Chapter 2: Just a Minute

(Hey guys, I hope y'all are enjoying the new story. As always, any input is welcome. I do not own Fallout.)

James stepped out of the Red Rocket, trading in his Vault Suit for a less conspicuous set of leathers. Cracking his neck, he looked out at the mole rat corpses. This place could have also made a useful fallback area, but he would have to pull the dead creatures away, in case there were any other animals nearby. Whistling for his new canine friend, he made his way towards Concord. Noticing some wild fruits growing behind a house, he stopped quickly to grab some for his pack, then continued. Halting, he listened for a moment, and could distinctly hear gunshots. Readying his pistol, he jogged over, with the dog on his heel.

Upon turning a corner, he saw some hardly dressed men and women assaulting the old museum, with the occasional return fire coming from an upper floor. Acting on instinct, he took aim at the attackers and began to fire. Taking cover once they noticed his presence, he began to remember his time in Alaska. These men may have been dangerous, but they were untrained and undisciplined, and couldn't hold a candle to the Chinese. Between him and whoever was in the building, the raiders eventually dispersed, and James double timed over, stooping at the door to pick up some interesting laser piece that had a crank handle. If anything, it reminded him of a musket. Either way, he reckoned it had more range than his pistol. Walking in, he had to duck, as some raiders had beaten him inside. Taking aim, he fired his new toy, and a crimson streak darted across the room, striking the raider dead. With his new canine companion, James pushed through the exhibits, hearing recordings meant to replicate the frustrations of the American people, and had to fight the urge to shoot the mannequins donning red coats.

Eventually, James reached the group holding up in the office, and was surprised. Only five people, one an old woman, and another suffering depression from the looks of it. An angry woman. A mechanic. And a darker man with a scar, armed with a similar weapon as the one James was using.

"You, my friend, have impeccable timing," said the last man, likely the leader. "I'm Preston Garvey, and I'm with the Minutemen."

"Minutemen? Great, now I've gone back in time," James muttered.

"Ready to help at a minute's notice," the man said, smiling. "But right now, we could use some help."

"Alright," James said, sighing. "What's the plan?" Preston stepped to the side, allowing the final man to step forward. Due to his demeanor, practical mechanics attire, and hair, James would've had him pegged for a greaser before the world went to hell.

"Hey, Name's Sturges, nice to meetya," he said. "Now, u on the roof, there is a crashed vertbird, with an operational minigun."

"Well, if it's crashed, how can we used it?" Gears turning in his head, James was trying to figure it out.

"Well, there is also a cherry set of T-45 power armor. With a power supply, you can use it to rip out the minigun, and even the playing field with those pricks," Sturges said. "There should be a fusion core in the basement. Preston and I will keep you covered from here, not that you'll likely need it."

"Gotchya," James said, smiling ear to ear. "Sounds like a blast." Despite his service, he never really got to use power armor. Once in training, but most of his time in the field was basic infantry, nothing glamorous at all. Ignoring the other occupants in the room, the former solider bolted down the stairs, giddy as a school boy.

Upon finding the generator, he felt his heart sink lightly. It was locked off. If he had any tools, he could have picked the lock, but he had yet to find any picks or pins. Off to the side, he saw a terminal, and gulped. He once had to reset a terminal at home while Beth was in the office. It took him 3 hours. Opening the hacking screen, the anxious man read all of the potential passwords. On a haunch, he selected 'PASSWORD'. When he heard the gate unlock, he couldn't help but laugh. Quickly grabbing the core, which seemed to be only half charged. Shrugging, he sped up the stairs, passing the tire group once more, before stepping onto the roof, the rusty power armor before him bringing back his time in the trenches once more. Picking up a holotape from a table, he pocketed it before inserting the core. Taking a moment to admire the armor set before him, he stretched before climbing in, and the world seemed to have changed dramatically.

A yellow Heads Up Display monitored his vitals, as well as the fusion core's power (which he was right about), reserve stamina, and more. Moving his arms, he realized how right this felt. Taking an experimental step, he realized how addicted he was. He felt unstoppable. Walking in an unsure manner to the minigun, he ripped it off with only a little effort. Approaching the edge, he took aim at the raiders, and commenced raining lead upon the malicious force. Stepping off of the roof, he landed on the ground, hard. The support system of the suit made sure that the fall didn't injure him, even if he did feel a bit winded. Getting back up, he took aim again and began working on the raiders again.

"I got no strings, to hold me down," he said softly to calm him as he undertook his deadly work. Humming the rest of the tune, he proceeded down the road, taking the small arms fire as if he were a tank. He may have given up his mobility, but he felt it more than worth it. Reaching halfway down the street, both Minuteman and Raider paused briefly as a tunnel to the end of the street was torn open, and a large, scaly hand reached out.

James watched in horror as this…thing crawled from the sewers. Easily 10 feet tall, horned, and fanged, it let out a roar as it charged the raiders, using ginormous claws to tear them asunder. Holding his ground, James evaluated the area, and began firing at a truck hallway between him and whatever the hell this thing was. After finishing off the raiders, it turned to face James, and charged him. Thankfully, the truck exploded right when the creature passed it, knocking it down and across the street. Breathing a sigh, James turned and began to walk back to the museum, before stopping. Some sixth sense told him to look back, and he was rewarded by being tackled by the demonic figure.

Pinned down, he tried to cover his face as the beast swiped at him, the armor being the only thing that kept him alive up to this point. Preston and the others were trying to shoot it, but it seemed to not want to go down. As it came down with what looked like a final stab, James caught its hand, and with every ounce of strength, twisted until he heard a sickening 'CRACK' and shoved the monster off of him. As it tried to recover, James jumped to his feet, maneuvered behind it and leapt on its back. Grasping it by the horns, the veteran once again called upon his strength, twisting this primal head. To no avail, it reached behind itself with its functioning hand, but was having no success. At last, another 'CRACK' resounded through the war torn streets, and the brute finally fell. For good measure, James stomped its head in to ensure it would stay down this time.

Limping inside, he was greeted by the Minutemen, and Preston offered James a bag. Opening it, he found a collection of old, but identifiable, Nuka Cola bottle caps. Looking quizzically at the paragon, he removed his helmet.

"I figured for your help, you deserved some payment. Especially after that bit with the Deathclaw," Preston said, resting his on laser weapon against the wall. "So, what did bring you this way?

"Well," James said, letting the surreal feeling fade. It didn't. "I'm looking for my son…"

Beth and Codsworth spent hours cleaning the area. Even managing to set up two mattresses side by side in their old bedroom, the former lawyer moseyed on over to the old cellar, finding inside an old bed, some supplies, three gold ingots, and a locked off safe. Cursing, she just gathered the ingots and supplies she could see. James was the one who could crack locks. He may not have been proud to admit it, but he came from a rough neighborhood, and had to learn some things to make it to enlistment age to get out of that life.

Exiting the cellar, she noticed a fallen tree branch leaning against the roof. Curious for a better view, she climbed cautiously up the log, and was astonished. The neighborhood looked almost…natural. Sure, there were manmade constructs. And they were in disrepair. But it was obvious that there was little to no human activity here for two hundred years. It had almost a stark beauty. Seeing a shade of green in the corner of her eye, she realized there was a duffel bag on the roof. Carefully edging over, she opened it. Inside, she found some ammunition, a crude looking pipe rifle, a gas mask, and a manual on turrets.

Climbing down, Beth studied the manual once back in the house. She wasn't an engineer…by degree. But the scientific world had held some interest for her, and she did study basic mechanical engineering for a brief time before deciding to pursue a legal career. Going over this, she was positive she could have made a turret to keep an eye on the area in the event both she and James had to depart.

Placing the piece on a desk, she trudged over to Shaun's old room. It was the only one in the house she had not taken some steps to tidying up. His crib was sturdy, but obviously weathered after all these years. Fighting back tears, she turned to find Codsworth floating in the doorway.

"Miss Beth," he said, his robotic voice rang in sympathy. "I'm sure you will find him. Between the skills you and Mr. James possess, I know you can. In fact, I know you will. After all, love is a heck of a power, if I may say so."

"Thanks, Codsworth," she said, wiping away a silent tear. "Just…we woke up 200 years later. Hell, who's to say Shaun is even alive? He may have died 100 years ago for all we know. It just seems hopeless…"

"With all due respect, ma'am," he said, rotating his appendages, "you shall never know unless you try."

"Well, you got me there," she said, softly smiling. "Thanks, pal. I needed that."

"Never a problem, ma'am," the butler said cheerfully. "Now, can I perhaps prepare a meal for you? I do have some Cram on hand. Or Sugar Bombs, if you don't mind dry cereal. Maybe even a Radstag steak, if I am able to find any nearby."

"Wait, those prewar foods are still good? I find that hard to believe," Beth stammered, making her disbelief evident. "And the hell is a Radstag?"

"Well, turns out that all that processing made the food last all this time, although it typically has traces of radiation," Codsworth explained patiently. "And as for those creatures, they are essentially what deer evolved into overtime. On occasion, they would pass through the streets of the town, but now that you and the Mr. are back, that may no longer be the case."

"Whatever is on hand will do, thank you," Beth said, then collapsed against the wall. She was exhausted. Honestly, she had no clue how James was out there, fighting for all she knew. She made a mental note to ask him for advice on how to fight, so she could at least defend herself. Crawling over to the mattress, she quickly blinked into sleep, her old chrome companion standing vigil over her as she slept.

Her dreams were fragmented. She saw James, and Shaun. An explosion. A group of people resting at an old gas station, despite thick tension. A dark coat, dancing in the shadows. Jolting awake in a cold sweat, she swallowed and looked out of the window. It looked to be early morning. Around 3:00 am, if she had to guess from years of all-nighters. At her side, a bowl of beans was steaming, with a chilled bottle of Nuka Cola. Damn, Codsworth sure knew what he was doing. Wolfing down the meal, she realized that this was her first time eating in over 200 years. It felt unreal. Standing, she looked out. It was disheartening that James had yet to return. Lighting a fire in the old fireplace, she huddled close to keep the cold at bay. Going to her old room, she found an old, cyan trench coat and donned it. It actually went well with her vault suit. Returning to her heart, she felt a notable difference in temperature. She started drifting off to sleep again before she felt it.

The air became….wrong. Almost tainted. An electrical crackle filled the air with a toxic hum, and she bolted up. A green hue filled her vision, and she knew she had to get out of here. Unsure of whether or not it would help, Beth clumsily slipped in her gas mask. It pulled her hair, and it had an unusual smell on the inside, but she felt a little better just having it on. At the very least, it was slowing whatever was going on. Grabbing the rifle by her side, she stumbled out of the house, and found Codsworth by the root cellar.

"Mrs. Beth, hurry, these radiation storms are no fun to sit through," the bot butler exclaimed, even more scared than the human who could be damaged by the situation. "Trust me, the cellar will be safer than the house!" Inclined to agree, the former lawyer threw opened the door, allowing Codsworth in before diving in and slamming it behind her. An eerie glow filled the shelter, and she removed her mask, breathing even easier. While it did help with the air, it was still constrictive. And it made a mess of her hair. Sitting on the bed, she placed her face in her hands.

"Codsworth, what was that?"

"A radiation storm, ma'am," he said, now noticeably calmer that she was safer. "They occasionally roll in from the southwest. That area appears to have taken the brunt of the bombs from that day, and is still heavily irradiated."

"Well, how long do these usually last?"

"A few hours, at most. Well, at least now you are safe. Granted, it likely wouldn't have been overly harmful to stay out there. However, prolonged exposure certainly would not have been beneficial for you."

Sighing, Beth laid back and groaned. This was certain to be a new experience. Even the environment was out to kill her. Or, rather, anything. It didn't care, it just did. As Mother Nature always acted. Just this time, an unhealthy glow or potential third limb were involved.

Dozing off, she began to slip back into sleep before jolting awake. The cellar was thrown open, and a shadow was cast in, contrasting the early morning light. Grabbing the pipe rifle, Beth braced herself, ready to shoot. She didn't.

"Beth, you down here? Don't shoot, it's me," Aaron said, his voice having some metallic tone, like it was crackling over an intercom. "Storm's over, babe. It's safe, now."