"Is something wrong, Squire Maxson?" Knight-Sergeant Gavil demanded, his shadow falling across the snivelling squire who hastily sat upright, drying his eyes on the sleeve of his coat. "Did you suffer a papercut, perhaps?"
"No, sir. Just got dust in my eyes, sir." M.J. lied, blinking rapidly as he grabbed his pencil and pulled a clipboard towards him.
"Then you'd better carry on with marking those inventories, or the Elder will be receiving an unsatisfactory report." Gavil warned, his boots echoing on the concrete as he turned away. "If you keep working at your current pace, you won't meet the deadline."
And dad would love that. M.J. thought bitterly, dragging a small crate of Instamash across the desk. It'd just give him another reason to send me away for 'fostering'.
As he sorted the boxes into lines of ten, he replayed the whole ugly argument out in his head.
The way he had accused his father of treating him unfairly, citing the fact none of the other squires were being sent to logistics.
The way his father had finally admitted that he did treat him differently because he expected more from him 'as a Maxson.'
Then that awful, earth-shattering moment that his father had said the words he had been terrified of hearing for the whole ten years of his life.
"Perhaps it is time we consider fostering you to another branch of the Brotherhood."
The lead of M.J.'s pencil snapped against the paper and he realised that his vision was blurring with tears again.
I'm just a problem for him. I'm not his son, I'm just his name, no matter what he says!
Biting his lip, M.J. piled the boxes of Instamash back inside the crate and rose, picking it up and carrying it across the depot.
The logistics division was quiet, only one knight and three scribes visible wandering the shelves whilst Gavil manned his terminal at the front, leaving it only to bark orders at his men or swing by to check on him every half hour or so.
As M.J. arrived at the correct shelves and began to push the Instamash back where it belonged, he caught sight of the wall on the far side of the shelves… and the door set in it.
Glancing around, he realised that neither the knight nor the scribes were in sight and Gavil certainly wouldn't be able to see him from his desk…
It's not like I can get into any more trouble, is it? He thought bitterly. What's the worst they can do? Send me away like they were already planning?
Hurt and anger boiling in his chest, he began making his way around the shelves, heading straight for the door. Without checking if he was being watched, he pushed the handle down and found it unlocked.
He eased the door slightly ajar and slipped through, pulling it closed behind him.
He had half expected an alarm to sound, or a knight to be lying in wait on the other side.
Instead, he was greeted by a dark, draughty corridor. Unlike the rest of the airport, there were no lights, and it held an air of neglect. A pair of broken vending machines hugged the wall to his right whilst empty oil drums, broken pallets and oversized tyres crowded the rest of the space.
He released a breath he hadn't known he was holding and smiled to himself, relieved that a knight or scribe hadn't been waiting on the other side.
Most of the time he was confined aboard the Prydwen, always being watched by somebody, and all of his trips to the airport had been either at the heels of his father or the sentinel.
He could hardly believe that his father hadn't assigned him a personal babysitter while he was down here.
So much for him treating me like an ordinary squire. M.J. thought bitterly, his nails biting into his palms as he began to walk along the corridor. The other squires get given duties at the airport all the time! Meanwhile, I have to beg to be let down here, or punished!
He blinked as an unpleasant thought occurred to him.
What if he's sent me down here because he's really had enough of me? Maybe he can't even stand to have me aboard the Prydwen anymore?
He heard voices approaching from behind the door and quickly glanced around, seeking a hiding place when he spied another door beside the vending machines. Determined not to get caught so early on, he hurried towards it and tried the handle, relieved to find that this door was also unlocked.
He hastily pulled it open and slipped outside, his heart pounding in his chest as he closed it behind him.
The door led him outside, at the base of the old communications tower. Thorny bushes and spindly grass rose from the grey sand underfoot, crowding around the trunks of stunted trees. He could see the black, glassy waters of the ocean lapping softly against the shore.
Overhead, the steel bulk of the Prydwen eclipsed the lowering sky, anchored to the tower by steel cables.
M.J. scowled, turning his gaze back towards the sea as he pushed his way through the scrub, shielding his arms from the thorns using the thick sleeves of his coat.
Even if he could see me from up there, he'd be too busy working to notice… or care.
He stopped just shy of entering the water, watching as the small waves lapped around the toes of his boots. A cool wind blew, spraying him with a light drizzle as it snatched the cap from his head, blowing it into the branches of a small tree.
Cursing softly under his breath, he turned to pursue it, forcing his way through thorny branches towards the base of the tree. He had almost reached it when he noticed an overgrown path, leading through the shrubbery and around the base of the tower, further away from the main airport.
He paused, glancing between the narrow track and his hat, still caught in the branches of the tree. He shrugged, turning to follow the path, deciding he could pick the hat up on his way back.
It was as he rounded the base of the tower that he spied the gleaming carcass of a pre-war aircraft. The tail end was missing and it jutted out into the sea, steel beams exposed like the ribcage of some long dead leviathan.
M.J.'s eyes grew wide, drinking in the sight.
He had never had a close look at a pre-war aircraft before. The 'plane graveyard' was deemed unsafe, meaning that it was strictly off-limits to the squires. Especially him, as he was never away from the Prydwen unescorted… until now.
Grinning to himself, M.J. broke into a sprint, determined to enjoy as much of his freedom as possible, knowing that he would likely end up confined to the family quarters after this adventure.
He entered the wreck through a gap in the plating, his grin growing ever wider as he took in the derelict interior. It had long ago been stripped of anything useful, yet he was awed nevertheless, studying the way motes glittered in the beams of watery sunlight pouring through the gaps.
"I wonder if this is where they kept the gas tanks…" he mused, summoning the little knowledge he had on the workings of the Prydwen for reference. He couldn't imagine how else a craft so large could fly.
He walked towards a wall in the centre of the space and was surprised to discover a staircase. The steps groaned beneath his feet, the metal shuddering with every step he took, but M.J. paid them little heed, emerging into an empty cockpit.
Grey sunlight streamed through the broken windows, glinting dully on teeth of ancient glass.
With nothing else to look at, M.J. moved towards the windows and gripped the frame in his gloved hands, standing on his tip-toes to peer outside.
It was quiet there, save for the gentle lapping of the sea and the tinny drumbeat of the rain that was beginning to fall.
As he scanned the surrounding area, his eyes fell upon a lone doorway leading into a squat concrete building.
With nothing else of interest in the cockpit, he descended the stairs again and explored the remainder of the wreck, eventually exiting on the opposite side. The rain had grown a little heavier and he found himself missing his hat, though he quickly decided against returning for it.
Not before I check out that door, anyway.
Keen to continue his adventure and painfully aware that it might be the last one he would have in a long time, M.J. advanced towards the door and tried the handle. To his delight, the door gave with surprising ease and permitted him entry.
He hesitated on the doorstep.
Ahead of him lay a concrete stairwell, illuminated by a lone, flickering lightbulb. The stairs turned to the left, leading the way down into a subterranean level. The air was stale, thick with dust motes that danced lazily in the pale light.
The wind moaned as it blew past him, pelting him with raindrops as it whistled down the stairwell, heralding his arrival.
Here comes Maximillian Maxson! Son of the High Elder, Arthur Maxson!
He shivered, almost pushing the door closed when he heard a voice carried faintly on the breeze.
"…IRE! SQUIRE MAXSON! WHERE ARE YOU?"
"Uh-oh." Without allowing himself time to think, M.J. slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.
For a few moments he hesitated on the top step, listening.
Other than the low whistle of the wind and the rain pattering outside, everything was eerily quiet and still.
Like a grave…
He shivered beneath his coat, images of ghostly squires and disembodied hands crowding his thoughts, along with Hayley's gleeful smile.
"Are you a rad-chicken, M.J.?" she grinned, tilting her head to the side. "Do you want to go and hide under your dad's coat?"
M.J. balled his hands into fists and raised his chin, squaring his shoulders as he began to descend the stairs.
I'll show her and Duncan how brave I can be! He told himself firmly, turning the corner and following another dimly lit flight of stairs further underground. It's not my fault mom and dad won't let me leave the Prydwen for adventures! And whenever they go out, they've always got an adult with them anyway! Or each other! I'm here on my own!
He arrived in a small hallway, littered with pre-war clutter and debris that had fallen from the ceiling.
That… does not look good. He thought to himself, sparing a nervous glance at the shadows that coalesced above him before slowly pressing on, passing through an open doorway into a wider space.
A pair of ancient pre-war elevators were set parallel to the doorway, illuminated by flickering pools of garish white light. As M.J. ventured forwards, he regarded a pair of strange looking stairways with metal steps that led into darkness.
Slowly, he made his way into the pools of light, rubbing his arms through his coat. He noted the way that his breath was forming small white clouds and suppressed a shudder.
There's no such things as ghosts. It's just cold down here. That's all.
He turned slowly on the spot, drinking in his surroundings and the heavy, oppressive silence that lingered.
Ahead of him stretched a wide, dark hallway. A dim light illuminated a single doorway set into one of the walls, as well as the collapsed ceiling that blocked off the rest of the corridor.
His eyes flitted back the way he had come, his mind weighing up his options.
Should I carry on? He wondered, or should I head back?
What's the point in returning to the airport if they're just going to send you away? He winced as the thought flashed across his mind, unbidden. They don't care about you. Only your name.
Sniffing slightly, he began to walk forwards again, his boots dragging across the floor. He noted the way that his feet left impressions in the dust and idly wondered whether he was perhaps the first person since the war to wander those halls.
His foot kicked something small and he flinched, freezing in place as it skittered away.
In a casual setting, he might not have even heard the sound, but down here it seemed as loud as a thunderclap.
For a few long moments he held his breath, his body tense as he listened for the slightest reaction, the faintest disturbance in the roaring quiet…
But there was nothing.
He released a shaky breath, wiping his sleeve across his sweating brow.
What am I thinking? I'm probably the first person to come down here since the war. There's nothing but dust down here.
Feeling a little braver, he continued forwards, thinking just how foolish it was that he had been so afraid last night on the Prydwen, with his friends in the same room and adults in shouting distance.
If I called down here, would anybody hear me? He wondered, pausing in the doorway. Would they even think to look in here?
Ahead of him the floor had partially fallen away, leaving half an unstable balcony with a rickety staircase leading to the dark floor below.
"That…doesn't look safe." He flinched at the sound of his voice, lowering it to a whisper.
Somehow, even though he knew that he was alone, it felt blasphemous to break the silence.
Maybe I'll just sit on the stairs for a while, or hang out in that old aircraft…
He thought, turning to walk back the way he came.
He stepped into the hall and froze.
There, standing beneath the glare of the lights at the elevator, was a tall, hunched-back figure.
Its back was turned towards him, the spine protruding grotesquely from the mottled, green-tinted skin. He could see the head twitching slightly as it swayed on the spot, naked save for the few shreds of faded material that had yet to fall away or disintegrate from its body.
M.J.'s mouth went dry.
He could hear its dry, rattling breaths. The way it gargled and growled to itself. The slap of its bare feet as it began to turn around…
He had enough presence of mind to retreat through the doorway, his eyes bulging as he heard it shuffle down the corridor, heading towards him.
Stifling the scream in his throat, M.J. turned and raced down the stairs, praying that the creature wouldn't hear him.
A ghoul! That was a feral ghoul!
The corridor ahead of him was illuminated by poorly spaced lights and the sparks of cut wires, dangling from the ceiling like snakes. Shadowy mountains of rubble and trash impeded his way as he ran, stumbling through the gloom.
His footsteps were too loud in the darkness and somewhere behind him, the ghoul hissed.
Bare feet slapped against the ground, their gait uneven but fast. Faster than M.J. would have believed.
His eyes began to burn with frightened tears as he dodged around another pile of rubble, following a darker track of flooring set between two handrails.
He heard the rubble behind him shift, stones skittering to the floor and a guttural howl echoed along the corridor.
The ghouls' footsteps became louder, faster and as M.J. swerved sharply around a corner he saw it lunge from the corner of his eye, felt the skeletal fingers claw at his coat…
The ghoul fell behind him with a frustrated wail and M.J. continued his desperate sprint.
Ahead of him the corridor was flooded, dark, murky water reflecting a pair of flickering lights.
Painfully aware of the ghoul rising up behind him, eager to continue the hunt, he charged into the water without a second thought.
It was icy cold and rose to his knees, slowing him down. Every desperate movement sent waves across the once placid surface and he kept stumbling over rubble he couldn't see.
The water splash behind him and a terrified sob escaped his throat.
It's going to get me! He thought, tears blurring his vision. Dad! Mom! Help me!
Something grabbed his ankle beneath the water.
M.J. shrieked, wrenching his leg free of the bruising grip.
The water was rippling all around him, pale, bloated figures rising up and breaching the surface.
To M.J.'s horror, the doorway at the end of the hall was blocked by rubble and wires from where the roof had caved in. Part of the floor above had fallen down, creating a steep slope to the next level.
In desperation, M.J. ducked beneath a rusting handrail and raced towards the it, his breaths coming in desperate sobs.
The ghouls were a snarling, hissing mob as they pursued him. Some threw themselves against the railings, clawing the air inches away from him whilst others surged around, charging directly towards him.
Mere seconds before the ghouls caught him, M.J. grasped a foothold and propelled himself upwards, managing to scramble into the darkened room above.
Without sparing a glance at his pursuers, M.J. stumbled to where light flickered through an open doorway, eager to distance himself from the horde below. He stumbled up another flight of stairs, leaving a trail of wet footprints and droplets on the dusty concrete.
He felt light headed, his legs and lungs burning from his exertions, but he didn't dare stop to catch his breath, not when the ferals could outrun him so easily.
He lurched unsteadily through a narrow hallway at the top of the stairs, emerging through a doorway into a wide open space. Harsh white lights shone directly over his head, illuminating the doorway he had just exited, as well as two portals of fathomless dark where elevators used to be on the opposite side.
Four concrete bollards stood to his right, drawing a line between the lights he was stood under and the veil of shadows beyond.
Snarls echoed up the corridor behind him and M.J. swallowed a wail of despair as he forced himself to run, surging past the bollards and into the darkness.
He could just make out the hulking shadows of pre-war vehicles scattered about and he did his best to avoid colliding with them, though he still managed to jar his shoulder painfully against a truck as he passed.
He didn't know how far he ran, only that he followed a winding path further into the bowels of the earth. He could still hear the primitive cries of the ferals behind him, but he soon became all too aware that there were ferals ahead of him, too.
An eerie, pulsing green light flooded the tunnel ahead of him and he drew instinctively, seeking refuge behind a pair of vehicles that had been parked in a corner centuries before.
He clapped his sweating palms over his mouth as he huddled on the ground, watching in fascinated horror as the light drew closer, accompanied by the slap of bare feet on concrete and the soft growls of a ghoul.
He dimly recalled one of his lessons aboard the Prydwen, when they had learned about 'glowing ones', ghouls that emitted a radioactive light that was capable of healing their own kind.
Please don't find me… Please don't find me…
He squeezed his eyes shut, silently chanting his mantra as he listened to the growls increase in volume, the footsteps pad ever closer…
Gradually, the light on the backs of his eyelids began to dim as the ghoul moved away, stalking through the car park.
M.J.'s shoulders trembled with silent sobs as he hugged his knees to his chest, pressing his forehead against them.
He thought of his parents and bitterly wished he were with them.