For ten hours, Verrah walked. Traversed across the wasteland with Dogmeat by her side. It may have only been eighteen miles from Concord to Boston, but she stayed off the beaten path, making it twenty miles. Of course, there were the many resting stops. She wasn't in poor shape, but being frozen for all that time took its toll on her muscles.
Now, she sat outside the city of Boston, hidden among rocks. Half of a sunken shack resided in a water channel to her west. She wagered it was roughly six in the morning. Maybe seven. She lifted her Pip-Boy. After eight? She blinked a few times. It had been more than a ten-hour walk, then.
She was thankful the trip had been uneventful. Nothing bothered her as she had crept through the night, and she figured night would be the scary time of the day. Beginners luck, she supposed. But when she reached the edges of Boston, gunshots and laser beams lit up the dark.
When she first emerged from the Vault, all she wanted was to see other people. Anymore, not so much.
She stroked Dogmeat's head for comfort. He had been a loyal companion. She was glad at least one of them knew what they were doing. Had experience in this transfigured wilderness. It was no secret that she planned on keeping the dog. Even if she knew nothing of the German shepherd's previous life events.
Messing with the Pip-Boy once more, she looked up at the sky. The sun had fully risen, but it wasn't as bright as normal. She thought it was the product of nuclear war. Until she realized it was a byproduct of a thin layer of clouds. She leaned back against a rock.
What did she do with her life?
She dug out the sheets of paper from her Vault suit pocket. Unfolded one and stared at the sketch she had made on the back of it. Tightened her ponytail. In rough form, the clawed beast still looked menacing. She added a few more lines. Wrote "what is this?" in the space above its head.
A deep breath escaped her. She could only imagine what other monstrosities awaited her. Too bad she sent the power armor and mini gun with the Minutemen to Sanctuary. She probably should've kept them. However, it would have made her a bigger target. Besides, too late to go back.
Dogmeat whined, tilting his head.
She looked down at him. Rummaged through her holding pack. "This is the last one we have, okay?" Opening the can of Cram, she gave him half and quickly ate her portion. She didn't like Cram before the war, and her opinion of it still hadn't changed. But she already expected to take what she could get out here in the wild.
The shepherd's nose went into the air as a sudden wind whipped Verrah's white and lime green ponytail.
Her ice blue eyes lifted.
Storm clouds rolled in. They were coming in hot.
She shoved the papers in the pack so the pencil wouldn't smear. Slipped the straps around her shoulders. "If we're gonna go, now would be the time."
Dogmeat rose with her, eager to travel again.
The Vault dweller gathered her determination. Examined her pistol. If it did rain, better be safe than sorry. She placed it in her pack. No sense in risking the integrity of the gun. She did have her wrench. And, boy, did her right leg hurt after lugging it twenty miles.
By the time she managed to drag herself onto the broken road, the sound of distant thunder echoed. She grabbed the straps of her pack and checked over her shoulder. "Stay close, Dogmeat."
He gave a quick bark. Ears vigilant and head high.
They didn't even travel a thousand feet when they had to clamber over a billboard that had fallen across the pavement. Which didn't prove too difficult for the wandering pair.
Verrah kept an eye on the shepherd to see if he alerted as they continued skirting Boston. She kept the channel to their right. In case an emergency bail was needed.
She still couldn't get over the amount of abandoned vehicles. Most of which were crashed. Her nostrils flared. She concentrated on the road ahead to keep her mind from wandering too far. How many people had died? Did any side truly win with this much casualty?
A crossroad pulled her out of her thoughts. Reviewing the map on the Pip-Boy, she glanced at the darkening sky. She needed to go further south. It seemed the bridge to her right would take her there.
Lights on a wrecked barge underneath the bridge made her pause. Lights normally meant people. She crouched. Reached back until she found her pistol. Crept closer along the walls of the bridge. But she wasn't paying attention downward.
There suddenly wasn't any bridge under her left foot. She started sliding, eyes wide. Her breath caught as she kept herself from crying out. Perceived enough to grab hold of exposed wire mesh.
Dogmeat clamped down on her Holding Pack. Whimpered. He wasn't letting go, even if that meant he would fall after her.
Verrah did her best to remain calm. She dangled from the rebar mesh, and the wrench felt like a lead weight. Her arm stretched to the max. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Focused. She wasn't in a deadly situation yet.
Her eyes opened. She threw the 10MM back up onto the bridge. Rolled over and grabbed on with free hand.
Luckily, Dogmeat knew to release when she twisted.
She found the German shepherd. Kept her thoughts on him as she pulled herself on the bridge. Comforted by the fact that he had taken hold of her sleeve, still refusing to let loose until she was completely safe.
Verrah crawled on hands and knees a few paces before collapsing to her stomach. Letting out a long-awaited gasp. Yeah, she may have fell in the water, but who knew what was underneath the surface with the barge wreckage.
"What was that?" a voice called.
Thunder answered her first.
Another voice responded. "See? It's the storm. The Jet is making you jittery."
A third, stronger voice called out. "Let's get inside before it rains. Don't want my power armor any rustier than it already is."
The sole survivor's eyes widened. So there were at least three enemies down there, and one of them had power armor? Even if she survived the fall into the water, she wouldn't have survived them. Not with her two pistols. She chastised herself for not being better prepared.
Well…she did have the hunting rifle. Which she hardly had any ammo for and was saving for bigger opponents. There was also the laser rifle. Or would it be considered a laser musket since it was given to her by the Minutemen?
She chuckled to herself. Regardless, there was no sense in making enemies when she could avoid them altogether. Assuming she could sneak past them this time without falling through the bridge. Because she wasn't sure if her self-healing was a permanent ability or not.
Chills ran down her spine. She was sure her "gift" was Vault-Tec's doing. If she couldn't—and probably wouldn't—find her parents, she would look deeper into Vault-Tec and their experiments. No, she'd look into them either way.
A soft rain tapped the earth.
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the pistol and slipped across the bridge. Noting how differently the wet earth smelled than her days before cryo freezing. She loved the smell of the ground during the rain. But this, this smelled off.
Rust permeated the air. Not that she wasn't used to the smell of rust, but there was so much of it, it was nauseating. All the wood reeked worse than rotten trees she had cut down for neighbors. Not to mention the water from the canal wafted up. It stank of toxicity.
She threw a glance at it, wondering what was truly in it. Death? Decay? Fallout? Whatever it was, it was disgusting. She was even more thankful she didn't go for an unintended swim.
The Cram wasn't sitting well in her stomach.
Further into the heart of the city wasn't much better. The rain poured at this point. Buildings and piles of debris groaned under the weight of the rain. Everything causing the rancid smells were in much closer proximity. However, she did enjoy the sound of the pattering of the water drops as they hit what they could.
Yet, the sensory overload threatened to overwhelm her. Her eyes flitted among the barren buildings. Doing her best to remain occupied. A hand still went to her stomach. She checked on Dogmeat. He seemed fine. Most likely, it wasn't as pungent to him as it was to her fresh nose.
The German shepherd suddenly perked up. Trotted ahead.
"Hey," Verrah called. The visibility wasn't very far, and she didn't want to lose her only guide. Then she saw it, spray painted in white: "Diamond City." An equally white arrow pointed down an alleyway.
Because that didn't seem suspicious at all.
Her pace slowed, gun in both hands, off to her right side. Maybe Diamond City wasn't the grand spectacle she thought it would be. She pressed her back against the corner wall of the alley. Peeked around.
Down the street was a turret and a trio of guards in…catcher's uniforms? She eyed them. They didn't seem particularly hostile, but she couldn't fully see them. Not that it meant anything, anyway.
A traveler passed by them without trouble, leading a two-headed cow.
Verrah retreated back around the corner. For some reason, a dual-headed bovine freaked her out more than she ever thought it would. It was like she was living in some post-apocalyptic B-rated horror film. She slowly looked around again.
The traveler and mutant cow headed her way.
Doing her best to look natural, she nodded at the human when the abnormal pair ambled by. Though she inwardly cringed at the pinkish-brown flesh and hideously enlarged utters. Noticed the cow was nothing more than a pack animal with various crates and provisions tied to its back.
One of the heads turned to view her, but it seemed uninterested.
Her attention was drawn to dog running ahead again. "Seriously, Dogmeat?" She hurried after him. Stopped short at the three guards.
They kept an eye on her, but they didn't seem particularly interested in the newcomer, either.
Verrah flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, sending a spray of drops that melted with the rest of the rain. She wanted to do her best to not stick out like a sore thumb. Which was nearly impossible, as she was the most brightly colored person. And surely the most awkward.
She felt so naked. Though, she supposed she could've nabbed armor off the raiders. But the protective coverings had been on dead bodies. Well. The Pip-Boy and Holding Pack did come off a skeleton. But the head of Vault 111 deserved to have his tech stolen.
Shaking her head, she went to the shepherd, who sat on the other side of the turret. Those guards had no idea how grateful she was to pass the turret and not be torn to shreds by a barrage of rounds. She had never seen one of the MKs in action, but she did not doubt their firepower. Especially at close range.
She patted Dogmeat's head. Followed him to the front of the old stadium. Smirked. That statue of the baseball still stood. Which player it represented, she couldn't say. While she occasionally watched baseball with her dad, automobile racing was her sport.
Two more of the padded guards strolled by. Snickered to each other.
"Looks like Piper finally got herself kicked out."
"Yeah. She accused the mayor of being a Synth."
"Seriously?"
"Don't you read the papers?"
"Not recently. But if I was mayor, I would've done the same."
Verrah observed them as they went about their business, blending into the gray color of the rain. What was a Synth? Synthetic? Synthetic what? Well, the mayor was accused of being one, apparently. Synthetic human? Like an android?
Her gaze wandered to a woman in red leather bending over to what appeared to be a speaker. So if the woman—who she assumed was Piper—accused the mayor of being a Synth and consequently got herself kicked out, did that make Synths bad? Or was the mayor that intolerable? Both was also a good option.
Dogmeat looked up, waiting to be directed.
Taking a deep breath, Verrah began forward once more.
Piper made various arm gestures. "Come on, Danny. Let me in. How many time we gotta go over this?"
A voice came on the speaker. "Sorry, Piper, Mayor McDonough has been explicit about the orders against you."
"It's raining, for Pete's sakes!"
"Sorry."
Throwing her hands into the air, she paced a small circle. Noticed the Vault Dweller. Straightened and crossed her arms.
The gleam in the woman's eyes made Verrah shift uncomfortably. That kind of look only spelled trouble. And she only knew this because she had conveyed the same look multiple times.