Boston's skyline has never been so welcoming—and so wrong. The city's silhouette is dull and dark, like a grainy photograph, and even from this distance there's a niggling feeling in his gut that something's not right.
Through each fresh hell they'd encountered since leaving Geneseo, Nate had closed his eyes and pictured Kaelyn's knowing smile.
I'm coming, honey. Just hold on and keep Shaun safe.
They take the freeway overpass at a fraction of its recommended speed—the army never did get around to installing those jet packs on their power armor—in the hopes of avoiding the irradiated land below. This comes with its own drawbacks as they navigate the clutter of vehicles knocked about by the shock wave. Nate tries not to look in the windows at the grimacing corpses stuck in a traffic jam for eternity. Brenner makes a distressed noise when they have to climb over a sports car whose paint has barely chipped by a nuclear detonation. Not only do their boots ruin the paint job, but their weight crumples the roof in.
Nate still listens to the holotapes; someone would have to pry them from his cold, dead hands by this point.
"Hi, honey. Shaun has something he wants to show you. He's been practicing very hard." Kaelyn coos at Shaun and he starts singing a wordless tune.
No matter how many times he hears it, no matter how he knows Shaun is just wrapping his tongue around the sounds and has no clue what they mean, his heart swells with love and pride.
That's my boy.
In the encroaching evening, it becomes clear something is wrong. The continuous curtain of clouds is normal these days. What's not normal is the deep green light west of Boston, cradled by mountains Nate is certain weren't there before. The glow radiates upward to bounce off the bellies of low-hanging clouds, highlighting how close they loom over the earth, and probes outward with sickly green fingers.
Nate stops mid-step, his blood turning to ice water.
"Check it out."
"What the hell? Did a bomb land there or something?"
"Green means radioactive, right?" Sculley looks downright sick, but then, he hasn't been so crash hot during their little jaunt across the state. Brenner's certain it's radiation poisoning.
Nate would like to say it's easier to pretend to be fearless from inside half a ton of protective steel but, well, he'd be lying.
Even with the ominous glow on the southwestern horizon, disaster doesn't strike from the obvious direction. One moment they're walking along, enjoying yet another cloudy radioactive day, and the next a car in front of them explodes.
Nate ducks behind the nearest cover as the ball of fire launches shrapnel in all directions, self-preservation overriding the knowledge he's encased in the best infantry protection the US Army has. Greasy smoke belches upward, concealing the source of gravelly snarls. Something crawls out from under a nearby car, pale and misshapen, and lunges for Sculley.
"What is that—?!"
Nate springs in between the creature and its target and it bounces off his chest plate. Laser fire flies past him; a few stray shots blacken his armor, and the thing falls as another five slither out of nearby vehicles. Miller plants herself beside Nate to create a wall of power armor and they brace for the oncoming charge. Adrenaline spikes on his tongue at their growls, and he shoots in time with his drumming heart.
As the frontmost creatures fall, their fellows trip over them in their haste. That makes them easy targets for a hail of gunfire. Nate's squad shoots and keeps shooting until none of the creatures are twitching anymore.
Even if it isn't the most challenging battle Nate's ever fought in, he's left shaken as he takes in the bodies. Most of them are wearing civilian clothes. Shirts, slacks, a few skirts in the mix. "What just happened?"
Brenner crouches down to examine the nearest body, but only after she puts another round in its forehead, just in case. Turning its head this way and that, she prods the ropey tendons that contort its mouth in a permanent grimace. "Seems like its skin burnt away. And whatever it is, it looks… human."
At that moment Sculley stumbles away and doubles over, retching. Nate hops out of his armor to grab his collar so he doesn't fall face-first into his own vomit. Swilling a precious mouthful of water, Sculley grimaces when he spits it out. As he looks up, Nate notices for the first time how dry his skin is, peeling off his gaunt and reddened cheeks. When Nate shifts to let go, Sculley's hand snaps out, his grip imbued with the superhuman strength of the desperate.
Lurking in Sculley's bloodshot eyes is fear.
Nate only lets go when Brenner appears, conceding his place to her, and she all but drags Sculley to a quiet spot to examine him more thoroughly. Even though Nate's first aid training isn't as thorough as hers, he knows her check up takes too long for a patient with a clean bill of health. He and Miller poke the bodies some more, wondering what happened to the poor bastards who had been turned into these… things. Has the New Plague evolved? Is it a final gift from China? Something else entirely?
The glow on the horizon only strengthens as the afternoon wears on, illuminating the bruised-black clouds with an unholy green wreath. It isn't the aurora borealis, that's for damn sure.
Without warning, Sculley stops in his tracks. Miller swears, the servos in her suit grinding as she halts to avoid squashing him.
For all that his voice is quiet, it doesn't soften his scorn. "What's the point? What are we hopin' to achieve here?"
"I don't know about you," Nate says as mildly as he can manage, "but I'm finding my family."
"You really think your family survived in this hellscape? Your soft little bird?" Sculley's laugh is hard. "You poor bastard."
"Sculley!" Brenner hisses.
Nate's banking on a lot of if's here. He knows that.
"No, no." Nate holds up his hands. He should be angry, but his heart is persistently, stubbornly steady behind his ribs. This calm is—jarring. "I'm listening, buddy. It's a long shot. I know. And I'm asking you guys to help when you've got your own families to worry about. But we have nowhere else to be. Nowhere else to go. We have nothing else, you hear me?" Brenner shoots him a concerned look, and he realizes his control is fraying. He draws in a breath to steady himself. Looks from face to face. "Anyone else has any better ideas, hit me with 'em now."
Sculley meets Nate's gaze, silently stubborn. Or maybe stubbornly silent. At last his gaze drops and he swears under his breath.
"We're going to find our families," Miller says, and that seals it. "The Sergeant's is closest, so we go there first."
Sculley growls and scuffs a boot in the hard-packed dirt. "Don't say I didn't warn ya."
Nate makes it to the cover of a truck before he breaks. Sliding down the side of a Corvega, he lands heavily on the ground and presses the heel of his palm against his forehead. Footsteps crunch in the broken glass, and Miller drops to the ground beside him. When he looks over, her eyes are wet.
He reaches for Miller's shoulder and she grips his arm, without a shred of comfort to offer one another. There's only the camaraderie of uncertainty between them.
"You ever feel like you're the horse chasin' a carrot on a stick?" Sculley asks. Today he doesn't even bother to comb his hair to hide the chunks that have fallen out.
"All the time," Nate says.
The overpass continues south towards Lexington. The road Nate is used to driving on is a pain to walk, but eventually they hit Bedford Station. It's as close to Sanctuary Hills as the freeway will take them.
Since there's no nearby exit ramp, they jump. A quarter-second of flight that Nate's hindbrain drags out to a full three seconds before gravity does its job. He plummets, leaving his stomach somewhere on the railing, and catches Sculley's whoop before he hits the ground in a thunderous blow, knees bending to absorb the shock. Another impact shudders through the ground and Nate steps out of the crater his boots have made to check Sculley is safe on his back, and that Brenner remains uninjured on Miller's.
They head west, skirting around Concord. It's always an exercise in compromise: go through the wilderness and risk running out of supplies, or go through the city and risk running into people. Even before the bombs dropped, their uniforms didn't always garner them praise and adoration from the civilian masses.
Nate loads another holotape. With luck, this will be the last stopgap before hearing Kaelyn's voice in person, free of the recording's tinniness. "I have something of a confession. Michelle from the firm contacted me today, asking if I'd take a look over some case files. I'm not committing to anything, just perusing. I have to admit I miss it. When you retire from the army, it'll be your turn as the stay at home parent while I get back into the workforce. I have to put that expensive degree to use, right?"
Nate's heart pounds in his chest at the sight of the Red Rocket Stop ten minutes out, and then again at the bridge that leads straight to his neighborhood. His breath bounces hot and clammy off the inside of his helmet and back into his face. Kaelyn will kill him for not using toothpaste. An absurd humor tickles him at the thought. He has to squash it before it evolves into full-fledged hysteria.
The sunny sign by the bridge welcomes them to Sanctuary Hills.
Finally.
At first Nate doesn't realize the others have stopped until Brenner's voice, unusually soft, clicks over the interior speakers. "Do you want to check your house first?"
A part of him shies way from the prospect of seeing his home as banged up and irradiated as every other vacant house in the country. Shies away from discovering two skeletons on the floor—one a woman's and the other a baby's. "No. If anyone's alive, they'll be in the vault."
Despite his declaration, despite keeping his head lowered to watch his scuffed boots, he notices in his peripheral the brown lawns and dead hedges. Windows gape. Doors hang ajar on their hinges and a yard flamingo has been tossed onto the sidewalk. The houses are bright, empty dwellings bordered by rickety fences. Not even white picket fences are able to protect them from calamity, despite every promise of a happily ever after. A lump forms in his throat and he can't talk, can't cry out, can't breathe.
Kaelyn and Shaun were supposed to be safe. War was never supposed to touch them here.
This is his home, dammit.
"Spooky." Sculley half-turns to take it all in. "I feel eyes on the back of my neck."
The beaten dirt path to Vault 111 is past the Ables' fence line, just like Kaelyn said in the holotape, and the little wooden bridge that spans the creek would be picturesque if not for the dark, mud-choked water below and the dead maples lining the bank. This time of year they should be deep green, offering shade against June's implacable heat. Up the eroded hill, where grass has been worn away by months of construction vehicles, the billboard stands proud to advertise the vault. Prepare for the Future.
Bodies are scattered around the gate to the construction yard. Nate's stomach turns at the sight; he tries not to wonder which of his neighbors he's stepping over. When his foot connects with something that clatters away, he cringes in his armor—but at second look he recognizes the army-green helmet that belonged to a slumped body in rotting fatigues.
The vault is so new no one even packed up the construction gear. Shipping containers have been knocked around the yard like Shaun's toy blocks across the nursery rug. A giant circular hatch sits towards the lookout, its yellow and blue drawing attention like the bright colors that mark a venomous creature, crouching on top of the hill. Nate prowls around it, searching for lock or a button or anything that will open the damn door.
"Over here!"
Nate's head snaps up to one of the prefabs, where Sculley is waving him over. The space is too cramped for one soldier in power armor let alone two, so he checks his Geiger counter and steps out of his protective casing. Miller stands by some sort of control panel, and Nate pushes to her side. Sculley shoves back but Nate barely notices, especially not when he's almost twice the other man's size.
Miller gives the panel a once-over and taps the speaker. "Means of two-way communication. If this thing still has juice, it should mean the vault is functioning as intended."
Nate leans over the microphone. "This is Staff Sergeant Prescott of the United States Army. Do you copy?"
No response.
He repeats the message a second time, then a third. Waits ten frustrating minutes while Miller checks the radio is in working order and tries again. "This is Staff Sergeant Prescott. By the authority of the US Army, you are hereby ordered to unlock the elevator and permit us entrance."
Not a peep.
Surveying the rest of the control panel, Nate flicks back the cover guard on the big red button labeled Coupler Ignition and bashes it with his fist. Seconds drag like dust devils across the barren yard, punctuated only by the groaning of metal expanding in the heat.
The elevator doesn't budge.
Nate clenches his jaw. A door isn't going to stop him. Not now, not after how far he's come. "Get it open."
Miller touches a circular port marked Pip-Boy Remote Link. "Standard adapter plug, like what we use to run diagnostics on power armor. The pip-boy must be used as some kind of key. If we can get our hands on one, it might power up the elevator controls."
Turning over the yard—even literally when Nate flips a small crate in frustration—yields nothing. So Miller crouches down to unscrew the front panel and poke around. "If you're lucky, I can hotwire the control panel and trick it into thinking it's received a signal from the adapter plug."
"Not to doubt you, but is that possible?" Nate asks.
"Had to do something similar with a broken power armor port once, so I'd give it a solid maybe. Hand me that spanner."
Miller's plan proves to be a bust, yet she's the least disgruntled about it. Professional respect and a belligerent desire to find an exploitable loophole maintains her interest, if nothing else. Without a pip-boy and whatever software is loaded on it, there's no getting into Vault 111. So they scour the yard again, this time ranging beyond the chain-link perimeter to pursue any construction pieces that have been blown down the hill by the shock wave. Or rather, the rest of them labor under the sun while Sculley lounges in one of the prefabs. Alright, 'lounges' probably isn't the right word, not when he's sick to his stomach and has hurled chunks twice today.
No one has said anything to his face about it. No one protested when Brenner banished him to the sidelines.
Doesn't stop him from calling out criticism while the rest of them work. "Oi, Sarge, you want to lift with your legs, not your back!"
"Uh, Miller?" Metal shifts, screeching and clattering as if someone's trying to round up a herd of Giddyup Buttercups, and Brenner's head pops up above the rim of the dumpster, followed by her hand. "This what you're looking for?"
Nate grabs the thing in her grip and turns it over. It's some kind of wrist-mounted personal computer with various knobs along its side. RobCo's embossed logo on the casing promises its quality, contradicted by the cracked screen.
Miller makes her own inspection when he passes it along, and nods to herself as she pulls out the adapter plug. "Good find, Brenner!"
Except there's one problem: the pip-boy doesn't turn on. It's to be expected, really, but while Nate chokes back a noise of frustration Miller is eager at the prospect of cracking it open.
Brenner's voice floats out of the dumpster. "Hey, Prescott! Give me a hand over here?"
While Miller operates on the pip-boy, Nate alternates between pacing the yard and sitting by the drop off, wishing he and Kaelyn had wandered up here to take in the view back when there was a view. Now the creek winding through the valley below is dark and sluggish, its evaporated bulk never replaced by meltwater. Maples stand like skeletons, so dry they rattle in the faintest breeze as if chattering among themselves about the folly of humans. Between their boughs he can catch a glimpse of the roofs in the cul-de-sac below, and his gaze is instinctively drawn to his home. He catches himself, but it's too late.
Time to wear a hole in the ground again. He could dig his way into the vault before Miller gets the damn elevator working.
Brenner blocks Nate's path. "Hold on, buddy," she says. "We're almost there. Don't die from anticipation just yet."
"Not planning on it," he says.
Putting his restlessness to proper use, Nate forages for firewood as the sun descends low in the sky. He steers clear of Sanctuary Hills. After the sun sets behind mountains Nate still can't recall being there before, he takes Miller her dinner—fried slices of Cram—and sets the plate down beside her.
"I can't believe I'm the one saying this, but you should take a break. Come back with fresh eyes."
Miller chuckles as she wipes her hands on her fatigues. "I can't believe it either. But I suppose this means you aren't going to guilt me for taking a bathroom break."
"Wouldn't dream of it. Without you, I'm screwed."
Miller smiles a rare, full-fledged smile, her teeth flashing white against her black skin. "And don't forget it."
Sitting side-by-side, they eat in comfortable silence. Two strategically placed flashlights illuminate Miller's work area, but the prefab is still dingy.
Gratitude and regret split Nate's chest in two. He takes Miller's plate when she's finished but doesn't move. "In all seriousness, thank you. You've got your own family to worry about and you're still doing this for me. I owe you more than I can ever repay."
There's a pause before she responds. Her good cheer is a touch forced. "I only expect a lifetime supply of liquor for this. Preference for whiskey."
That pulls a chuckle from Nate, weary yet genuine. "You've got it, buddy."
Miller lowers her pliers to a toolbox she found and taps her fingers against her knee. Her wedding ring glints in the twilight. "You know… once you get your closure, I need mine."
Closure. Not when you find your family, safe and sound…
Nate clears his throat. "I understand."
He takes his leave after that to wash the dishes and then sits with his forearms propped on his knees, looking out towards Boston as the last burst of orange on the horizon wanes to gray. Brenner drops down beside him, her blonde hair leached to silver in the failing light. They don't talk.
A whoop echoes from the prefab and Miller leans around the doorway, hollering, "I've got it!"
Nate is on his feet and can't remember how. Something deep in the earth shudders and the great gear-shaped platform descends.
With no time to grab his power armor, Nate vaults over the lip of the hatch to land on the platform. Three hollow clangs and one curse from Sculley indicate the others have followed. The platform takes them down, down, and Nate abandons counting the seconds when it becomes counting minutes. He checks the fusion cell in his rifle, then the magazine in his pistol, to settle his nerves. It doesn't work.
Honey, I'm home. Just about.
The circle of sky above them is a black coin by the time the elevator grinds to a halt, just in time for the massive gear-shaped door to finish cycling open. Everyone knows better than to get in between Nate and the stairs, and he rushes up them three at a time. The catwalk rattles under his combat boots, and only once he's reached solid ground do the echoes fade to an uncanny silence.
The sign above his head reads Vault 111: Welcome Home.
But silence isn't quite the right word. In the distance water drips and machinery rumbles. The air itself seems to echo, reverberating on itself in that odd weightlessness that only comes from emptiness.
The entry is deserted.
"Nominal power," Miller murmurs, her voice carrying in the chilly air. "Lights and life support."
Nate's hand slides to the grip of his sidearm. "Hello!" He almost flinches as his own voice cuts through the ambiance. "Anyone down here?"
No one emerges to greet them or even berate them, and Nate will take the latter if it means things are normal down here. Every ensuing second with no response raises more hairs on the back of his neck.
"I take it that's a 'if we pretend no one's home, maybe they'll go away'?" Brenner suggests.
"Too bad for them I'm not leaving until I find my family." Nate checks his weapons again. Just in case. "Let's move."
The closest door is sealed tight and not even Miller can jimmy it open. Not without a battery and some elbow grease, at least.
"Over here!" Sculley waves them over to another door across the room. This one is pliantly open.
The corridors are long with frequent corners; ground lights cast blue-gray shadows on the curved ceiling. Circular walls lend the vault a cave-like atmosphere, aided by the subterranean chill. But maybe that's just the knowledge that thousands of tonnes of rock dangle unseen above the roof. It sure would be cramped down here with people wandering about. Tight.
Contained. The word springs into Nate's mind.
Footsteps echo down the corridors in a way that makes him look over his shoulder. Only once. Yep. Only once.
Shortly after that they find the first body. Face down in the corridor, clothed in a blue jumpsuit, face rotting into the floor. It's decidedly fresher than any other corpse they've encountered since the bombs fell. Cockroaches scurry away from the corpse when Miller prods it with her booted toes.
"Ugh, that smell." Sculley gags and hurries to wrap his scarf around his nose and mouth.
"The hell?" Unease squirms in Nate's gut much like the roaches skittering across the floor. "No. This isn't right. The vault was supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be safe down here."
"Explains why no one answered our hail." Miller whispers. Her voice carries in the dark. "But raises the question of what happened down here."
Nate makes a pained noise low in his throat. Kaelyn. Shaun. Where are you?
With every fresh—figuratively speaking—body they find, Nate's stomach drops further. All this time, dread has been a deep, unknowable thing that lurks over his shoulder. Fueled now by the reality of these corpses, that same dread flash-freezes into a corporeal form. It conjures the image of Kaelyn's wavy brown hair concealing a decaying face, or a body clutching a small rotting bundle.
"Is anyone alive down here?" Sculley asks. His eyes flash to Nate and he clears his throat.
"There have to be survivors somewhere." Nate picks up the pace, unwilling to accept any pity thrown his way like an old bone. His nerves tighten with every step and his fingers aches from their white-knuckled grip on his rifle.
They haven't explored the entirety of the vault yet. It's too soon to say nobody made it.
A sliding door hisses open at their approach and they duck into a spacious office governed by a semi-circular desk. While Sculley knocks on the tabletop to check if it's real or a veneer—the latter, but a good-looking one—Brenner rights the chair and nudges aside the body of a man in a lab coat to access the terminal. Miller makes a noise of interest and makes a beeline for a lock box on the wall that holds some kind of rifle.
"Nate." Brenner's stilted tone raises the hairs on the back of his neck. "You need to see this."
Heart in his throat, Nate stands at her side with no memory of crossing the room. She points at the green text scrawled across the screen.
Vault 111 is designed to test the long-term effects of suspended animation on unaware human subjects.
Time slows to a crawl. The lights waver, brightening then dimming then brightening again. Brenner is halfway through her inhale; the others are still turning their heads, sensing imminent disaster. All at once reality snaps back into place like an elastic band stretched beyond its limits.
Nate feels sick.
"My god." He paces in a tight circle. Runs a hand through his hair. "Why would Vault-Tec do this? Long term effects… on unaware human subjects. No. That can't be right. It can't be."
"Cryogenic stasis? Damn." Miller looks between the rifle in its lock box and the terminal. "Doesn't that mean your family might still be alive, if they've been frozen? Provided the systems are stable."
In that moment, Nate could kiss her. "I hope so."
"Possible," Brenner answers. "If this is an experiment, no one knows how stable the technology is. That's why they're testing it."
Miller's mouth twists into something rueful. "True. Any clues on what happened to everyone else down here?" She steps past Nate to lean over Brenner's shoulder, and along the way she touches his shoulder to steady him.
A few key strokes and Brenner grunts. "They only had enough supplies for a hundred and eighty days. The Overseer refused to open the vault in the absence of an all-clear signal—yeah, I can't possibly imagine why nobody's heard from Vault-Tec's execs since the bombs dropped. So then security mutinied against the scientists. Six months… this went down at least two months ago. No wonder the place stinks."
It's enough to piece together the rest.
Nate glances down at the nearby body. The Overseer's. The man who used Kaelyn and Shaun and everybody else as lab rats. Any sympathy he has shrivels under the weight of a sudden anger that sucks him under a boiling wave. Heat prickles across his skin with fine needles. "Let's go already."
By the time they've searched the common area and dormitory, the silence is expected. Living bodies leave an imprint in the air, a subtle warmth that signals a nearby presence, and its absence is noticeable. No one wants to linger beyond a perfunctory check, and Nate wonders if anyone else is thinking of HQ at Geneseo.
If not for an observation window in one of the main corridors, they might have wandered right by without realizing what section of the vault they've entered. But that cut-away into a darkened room, illuminated only by emergency lights, stops Nate faster than a bullet.
"The hell?"
The room is filled with rows upon rows of stasis pods—that's all they can possibly be. Thick cables snake across the ceiling, connecting giant canisters to the pods like silver umbilical cords. Ground lights shine on the front hatches; squares of white stark against the deep blue shadows that lurk near the walls. A fine mist, noticeable only when it floats directly into a beam of light, drifts from the ultracold cables to flutter along the ground. It's too dark to see inside the pods' tiny windows, to see any occupants inside.
Damn. Just… damn.
With a final glance towards the observation window, Nate strides down the hall to the closest cryogenic array. This chamber is narrow, with cryo pods lining the walls like rows of soldiers, and as he trots down the stairs it grows noticeably colder—which is a feat given the vault's general chill. In front of the first pod, he swallows and looks through the frost-rimmed glass. Normally the prospect of snow is enough to tighten his nerves, thanks to his tour in Alaska, but this time dread skitters down his spine for an entirely different reason.
Mrs Callahan is frozen on the other side.
He's not sure if this new reason is better or worse, frankly.
Peering in each window, relief and regret bite at him each time it isn't Kaelyn. Mr Callahan. Mrs Able. Others whose faces he can't identify, either because he truly doesn't know them or because the frost coating the window warps their visages beyond recognition.
"Vital signs of all occupants are stable," Brenner calls. The mist softens her voice. She stands by a wall-mounted terminal. "You want pod C7."
Nate's breath catches.
There she is. Eyes closed, ice glistening on her dark lashes. So still she might be lifeless. Little Shaun is bundled in her arms with his face pressed to her chest. Maybe it's just the dim lighting, but her brown skin seems dull and gray, her hair stiff with crusted frost. Pressing one hand to the hatch, only to be surprised at how hot it is against his palm, Nate leans as close as he can to get a better look, pulse loud in his ears.
And then it isn't enough. They need to be free and he needs to know they're alive, needs to hold them, needs to see how big his son has grown, damn it all.
Time to get them out of that bloody freezer. Nate tugs on the lid's handle but it won't budge. Whirling, he spies a control panel hooked up to their pod with bright red buttons and—
"Wait!" Brenner plants herself between Nate and the control panel. Grabs his arm when he tries to skirt around her. At his glare, she squeezes his wrist. "If we pull them out now, we have no idea what's going to happen. There could be a procedure to thaw them out safely that we don't know about."
His gaze flicks between Brenner's beseeching expression and the observation window where Kaelyn's silhouette lingers behind the glass, dark and still. The most he can make out of Shaun from here is his white swaddling. "That's my family in there, Dylan. We have no idea if cryo is even safe. The longer they're in there, the more danger they're in."
"You're right, that's entirely possible." Here comes the but: "Just give me three days to review the research logs and prep in case of a medical emergency." As an aside, she mutters, "There has to be a bloody instruction manual somewhere."
He grits his teeth. Truth be told, he isn't sure if the recalcitrance in his gut resists the prospect of waiting, or putting his family in more danger by being hasty. "And if something goes wrong while you're still figuring it out?"
"Someone will monitor their vitals at all times. If we detect any dangerous anomalies, we'll pull them out. I promise."
Nate looks between his squad and his family again. Lingers on Kaelyn.
So close and yet so far.
"Fine. Just—work quickly."
Nate doesn't expect to sleep no matter how his eyes itch, but exhaustion is heavier than worry, dragging him down below currents of fear to where oblivion rests at the bottom of the world. An icy touch on his cheek makes him start, blinking away images of Kaelyn's frozen hand beseeching him for help. Of Shaun's icy head pressed against his jaw. Scrubbing away the stray drop of water, Nate scowls at the leaky ceiling. As he swings his feet over the side of the mattress, he realizes that none of his squad are nearby.
The absence of barrack noise, of the base continuing to function in the deep hours before A-shift, make his ears strain. There should be the sounds of breathing and occasional thrashing from the other personnel stacked neatly in their rows of bunks. Patrols thunking by at regular intervals. And underneath it all, the slick hum of the reactor powering the base.
But no. Those days are done, and there's no going back.
A box of Sugar Bombs and a clean bowl sit on a table in the common area, so Nate takes the box and eats his entire recommended daily sugar intake in one go. Stuffing his face can't distract him from the guilt that nips at his heels. After brushing his hands on his trousers, he straps his sidearm to his thigh—a habit too ingrained to shake now, and he'd be lying if he said the vault isn't creepy as hell. Comfortably armed, he sets off in search of Brenner.
Nails it in one: she's in the modest clinic, perched in front of the CMO's terminal. She starts at the movement in the corner of her eye, but relaxes when she recognizes him. "Morning, Nate."
Leaning his hip on the doctor's desk, he folds his arms across his chest and fights a shiver. Did Vault-Tec even install central heating down here? "Has there been any change in their vitals? Anything at all?"
"None. Life signs holding steady. I've been reviewing the logs and the research they've compiled so far. Miller helped me with some of the technical details of the cryogenic array." Brenner leans back, eliciting a pained squeak from her chair. "Fascinating stuff if not for the fact it's an unethical experiment using unsuspecting civilians as guinea pigs. No, I lie. It's fascinating stuff even though it's an unethical experiment—don't look at me like that, Prescott."
He's going to ignore the 'fascinating' part. For his own sanity, if nothing else. "Why didn't anybody wake me up?"
Brenner pauses. "Didn't have the heart. I told the others not to. You needed the rest. And yes, that's my medical opinion."
Alright, maybe catching a few Zs in a proper bed did Nate some good. He wouldn't be too stubborn to admit it but, well, he's too stubborn to admit it. If he thinks too much about it, it doesn't feel right that he slept while his family is still frozen not one hundred feet away. "Alright. What can I do with my newfound energy to help?"
"Let's see… we need inventory of what supplies are still down here. We've got fresh water, I know that much. The vault is tapping into a bore and Miller gave the purifiers her stamp of approval. As for food, the Overseer's logs said they were almost out, and we can't thaw everyone out if we can't feed them. I need to prep the clinic and—oh. We also have to take care of the bodies down here and quickly. The last thing we need is an outbreak of disease. Take your pick on where to start."
As much as moving corpses does not make Nate's top ten favorite activities, or even top one hundred, the idea of leaving Miller and Sculley to it sits poorly. It's grim work, hauling bodies to the exit zone and taking a gag break every five minutes or so. As far as they can tell, all the bodies belong to Vault-Tech staff. After scrubbing the gooey stains on the floor with the harshest astringent Brenner can conjure, they return to the surface to dig graves and retrieve their power armor suits, which thankfully haven't wandered off in the night.
Sweaty and grime-streaked, Nate catches up with Miller while she's poking around the prefabs. "If my family—" Swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat, Nate tries again. "If this—doesn't work, I'll go with you to find yours."
Miller searches his face, silent and intent, her black eyes flitting over his features. Finally, she nods once. "I understand."
Back in the vault, Nate scouts the showers and shaves for the first time in months. The hot water is heavenly, loosening the grime caked on his skin and the tight muscles underneath. Turning the faucet as hot as he can tolerate, his skin turns pink before he even starts scrubbing. By the time he scrounges for a towel his hands and feet are lobster-red. Dressing back in his filthy clothes afterward feels like a travesty, but at least he can run a hand along his now-smooth jaw. Goodbye, scratchy beard.
Back in the infirmary, Nate shoos Brenner away from the cleaning so she can return to her research. No point having the medic doing grunt work instead of figuring out the cryogenic array. Obeying her edict to 'disinfect everything', he works his way through the clinic's surgical tools and sorts them as per Brenner's preferred workspace arrangement. Once an hour, she gets up to stretch and join him for ten minutes, claiming she needs the breaks. Nate accepts her help without comment; the last thing he needs is to irritate her by getting on her case about it.
It's on one such occasion that Nate pulls a cardboard box off the bottom shelf in the storeroom and pauses when he sees its contents. Brenner peers over his shoulder at the supply of condoms.
She's the first to chortle. "Say what you will about Vault-Tec, but they knew what would happen when you locked a group of people in a confined space."
Her laughter is infectious and soon enough Nate leans back against the wall, laughing far more than the discovery calls for, to the point it borders on hysteria. Sucking down one breath after another to ease the ache in his belly, he scrubs a hand over his face to wipe away tears. Brenner likewise covers her face with both hands. When the last of their amusement fades they have to return to work.
But not before she elbows Nate in the ribs with a smirk. "Fortunate for you and Kaelyn, huh?"
Rolling his eyes, he shoves her off and counts his lucky stars it hadn't been Sculley to make this particular discovery.
Two days later, Nate drops his clipboard on Brenner's desk. The clinic is dusted and organized to her satisfaction. Miller and Sculley have made headway checking the vault's life support system and mapping the rest of the vault. There are three cryogenic arrays in all, but not all of the pods are occupied. Miller has only unkind things to say about the vault's layout, particularly regarding the walkway around the reactor core.
"You want to minimize through traffic around the most vital piece of equipment in this whole damn place," she fumes, "not invite every dumbass and their dog to take a tour through engineering."
That night—or what their chronometer claims is night, not that anyone volunteers to head surface-side to check—they pull up chairs around a table in the mess hall and review their progress over mac 'n' cheese.
"Finished countin' our food," Sculley says. "Provided human stays off the menu, we've got about a fortnight plus a week from our own supplies. If we tighten up the rationing, we could squeeze out another week. Then it's onto shoe leather."
"The vault's in good condition," Miller says. "If you can secure a food supply this place will last you a long time. Air ventilation systems are holding steady and you have a source of power."
Nate doesn't miss the way she says you instead of we. "We're in better shape medicine-wise than food-wise. With few people down here who were, ah, awake, they didn't burn through much of the pharmacy."
"Speaking of the residents, I've reviewed all the research logs and have a handle on the stasis process." Brenner sets her fork in the center of her plate with unnecessary precision. "Whenever you're ready, we can wake up your family."
They are the words Nate has been waiting for and now, in this moment, he can't speak.
"So this is it?" Miller asks, leaning forward in her seat.
At Brenner's nod, something in Nate's chest cracks and swells.
Instead of heading straight to his bunk, Nate wanders to Bay C to visit his family. Pressing one hand flat on the lid, he whispers, "Tomorrow. I promise. Love you both." Saying goodnight would be too weird, so with a final lingering look he heads to bed.
After a tense night of little sleep and dreams he prefers not to linger on—of icy statues and eyes that never open again—Nate gives up and pads into the adjoining mess hall. Miller and Sculley are still sound asleep so he takes care not to disturb them. Brenner's bunk is empty; the woman herself leans against the kitchenette in the mess.
She glances up at his entry. "Can't sleep either?"
"Too wound up." He leans on the counter beside her. "I'm glad it's morning."
She gives him an odd look. "It's 1:30. Technically morning, I suppose."
"Oh."
Drumming her fingers silently on the counter top behind her, Brenner sinks into her thoughts with that faraway look that signals she can't be reached until she comes back to earth. Which she does a minute a later, fingers halting their flighty tempo. "Screw it. Neither of us are going back to sleep now. Let's grab some coffee and do this."
Caffeine seems like an unnecessary stimulant when excitement and anxiety surge through his nerves, giving him a double rush. It sure drives away the last of his lethargy. "I'm done with waiting."
Instant coffee may be the lowest of the low, but it's now worth its weight in gold. Any caffeine is good enough for Brenner, who inhales the curling steam while she waits for her brew to cool below scalding. They drink and rinse their mugs in silence as Nate gets more keyed up. It's almost like the night before Christmas, where you lie awake at some unholy hour of the morning waiting for your parents to get up so you can open your presents—except the present involved is a Schroedinger's cat. Schroedinger's wife and son?
"Nate." Brenner bites the inside of her cheek. "I'm going to do everything I can to get your family out safe, okay? And your neighbors after that."
"I know that." He holds out an arm and she leans into his side, wrapping an arm around his waist. "It's gonna be what it's gonna be. And I want to thank you, right now, for trying. What, you thought I would blame you if—" his thread of easy humor fails him, locking his throat with pre-emptive grief, but Brenner knows what he means.
"Thanks. I wasn't sure how you'd react if things go south." She raises her hands, turning them over in the dim lights, watching shadows pool in the creases of her palms. "Be nice to heal instead of harm for once."
He squeezes her shoulder. "So this is redemption?"
Her face hardens. "No. It's just the right thing to do." She weasels free and heads for the door. On the threshold, she glances over her shoulder with an unexpected, mischievous smile. "Besides, I still have dreams about Kaelyn in that tight little pinstriped skirt. Woof."
Nate knows which skirt she's referring to, and he can't disagree with the sentiment. Even so, he fixes her with an unimpressed look. "You're not supposed to admit it while I'm in the room, you know."
With an unrepentant laugh, Brenner trots down the hall. Nate grabs his boots and follows her to the clinic, where they pack a medical bag and prep a gurney. Rather than shy away from the possibility Kaelyn or Shaun might be in such dire condition they need it, Nate is equipped with enough medical training to be reassured by this preparation. They steer the gurney on its squeaky wheels to Bay C and leave it by the doorway above the stairs.
Heart pulsing low and quick in his chest, Nate stands by Kaelyn's pod while Brenner checks the nearby control panel.
"Ready?"
Nate draws in a breath and nods. "Do it."