noose."
They all knew the truth though, it was a honeypot sting from the start. The smug snake had gotten his impressionable nineteen year old self drunk before the whole damn affair.
Colonel Maxson had already pulled the appropriate strings with the State Department to for a marriage visa he would learn. The Immigration Act of 2059 made even those tough to get in the Eastern World.
Now he looked down unsure how to feel. Right now, he was already starting to feel the void in his life. Part of him felt that getting Shaun back would fix everything, but James Rodgers knew deep down in his heart that not even that would be enough.
He let his open pack slip from his grasp and collapse on the concrete. When he chanced to look at it, he noticed a holotape poking out of the bag. Something within compelled him to take and play the tape. After a moment of grainy audio, he could make out her voice.
No, no, no. Little fingers away. There we go. Just say it. Right there. Right there. Go ahead.
He could hear Shaun giggling in the background.
Ha ha! Yay! Hi honey! Listen... I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a father you've become... but we're going to anyway. You are kind, and loving,
Shaun giggled again.
... and funny! Ha ha. That's right. And patient. More patient than I could be.
Look, with Shaun, and us all being at home together... It's been a lot for us. But even so, I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes, sure. Things we'll need to adjust to. You'll rejoin the civilian workforce once your enlistment is up… and I… I'll shake the dust off my computer science degree.
Listen, I know things between us could be better, but everything we do, no matter how hard... we do it for our family, not your's, not my dad's, but for our family.
Now say goodbye, Shaun... Bye bye. Say bye bye. Bye honey! We love you!
If there had been any air in his lungs, the tape had knocked it clean out. He laid there just staring at the cracked ceiling, the tape playing back in his head. Some part of him told him to stay down, to die a death of least resistance. He pushed the thought out of mind. Not while Shaun is out there.
"You okay man?" He heard the voice of Garvey from the edge of the carport.
"What do you think Garvey? What's a man like me supposed to be?" James clumsily found his footing, and made a grim smile as he took a step forward.
"We've all lost somebody, I'm not asking if it doesn't bother you." Preston looked him in the eye. "I'm asking if you can carry on, and do what you set out to do when you found us."
"I will find him," came his reply. It was more automatic than conscious.
"Good." Preston patted him on the shoulder. "It's sad to see people like yourself lose the drive to live. Just remember that it takes more courage out here to live for something than to die for it."
"Damn that's a gloomy way to put it."
"Such is life out here."
"How's your friend by the way?" James changed the subject.
"The Doctor says he'll pull through. It's just," he sighed, "it'll be a while before he can walk again."
Behind the Minuteman, he could see Wally Kovacs approach.
Looking to be in his mid fifties, with thinning red hair and a lightly wrinkled face, Wallace Kovacs was a man who looked forever sour.
Preston exchanged a look with the man and crossed over the remains of the lawn.
"You're not heading in the direction of Lexington, are you?"
James gave a subtle nod of the head. "As soon as Codsworth is ready, I'm heading back out."
"Mind if I join you there?"
"Your funeral, it's a dangerous place out there."
"Yeah, I heard. I'm taking my shotgun."
"I appreciate the offer of company, but you don't have to do this. You have a family here."
"Don't worry about them, son. My daughter's an adult, and my wife is the most self-sufficient person I know. Honestly, they put me to shame. Besides," he added, "let's just say I have some affairs to set to rest there."
"Well then Mr. Kovacs, I won't tell you no."
"Say, is that food in the bags?" He pointed to the sacs lined against the wall.
"I suppose so, seems like Codsworth has been cultivating a few crops through it all."
"You wouldn't have anything that could be planted today, would you?"
James pondered that for a moment. "I saw a Carrot patch, and I hear carrots grow pretty well about now. Tell you what, come with me to Diamond City and I'll make sure your family has enough for a crop. I'll provision for the trip meals included if you don't mind stale MREs."
Kovacs laughed. "I was in the Marines once, junior. I was chowing on them over the walls of Chapultepec before you were even born."
James returned to his basement to pack for the journey. He stuffed a fistful of MRE's into his bag, and took a bedroll.
By the time he was done, Codsworth was ready. He gave Preston charge of the house while he was gone (It beat the place he got), and handed the Kovacs some carrots to seed.
Dr. Remington thanked him for lending Codsworth and wished him well.
On their way out, Frank joined up for the expedition.
This time, he crossed the river by way of the Monument street bridge, an old stone bridge north of the Old North Bridge, that still held firm even now.
He took point and lead the fire team, three men and a Mr handy.
Behind him, he could hear Frank and Wally conversing. Their voices felt like quiet far off murmurs as they passed the Red Rocket station by. All the while he was stuck in his own thoughts.
Too bad that dog belonged to Preston. When he got Shaun back, he would find a family dog, preferably a German Shepherd like "Dogmeat."
Grateful as he was for the company, he still felt as if he was on his own. Then again, the whole world could follow him down that road and he'd still feel alone.
Suddenly, one question from Wally to Frank broke his concentration. "So somebody came in the vault and popped the fish head?"
James felt himself stop and clench his fist.
"Something wrong, son?" Wally's gravelly voice grated with impatience.
Without really thinking, James spun around and punched the man on the nose.
Wally stumbled back, and cradled his nose with a hand.
James didn't have time to make another move. Frank was on him in an instant and had him down, arms pinned behind his back. In terms of muscle mass, Frank easily had at least forty pounds on him if not more.
"Damn it James, you stupid reckless bastard!" Frank roared. "Calm the fuck down."
"Give me Shaun, and maybe I'll calm the fuck down!"
"Damn it, what was that for," the old marine straightened his nose.
Before James could utter a word, Frank cut him off.
"How about you shut the fuck up Wally! You're a family man for fucks sake, so why don't you show some god damned sympathy for a man who just lost his wife."
It would be a long way to Diamond City.
Authors Note: changed title From "No place for justice," to "Where have all the Yankees gone?" There's an awful lot riding on a title in my book, and I wanted something that had felt like it had deeper meaning and less like a draw from the generic title hat. I decided to change James's last name from Tyrell to Rodgers (There's going to be too many Blade Runner references in this story and this one can survive a demotion to middle name. Also, my story) Some other minor changes were made to make the story feel more consistent and there's new addition to the prologue I think many of you will like.
Also, many of my characters will espouse varying forms of bigotry (yes, even heroes too). I make no apology for this, they are human fucking beings in a crapsack yet increasingly relevant world to real life where the "us and them" dichotomies is pretty strong in many places.
