In which we see our fair maiden having a really bad, no good, awful day.

And radiation poisoning.

Nothing was the same. I stood on a vantage point on the trail leading away from the Vault. The bones existed still; phantoms of my neighbors danced in front of the decrepit view before me, but everything was… gone. The beautiful houses, the shiny cars, the laughter and small talk of people, the faint drifting lilt of the television or radio from various houses around the neighborhood, and the way the wind made the tree leaves whisper and hush in its caress. It had been nearly Halloween. Decorations were still up on some of the houses; mocking and spiteful. Nate and I had picked out a little astronaut costume for Shaun... A costume he had never been able to wear.

My shoes crunched on old bones as I made my way out of the forest and onto the pavement; I was essentially immune to the sound by now. The realization of this made me freeze; a whirlwind of emotions washing over me for the billionth time that morning. Overcome I kicked at a pile of wood and debris in the middle of the street, cursing when my leg connected with an old tire, the pain vibrating up into my wound. Conquered I looked around. My heart sunk into my stomach; I felt sick, nausea eating at my body. My head ached. My body ached, my soul made weary.

Everything was gone. Shoulders hunched I made my way to the house on the corner just before the bridge, unable to face my old home. Not yet. This house was was at some point. Once upon a time it would have been the crown of suburban living. A Mr. Handy folding the laundry, automated fridge and nuclear powered vehicle. Pristine walls, top-of-the-line washer and dryer, an oven that cooked bread perfectly and cabinets that wouldn't quit. A state-of-the-art television mingling with the faint buzz of electronics. Now it was holey walls, leaking roof, debris floating around and a couple of broken pieces of furniture. I crawled out the oversized back window and crossed through the broken white picket fence into the next house.

Much the same, only the layout and degree of destruction varied. I scavenged the cabinets, relieved to find an old nuka-cola. I hesitated a moment before wandering back into where their bathroom would have been.

An old mattress was shoved against the wall. A couple rounds for a 10 mm were left behind in a hasty getaway. Old blood was smeared on the floor, baked into the tile by time and elements.

Squatters. My heart lifted slightly. At least not everything had changed. People were still around, alive. That was something.

A nearly perfect bathtub surrounded by broken glass from the mirrors and windows, the shower was destroyed, toilet non-functional. But the emergency med-kit was still on the wall, and partially stocked as well. A stimpak, a full bag of radaway, along with a couple bottle caps were tucked inside. I grabbed the items, shoving everything in my vault-tec pockets until I could rearrange my loot. My backpack was heavier now I noticed, shifting the weight on my shoulders, though I'd added nothing to it. Maybe my pre-war muscles were just weaker than I previously thought. The nausea had become a constant ache, my head was mounting from a throb to a drumroll.

I lifted the room temperature bottle against the light coming in through the window.

Maybe I'm just hungry.

I popped the top of the cola using the shelving unit in the living room. A great party trick I had learned in college to impress the boys. I pocketed the lid, saving the cap just in case. There had to be a reason bottle caps would be in a med kit, right? It hissed and the contents fizzed slightly. I walked around a little more, making my way back through the destroyed living room, wincing as my boot caught on the decrepit rug, sending another wave of pain into my leg. Wandering through the kitchen I was able to find a can of potato crisps that had survived nuclear destruction.

I cradled my loot, wary of the quality but too hungry to really care. My gaze drifted to outside where I spied a patio set, worse for wear. As was everything.

"Let's do this right." I whispered, busting open the back door with little regard to the house.

The door popped off the hinges with surprising ease. I stumbled at the sudden give, wincing in pain, spilling a bit of my cola.

My heart felt a little better as I watched the clouds drift lazily over the blue sky sitting in a rusted out patio chair. My body slowly released the tension it had been holding; it felt as though everything inside of me melted a little more. The late morning sun warmed me through my vault suit. My headache eased. I smiled, closing my eyes and just breathing, organizing my thoughts and emotions; tying them to the experiences I've endured since waking up. The potato crisps hung precariously in my left hand as my right clutched the cola. Bracing myself I took a sip, which turned into a gulp, of the too warm cola. My hunger roared to life with frightening violence. Greedily I ripped open the can of chips and let the food slide into my mouth; chewing, swallowing, tilting the can up again and repeating the process. Once the can of chips was empty I drained the cola, licking the rim, tapping the bottom of the glass until I was convinced I couldn't get that last drop. I turned to licking the innards of the chip can for every last grain of salt.

I shuddered as the desperation faded. The after-taste of the crisps was cardboard and dust, the syrupy warmth of the cola just added to the awful taste in my mouth. My stomach rolled angrily against the violation. Belated I realized I hadn't eaten since before the world had ended.

Tears sprang to my eyes as I sat back against the chair, burning my nose as I glared at the empty can and bottle at my feet. Nothing was the same. Not even the food. Memories of my last cola came unbidden. The sound of Nate's chuckle, the sweetly giggling brook behind our neighborhood, Shaun's baby coo. The ice-cold chill that had cooled me from the inside out on our last summer day together.

I should be dead too. I should have been the one to get into the chamber with Shaun. It should have been me. That's what a good mother would have done. A good mother would have held her baby through the decontamination process. A good mother would have been frozen in that death trap with her offspring. Nate was a soldier, Nate would have thrived in this new world. Not I; not lawyer, nerdy, book worm me.

"IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!" I screamed into nothing, sobbing once again into my hands as everything overwhelmed me.

You'll dehydrate yourself. A voice warned in the back of my mind.

I stared at my bloody shoe and torn leggings through tear bleary eyes. I didn't care, I didn't want to have to worry about dehydration. I never had to worry about it before, why now? Why me? What the FUCK was I supposed to do? I felt so sick. So, so sick. God my stomach hurt.

"What do I do?" I whispered into my wet hands, mopping up my constantly leaking face with my moist sleeves, spreading the wetness around.

"Ma'am?"

I froze, sniffling. "C-codsworth?" I turned my head.

"Ma'am!" His voice was as proper as ever.

I leaned over my leg, cutting off the ruined fabric from my vault suit. I took a deep, deep breath to steady my hands. The mongrel hadn't bitten deep, but the teeth had slid down the skin, leaving a flayed bit towards the bottom of my calf. I hadn't realized how excessive the damage had been. My pant leg had been holding everything together, along with the dried blood. I dabbed a rag in the warm water I had boiled on a long forgotten cooking pit left out in front of one of the houses. Carefully I cleaned away the old blood, wincing as I accidentally opened one of the lacerations again.

"Ow." I whispered into the fading light.

The faint whirr of Codsworth drifted about the neighborhood as he tried, in vain, to clean and fix. Dimly my PipBoy played the Diamond City radio station in the background. I held my needle daintily between two fingers and placed the chunk of ruined fabric I had cut off from an outfit I scavenged between my teeth. Bracing myself I plunged the needle into the skin, shrieking with gritted teeth as I continued to sew up the wound. After the fourth stitch my skin was so swollen and irritated I had become essentially numb. I wiped at the fresh blood gingerly. The dull prick and tug on the inflamed skin that followed meant nothing now.

My nausea doubled in force after the tenth stitch, sweat broke out along my hair line and my leg was shaking uncontrollably from the trauma. It had taken five songs to get that far. I snapped the thread and sat back, trying to breathe. I closed my eyes, air flowing in and out of my lungs in jagged gasps. I couldn't handle it anymore, I raced to the window and heaved.

A small amount of cola colored crisp bits came up, mostly bile. I heaved again, foamy spittle and stomach acid. Again and again till tears streamed down my face, mingling with the snot. Pain reverberated through my body.

"Oh God." I moaned, slouching back onto the stained, stinking, and damp mattress.

My mouth felt fuzzy and disgusting, everything was pain. Each moment was a torture I hadn't expected to ever have to live through. I lay on the bed disgusting, hurting. Throwing an arm over my face I remembered.

The blast. The breeze assaulting my face as we were lowered into that death trap, Vault 111. I sat in a rush; radiation. I was hit with that initial blast. Frantic I dug through my bag, frustrated as I pulled up everything but what I was looking for. The nausea welled up again. Desperate to beat it I dumped my bag. Radiated food items, the clean dress I had cut up, scavenged supplies, and caps tumbled out onto the floor.

"Where-" My complaint was cut off as I turned to vomit out the window again.

By the time I was finished I felt as though my stomach was turned inside out. I hadn't had anything to throw up. Not even bile.

Exhausted, frantic I scattered the items about until I found the radaway. Shakily I hooked up the IV bag, bound my arm with the same piece of fabric I had used to muffle my screams, and inserted the needle.

Ten minutes. I reassured myself, holding the bag high in the air as the medicine flowed into my body. At least ten minutes until I feel this.

My arm began to ache after a few minutes of holding the bag up, but I was already feeling the nausea slip away. My head stopped pounding so furiously. Timidly I took a sip of the bloodied water from the dirty pot. By the time the IV bag was empty the water had stayed down and the sun had nearly set.

I removed the needle, applying pressure to the small wound in my wrist to prevent bleeding. I was so sick of blood. My clothes were still crusted in the blood and brain of the mutant dog from earlier. I looked at my bloody water bowl and slowly shook my head. No use in wasting perfectly good- well, maybe perfectly okay water in something as silly as getting clean.

I would have to ask Codsworth if he knew how to purify water. I wondered if his knowledge was limited now that he didn't have access to the network servers of Vault-Tec. I lay in my bed a while, indexing hurts. My leg was on fire, but I knew better than to use the stimpak right now. The healing process, while ridiculously enhanced, was painful as skin and flesh mended. If my wound wasn't stitched right I would end up being permanently disfigured.

Silly thing to worry about now. I admonished myself, sitting at the edge of the bed to look at my mess.

Carefully I began sorting things in my backpack, utilizing the separate pockets. Food here, clothes here, weapons supplies here, medical necessities went here…

My stomach had fully settled by the time I had finished organizing my supplies, my survival, my whole life into this backpack. I grabbed the package of raw meat that I had found in an old cooler, along with some of the vegetables and flowers I had harvested. My PipBoy identified them as wild mutfruit and hubflower. I was hesitant to discover what the meat was from, ignorance is bliss after all. I had no idea what these new foods were, but I was hoping they were damned delicious. I stood, wincing in agony as my leg screamed. The skin felt too tight, too hot. I looked down at my poor stitching job. I hoped I didn't pop one as I hobbled my way to the abandoned fire pit again, just a few doors over but it felt like an eternity away.

My stomach had awakened with a new, ravishing hunger that made me feel weak as the flames roared.

210 years since I'd had anything decent to eat. My mind sighed.

I threw everything into the pot, added some water and sat back. With nothing more to do but wait I, masochistically, replayed the holotape Nate had made for me.

For once I didn't cry at the sound of my husband's voice.