- XIII -
(October 2277)
Part 1
"This is the Overseer. Let it be known that Vault 101 has established a zero tolerance policy for acts of mutiny, insubordination, and all other behaviors that have the potential to compromise the safety of this Vault. As it stands, I hereby declare a final warning for Amata Almodovar and her faction of rebels and deserters, effective immediately. Further public threats of revolt from any of these individuals will result in arrest and detainment."
Butch puffed on his cigarette as the intercom cut off, and he glanced across the dim classroom to their leader standing beside the old chalkboard. Amata's worried frown glowed in the light of the projector, but she resumed the tactical discussion of their next move without acknowledging the announcement. He had to give her props for maintaining a clear head in light of the recent string of crises. Despite their well-executed efforts to take over this level of the Vault and utilize the space as their base of operations, the revamped security structure under the new Overseer posed a substantial threat to their mission.
He blinked hard when a wave of lethargy hit him from out of nowhere. The legs of the nearby chair scraped over the floor as he gripped it for support, and Freddie hurried to his side to help steady him. Butch took the cigarette out of his mouth and tried to brush his friend off, but the other Tunnel Snake refused to budge.
"Dude, you sure you're gonna be all right?" Freddie whispered so as not to interrupt Amata. "You've been having these spells more often lately."
"I'm fine," Butch insisted. "Quit fussin' over me like a mother turkey."
"I think you mean 'mother hen,'" Freddie quipped dryly. "But can you blame me? After what happened to Paul…"
Butch's jaw clenched. He shoved his friend away none too gently, the noise drawing several glares from the front of the classroom. He glared back at the other "rebels" before lowering his eyes to the desk he was leaning over. A dull pain throbbed in his chest when he realized it was Paul's old desk, the one Butch had sat behind during the first time they'd met as kids. The desk next to it had been Wally's, whom he'd neither spoken to nor seen since the incident at the security station. And the desk at the front of the row had been Ivy's.
Although a classroom was supposed to bring about fond memories of one's childhood, this place evoked nothing but heartache and gloom for him.
He rotated his neck and shoulders, willing the fatigue to pass as Officer Gomez strode in.
"Dad," Freddie greeted, still keeping his voice low, "any luck with negotiations?"
Herman Gomez, one of the few adults who had sided with Amata, yanked off his security helmet and pitched it into the rear wall, the resounding impact startling most of the occupants in the room.
"None. Allen Mack is a tyrant who should never have been granted the position of Overseer," he ranted. "And given how much influence the Mack family has, I'm willing to bet Chief Hannon's death wasn't an accident when we nominated him to take charge of the Vault. It wasn't enough that his son died, and now the entire chain of command out there is corrupt because of the people who have been placed in power."
Butch shook his head to himself and returned the cigarette to his lips as Amata put her briefing on hold and approached them.
"That's a shame to hear," she remarked grimly. "But I'm glad we have you with us, Officer Gomez."
He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Well, I certainly wasn't going to stick around as a member of the new security force," he stated in a sour tone. "Because there's no way in hell I'm answering to Security Chief Stevie Mack."
Butch scowled at the title and practically spat out a puff of smoke as he snarled, "Total bullshit that he was acquitted of all charges and even got assigned as the new fucking head of security."
"Well, his father is the Overseer now, so what did you expect?" Amata asked, though her features also twisted with disgust.
"Goddamn Mack family is all kinds of fucked up," Butch fumed before noticing Susie's affronted look from across the floor. "Uh, no offense."
The rest of the group migrated over to join them, forming a circle beneath the single functioning light. Even when administration had cut most of the power on this level, their faction members had remained undeterred. However, the Overseer's most recent broadcast brought a new degree of anxiety over them, and Butch could only hope none of them were harboring second thoughts. Many of the people here were his peers, kids on the verge of adulthood, playing war with the rest of the Vault for the sake of opening it to the outside world.
And while Butch had little personal interest in this goal, the conflict to achieve it benefitted his own agenda in a major way.
Another spell of weariness swept over him when Officer Gomez went on to describe his futile meeting with the Overseer. Stepping away from the others and muttering to excuse himself, Butch made for the exit and ignored Freddie's concerned inquiry. Everyone was aware of his affliction of Wilson's by this point, and the constant nagging about his condition was getting old. He emerged into the darkened corridor, guiding himself along the cold wall with one hand as he fought through the disorientation. The faint luminescence from the clinic beckoned to him, and he trudged over until he crossed the threshold, catching a whiff of antiseptic as he flicked the cigarette butt into the metal trash can by the doorway.
At that moment, a gleaming buzz saw popped up right in front of his nose and nearly gave him a heart attack.
"Welcome, young sir!" sang Andy cheerily. "What ails you today and how can I be of service?"
"Jesus, Andy, watch where you stick that thing," Butch snapped, skirting around the weapon and glowering at the Mister Handy as he proceeded to the pharmacy room past Dr. Ashburn's old office. "Are you even allowed to be here without Stanley around?"
"Ah, but as you know, I have been given the privilege of serving as the new Vault doctor," Andy declared with utmost pride. "So if there is anything I can help you with, please don't hesitate to ask!"
"If I decide I want help in getting maimed or dismembered, I'll let you know," Butch called back sarcastically. "I'm just here for zinc tablets and shit."
"Very well, do feel free to take what you need!"
Butch snorted at how easy it would be for anyone to just waltz in and run off with all the prescription medication if Amata's group hadn't been here to regulate clinic visits.
Great administrative decision right there. Making this damn robot the doctor. The thing can't even slice a simple piece of bread, for Christ's sake.
He keyed in the passcode Amata had assigned to the pharmacy entrance and typed his Pip-Boy's serial number into the adjacent terminal. Once the door slid open with a rush of cool air, he stepped inside and grumbled when the lights failed to come on. Having to rely on his Pip-Boy flashlight, he pointed it at the rows of shelves containing different sized bottles, grimacing in dismay when he tried to figure out where to start.
The timer on the terminal beeped to signal ten or so more minutes before the door shut and locked him in. He hastily approached the first row of shelves and scanned each item, unable to pronounce more than half the drug names. Coupled with a severe lack of sleep and inadequate meals for the past two months, his health had taken a significant hit. In hindsight, he should have kept up with the zinc intake after he'd been released from the detention center. Or at the very least, he should have remembered what the tablets had looked like.
This is so my luck. Spent all this time surviving just to expire from a shitty liver. Thanks for the awesome inheritance, Dad. Dead all these years and you still suck.
Butch moved along the rows, hoping he didn't miss them in case they were under some complicated scientific name or something. His only problematic symptoms consisted of the returning exhaustion and dizziness, but he was willing to take anything that would help. While he was unsure of the prognosis and progression of his disease other than the fact that it, well, killed people, Freddie had made a valid point. It was gradually worsening without treatment.
He picked up the pace before a noise at the door alerted him to a new presence. The green interface of a Pip-Boy came into view, and its wearer squinted against the shine of his flashlight when he swung it over.
"Whoa, can you point that somewhere else?" Susie asked, shielding her eyes. "I think you just took out my retinas."
Butch resumed his search, not bothering with small talk. But when she sauntered over and stood next to him expectantly, he paused in his rummaging to give her a peeved look.
"Whaddya want?"
She seemed to take that as a sign to move closer. "So, Butch… I never thanked you for defending me from that girl the day she and her dad escaped—"
"I wasn't," he interrupted, turning back to the shelves. "I was just stopping Ivy from doin' something she'd regret."
"Oh." The note of disappointment was replaced by a playful tone as she went on, "Well, I want to thank you, anyway. Is there anything I can do to pay you back?"
The large breasts that pressed up against his arm were more than enough to convey what she had in mind. Three years ago, he might have jumped at the chance. Now, the only thing that went through his mind was how annoying it was to have her blocking his way when he was on a time limit.
"Yeah, you know where they keep the zinc tablets in here?" he inquired and reached over her head to check the bottles at the end of the shelf. "Damn place is way too confusing with all these labels."
"Oh, that's right, you're terminally ill!" she exclaimed.
"No, that ain't it—"
"How about we head to one of the clinic rooms and I make you forget about it for a while?"
Butch was about to deadpan a refusal when she placed her hand over his chest, right on the spot where the serpent pendant used to be.
His temper snapped without warning.
"Back the fuck off and get lost," he growled, shoving her hand away. "If you're that horny, go screw Freddie or somethin'. Oh wait, he rejected you, didn't he? What makes you think you'd have better luck with me?"
Even in the dimness, Susie's anger was evident. "Uh, didn't you used to like me, you dick?"
"Yeah, back before you and your fuckin' family pissed me off somethin' fierce," he returned. "And really, what're ya even doin' here, Susie? I mean here, with the rest of us, when your dad and brother are in the middle of ruling over the whole Vault?"
She retreated a few steps, crossing her arms and scowling at him. "Gosh, I really wish you'd stop lumping me in with them. They're my family, sure, but that doesn't mean I'm on their side on everything."
"You went outta your way to defend Stevie at the trial and the security station, so excuse me if I don't believe a damn thing you say."
"Fine, but even if you don't listen to me on anything else, at least hear me out on this," Susie said, growing serious. "I'm with Amata on wanting the Vault open. If that Ashburn bitch—"
"Ivy," he corrected furiously.
"Ivy, whatever," she huffed. "If she can make it out there, the rest of us should have that option, too. I don't agree with my dad on keeping the Vault closed, but more importantly, neither does Stevie."
Butch glared at her. "Well, no shit. Give ya one guess why he doesn't want this place closed for good."
Susie shook her head. "No, he doesn't want it open like we do, either. I'm not saying I believe he did all those things to Ivy, but he's been acting a little… unstable ever since she left."
"Oh, good. So we can expect a mass murdering spree soon, then?" Butch jeered.
Her grave expression didn't change. "This isn't something to joke about. He wants to destroy the Vault."
That wiped the sneer off Butch's face. He stared hard at her, analyzing the statement. As far as acts of reprisal went, that one made the least sense.
"Uh, why?"
"Look, I don't know. I haven't spoken to either of my brothers or my dad since I joined Amata."
"Ain't that convenient," Butch muttered, losing interest in anything else she had to say and returning his attention to the medications.
"Ugh, what'll it take for you to accept the fact that I'm on your side in this?" Susie demanded.
"You could start by not wasting my time when I'm tryin' to find some meds to keep death off my ass a while longer."
Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. "Am I interrupting anything?" came Amata's suspicious voice.
Susie turned on her heel and stomped toward the other girl, snarling, "Nope, I was just heading out," as she brushed by.
Butch scoffed and examined one bottle that turned out to be antibiotics. Amata activated her flashlight and loitered near the exit, seeming to wait for him to address her. When he didn't, she heaved a sigh and walked to his side.
"Looking for zinc?"
"Yeah," he replied, "but it's freakin' impossible to find in here."
"Hang on, I think I know where Dr. Ashburn used to keep it."
She trekked down to the end of the rows and disappeared behind the last one. Rubbing the back of his neck, he started to follow her, but stopped when his flashlight roved over an item that caught his eye. A set of counters lined the wall to his left, containing medical tools, sanitizing equipment, and a worn-looking radio nestled between several books. He edged closer, training the light over the old electronic device. It had seen better days, but upon closer inspection, it appeared operational.
He reached out and lifted it from its spot, blowing off the layer of dust that covered its surface. Amata returned with a small bottle in hand and glanced at the radio.
"Is that what I think it is?" she asked hopefully.
"Yep. Think it'd help us out at all?"
"Let's bring it to the office and take a look at it under better lighting."
She grabbed the radio with one arm and pushed the bottle of zinc tablets at him before hurrying out. He stifled a twinge of irritation and went after her. Just in the nick of time, too, for the terminal beeped and shut the door as soon as he stepped through. Switching off his flashlight, he strode to the nearby refrigerating unit to grab a bottle of distilled water as Amata set up the radio on Dr. Ashburn's desk.
"I don't know how much of my briefing you listened to," she began while Butch took a tablet, "but they cut off all communications on this level except for the intercoms. If this radio works, we might be able to open a frequency that reaches the entire Vault… and even the outside."
Butch contemplated that as he screwed the cap back on the water bottle. "Yeah, that'd be useful," he commented, leaning on the operating table opposite from the desk.
"I just need to fix some of the wiring in here. Argh, this is complicated…"
His eyes flickered to the radio and then shifted away. "Paul could've had that thing working in ten seconds flat."
Amata paused in her tinkering to peer at him. "I really am sorry about Paul. Was it the radroach attacks?"
Butch's features went stony, his sight still focused on one of the room dividers. "That's right. Complications from the injuries."
"Just wanted to make sure the air was clear in case we don't make it out of this. Wally might have turned his back on us, but Freddie and me, we're your brothers till the end, man."
His throat constricted at the memory of Paul's last words. Damn it, Paul. Jinxin' yourself like that. You weren't supposed to die. It wasn't the end…
"We lost a lot of people that day, and even more since then," Amata stated quietly, resuming work on the radio. "I just hope we don't have to lose any more."
Butch declined to respond, and the office fell into silence. He heard Andy hovering around in the next room, humming an upbeat tune to himself. The noise was oddly welcome, considering how miserable and somber things had been in the Vault. None were unscathed by the circumstances; every citizen had either lost someone in the multiple escape attempts or were subjected to the new oppressive policies and regulations under Allen Mack. Amata's rebels had been the only ones to directly oppose him, but now that his resources had stabilized, they could expect dictatorial action in the near future.
The outcome looked bleak for all of them.
"Hey, just so you're aware of what's going on," Amata piped up, "Officer Gomez reported that Stevie imprisoned Edwin Brotch in the detention center a few days ago, which is why we haven't seen him around."
Butch's brows drew together. "Shit. I told him to stay on this floor, where they couldn't reach him. Stevie was majorly pissed at him for helping us out at the trial. We have a plan to get him released?"
"Not yet, but that's next on our agenda."
He nodded, taking a minute to calculate the number of objectives piling up for their faction.
"Say, Butch," Amata continued, "I heard part of the conversation between you and Susie by accident. You asked her what she was doing with us, but I could direct the same question to you. Why are you here?"
His sharp gaze snapped to her. "What was that, princess?"
She exhaled in vexation while still concentrating on the repairs. "And cut the 'Princess 101' thing. I'm not the daughter of the Overseer anymore. But really, what are you doing with us?"
"Ain't it obvious?"
"I get that you hate the Macks and refuse to put up with them, but why join my cause? From what I've noticed, you haven't really cared about fighting to open the Vault."
Butch pressed his lips together as he deliberated on whether to reply. She was smart, and he hadn't exactly made an effort to conceal his true aim. He narrowed his eyes at her, defiant and unapologetic as the answer registered on her face.
"Wait a minute. You want the Overseer to keep the Vault closed," she accused, throwing down a scalpel she'd been using as a screwdriver. "That way, no one can leave to go after Ivy. And not only that, you've been hiding out among us so Stevie and the rest of security can't get to you to lock you up. I can't believe you… you're just using us for your own advantage!"
"I don't owe you people nothin'," he barked, straightening to his full height. "You, most of all. You ragged on me and my gang for the longest time, Amata. So are you happy now? You got the last two Tunnel Snakes under your thumb. One was chased out, one turned on us, and one is fucking dead. And let me tell you somethin'," he rushed on when she opened her mouth, "I'm still the only one in this whole goddamn place lookin' out for Ivy. Where the hell were you when she was sick and alone and abused?"
Amata stiffened in her seat at the desk, her fingers tightening around the wires of the radio as she glowered at him. "Ivy was my friend, and when she distanced herself and ended up as a member of the Tunnel Snakes without telling me anything, what else was I supposed to believe? Keeping secrets is something you two have in common. Wally turned on you because you didn't tell him the truth, either."
Butch made to fling the water bottle toward the other end of the office, but gnashed his teeth and forced himself to quell the fit of rage. Stomping to the door instead, he rumbled, "Fuck you. I don't need to listen to this from some high and mighty bitch who dropped the ball when her friend showed all the signs that somethin' was wrong—"
"So it's all about Ivy with you?" Amata called angrily. "Is that why you chose to stay instead of leaving with her?"
He stopped in mid-step. Whirling around with a scathing one-liner ready to launch, he stuttered to a halt at her sympathetic expression.
"That must have been a considerable sacrifice on your part," she noted, sounding sincere. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"
The question paralyzed him on the spot. He regarded her with a blank stare, revealing nothing even as a torrent of undefined emotion churned inside him in response. The attempt to dismiss it this time failed, and he stood there in the middle of the office, grappling with himself over whether or not to acknowledge it. The concept of romantic love was as foreign to him as the vast Wasteland, but he couldn't deny the magnetism of Ivy's essence, the constant pull of a moth to a flame. He had centered his world around her without giving it a second thought, even when he had tried to keep her at a distance. Even when she was no longer here.
He faced away, his temper receding. "It don't matter now."
Amata's lashes lowered as she studied the radio. "I understand that you want to keep the Macks preoccupied and locked in here so they can't hunt her down, but things are about to get more chaotic," she told him grimly. "What Susie said about Stevie wanting to destroy the Vault… it's probably true. Officer Gomez verified that that's the big rumor circling around."
Butch pushed his musings aside and glanced at her. "But it's just a rumor, right?"
"Yeah, except for the constant quarrels he's had with the Overseer about it, plus a pretty detailed plan of flushing out the water chip so the Vault stops being inhabitable for humans," Amata declared. "No one really knows what his motives are, but since he's the security chief, no one wants to question him to find out."
Before Butch could reply, the buzzing noise of static filled the room. Amata issued a sound of surprise as she turned the radio upright, watching parts of it light up. He approached the desk and examined it while she familiarized herself with its functions.
"So are we in business with this thing?" he asked.
"Yes, I think I got a frequency going here outside the Vault," she said. "You're not going to like what I'm intending on doing next, though."
His scowl returned, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. "When have I ever liked you or your plans?"
"Good point. But I need you to listen. We're pretty much at the end of the line here. Allen Mack is worse than my father ever was when it came to Vault regulations, and that broadcast earlier wasn't a warning, it was a call to arms. He's going to bring the entire security force down on us soon, and with our lack of resources, we won't stand a chance." Amata held his gaze before going on. "Now that this radio is working, I need to send out a distress call. I'm going to ask Ivy to come back."
"No," Butch growled at once, incensed that she'd even suggest it. "After everything I did to make sure she got away—nope. Not happening. Not until Stevie's dead."
"Which could take forever since we can't touch him in his position," Amata shot back. "We don't have the luxury of waiting around for him to flop over and die, Butch. And we don't have the manpower to kill him, either. If he really is planning to destroy the Vault, we don't even have time to argue this."
Time. Funny how there was never enough time to think, how it was never the right time to reflect. It was as if their lives were commanded by a clock that left no room for anything other than haste, misfortune, and despair.
"Why bring Ivy back?" he demanded after taking a calming breath. "Why Ivy? Why her?"
"We don't know what's out there. We don't know who would come help us or kill us. Ivy is the only person in the Wasteland we can trust for assistance. And by now, after spending months out there, she'd have experience we don't. Even though she's just one person, she has an advantage over all of us."
Butch raked his fingers through his hair, messing up the pompadour he'd only recently begun styling again. "You gotta be kidding me. She's got her own problems to worry about, finding her old man and all. What makes you think she'd come back for us?"
Amata didn't miss a beat as she gazed up at him. "Because you're here."
x-x-x-x-x
A/N: Back in the writing zone! This chapter was much easier to churn out than the past few—probably because not much happened, but oh well. Also, there have been some issues with the website all week regarding user stats and functions, so for those of you who didn't receive my replies to your reviews, I wanted to thank you for leaving your feedback. This story is going strong, and I will stick with it to the end.